Hamilton Spectator

An American I know once told me that if your house is on fire then you don’t care much about a firefighter’s faults. You only care that they’ve arrived to put the fire out. Then she explained how Donald Trump was the only firefighter in town who could save America from the fire of itself. I wonder what Francis of Assisi would say.

I know an African, a long-time family friend from Uganda, named Q. He was born in a house with a dirt floor in a closet normally storing things like suitcases. He told me while we drove to Entebbe’s airport. “Mother didn’t want to get other parts of the house dirty,” he said.

There’s a red dirt road in front of the university guest house where I sometimes sit, in the doorway, barefooted. I watch the African sunrise. And the monkeys. I listen to the birds. Or watch children pass by. They remind me of Hannah, our youngest. “Hello,” several said

It’s still that time for resolutions, or at least new year reflections. But before I share what I’d like to improve on during my own 2024, let me say that I recently looked at a woman sitting across a restaurant table and talking – well, complaining – to me. I looked at her face. Some context. I enjoy people-watching.

I recently watched a debate involving a couple of academics, two cerebral rock stars who talked at length about life, including the nature of goodness. The secular humanist explained that goodness doesn’t depend on God or supernatural agents. “But if they’re around, they can step up and show where we’re wrong.”

Courage is defined in Webster’s as “mental or moral strength to venture, persevere and withstand danger, fear or difficulty.” Not that we don’t know courage when we see it. But it’s a good time to consider it because courage, it seems to me, is the story of 2023. Then again, in war, courage might be

Forty-five years ago today, on November 18, 1978, more than 900 people died in the Jonestown massacre. They were Americans in a Guyana settlement named after Jim Jones, a self-proclaimed prophet who’d been once lauded as an exceptional voice and humanitarian. Jones’ followers

We’re all lonely to one degree or another, this side of eternity. If it was different, there’d be no longing. Or expectation. Even so, we’re living in unusually lonely times. Some call it a loneliness epidemic. Alice Aedy, a British filmmaker, calls it a dystopian time. “Almost Orwellian.” Call it

Think of the war in Gaza and think of flowers. This, with a nod to Banksy. He’s the street artist who moves anonymously at night to paint public spaces. Often powerful images – you’ll see them from Paris to Detroit – they pull at our collective conscious.“ The Flower Thrower,” painted

It was a tea house and I was having, funny enough, coffee, and the woman waiting on me was pleasant. She brought extra cream and looked at the book I was reading. It was my birthday, a summer day. The book was, “Count Your Blessings.” Then she said somewhat indifferently, “My father would

Here’s something for young people. Who you marry will have a larger impact on your life than your career. I’m reading about it in The New York Times and The Atlantic. There’s a new wave of research. Marry and be happy. This is what it says. It’s interesting because it’s easy to assume

Today I’d like to give some advice to Canada’s soccer players. But first let me say that I’ve decided to finally start that rock-and-roll band. We’ll call ourselves “The Barenaked Feet.” This is because “The Barenaked Ladies” is taken and “The Barenaked Men” conveys certain images

Let’s see now: Cynthia, Cloe, Cindy, Carole, Cassandra, ah, here we are. Cathy. The first girl I ever kissed. (Or did she go by Kathy?) (This doesn’t include the failed kissing venture in the park trees involving Penny and Patty with myself and my boyhood buddy, Paul, on that summer day

I know Canada as much as anyone. I’ve tasted its vastness. Live long enough with even a half-curious mind and you’ll get out here and there. I’ve spent time in each of our provinces. Even today I’m in the mountains of Banff with my boy, Jonathan, celebrating his 18th birthday.

“We’re losing Jonathan.” I blurted out the words in the backyard to my sister during a recent gathering. Jonathan, that’s Jonathan Thomas Froese, is Child #2. The boy. It felt strange to hear the words tumble from my mouth.