the brant advocate, issue 6, february 2012

www.brantadvocate.comfacebook: The Brant Advocate

twitter: @BrantAdvocateFebruary 2012 • Please Take One

Every four years we are given the gift of one extra day.February 29th. The first time since 2008.

What will you do with twenty four more hours? Many peoplewill treat it like any other Wednesday, wrapped in the middleof just another week at work. It will pass people by withouta second glance, without an extra thought of the significanceof a 366th day.

But what will you do? Will you let it go by like any other day,or will you seize it as an opportunity to do something more,something better, something great. We think you should makeit count. Whether it’s actually February 29th, or an extra daysomewhere else in the calendar, we want you to do accomplishsomething great. Over the next few months, we will take ourextra day to go beyond the pages of this publication to changethe community for the better. We’ll share the stories of what wedo with our one extra day, and we invite you to tell us your stories.

What will you do with one more day?

S A R A H S T . A M A N DI N T E R I O R D E S I G N

[email protected]: studio519.802.6328: mobile

February 2012www.brantadvocate.com • Facebook: The Brant Advocate • Twitter: @BrantAdvocate

I spent my childhood growing up as a sports fanatic inBrantford. I had my share of childhood sports heroes in everyone of the major sports: Mike Schmidt for baseball, MichelGoulet for hockey, Randall Cunningham for football andChris Mullin for basketball.

While growing up in Henderson Survey I spent most ofmy days out in the yard or on the street, trying to get in as muchbaseball and basketball practice as I could get before, during,and after those minor sports seasons. I would try and mimic thework of my heroes anytime I got the chance to compete.

As high school came around, I made some changes tomy sporting interests, moving away from baseball and basketballand into rugby and soccer. I also gained an interest for hockey,although my inability to stop on a pair of skates limited mydesire to actually go and play. It was the sport of hockey thatintroduced me to community sports during that time. I rememberattending a Brantford Smoke game down at the Civic Centreand enjoying the level of competition that was right in mybackyard. But it was a one-time thing, and I never foundmyself back at the Civic Centre for another game.

Several years later I returned to the community andsoon after, began working at Rogers TV. As I began to covermany of the events that happened in the community, I started torealize just how deep the pool of athletic talent was in Brant. Imet the men and women who were excelling in college, university,and professional ranks in a wide range of sports. I began tounderstand the real strength of our sporting community. Mywork at Rogers TV led to an opportunity to sit on the Boardfor the Tournament Capital of Ontario which, in turn, led tovolunteering for the Brantford Sports Council. Thoseopportunities only helped to embed an even greater desire to

continue to learn about, watch, and enjoy the sportingachievements of our home-grown athletes and localprofessional teams.

I can say that I have been in attendance to celebrateseveral of Brantford’s greatest sporting achievements over thelast decade. I sat at Labatt Park in London when the Red Soxcelebrated the dramatic Game 7 Championship win thatstarted the dynasty. I sat at Centennial Stadium on Hal-lowe’en in 2010 as the Brantford Galaxy won the CSLChampionship in their inaugural season. And one that Imissed live I watched with prideas TSN broadcast the BrantfordBlast’s winning of the AllanCup. These are just a few of thevictories our athletes haveproudly won for this community,with countless more beingcelebrated every day by kids andadults of all ages.

It’s incredible when you read the sports pages of TheExpositor or The Brant News and learn about all of the amazingvictories our athletes are capturing. And those who know realizethere are so many other stories that there is never enough inkto get printed. They are our student athletes starring for collegeand university squads, our minor sports teams that wintournament championships, and our players abroad leadingthe way in professional leagues all over the world.

Brant has become a centre of sporting excellence. Not just inBrantford, but in Brant County and Six Nations. This tinychunk of our nation is graduating a host of talented athletesfor our next generation of kids to look up to. It’s happening

across the sporting spectrum, both male and female.Whatever our children aspire to play; there is someone fromthis community to look up to. It truly is an incredibleaccomplishment to be celebrated.

We are continuing to build a greater culture ofappreciation for these athletes through our recognition ofwhat they have achieved. Our news media has helped createthat culture through their coverage of local sports. Ourcommunity has helped create the culture by having communitycelebrations for our championship teams. And our sports

organizations themselves have contributedto creating the culture through the SportsRecognition Banquet, the Sports Hall ofRecognition, and the many photos andbanners that don the walls of our athleticfacilities.

At a time where many of us are struggling,and our community struggles alongside us,

our athletes are doing their best to provide us with somethingto be proud of both as individuals and a community. It maynot be you that making waves as a rookie in the NHL, but akid from a family like yours is. That’s something we can allbe proud of.

Our local athletes are setting an example for ourchildren. They have played on these same fields, in thosesame tournaments, on that same ice as our kids are today.Now they play with our heroes, alongside our heroes, as ourheroes. Leave my childhood passion for sports in the past. Letus teach our kids that, instead of being a sports fanatic inBrantford, be a fanatic of Brantford sports. Go out and cheeron our local teams and athletes no matter what sport youenjoy. The opportunities are endless, the victories are countless,and the community pride is everywhere…

Our Sporting CommunityEditorial by Andrew Macklin

Brant has become acentre of sportingexcellence.

Photo courtesy of Ida Adamowicz

February 2012 www.brantadvocate.com • Facebook: The Brant Advocate • Twitter: @BrantAdvocate

OUR FEATURE MENU INCLUDES OUR HOME BAKED BREAD A CHOICE OF CAESAR, MIXED GREEN OR SOUP DE JOUR AND YOUR CHOICEOF COCONUT CREAM PIE CHEESECAKE OR TRIPLE CHOCOLATE BROWNIE CHEESECAKE FOR DESSERT.

CHICKEN PARMESANA PANKO ENCRUSTED CHICKEN BREAST OVEN BAKEDWITH OUR ZESTY TOMATO SAUCE AND MOZZARELLA CHEESE.SERVED WITH OUR SEASONAL VEGETABLES AND SPAGHETTI.

SHRIMP PRIMAVERA ON ANGEL HAIR PASTASHRIMP SAUTÉED WITH JULIENNE VEGETABLES IN OURWHITE WINE AND HERB GARLIC BUTTER TOSSED WITHANGEL HAIR PASTA AND TOPPED WITH PARMESAN CHEESE

MARGHERITA PIZZA OUR MULTI GRAIN CRUST WITH PIZZA SAUCE, FRESH BASILSLICED ROMA TOMATOES, AND OUR HOUSE MADE FRESHMOZZARELLA CHEESE

6oz AL DENTE BURGERGRILLED ALL BEEF PATTI TOPPED WITH SLICED ROMA TOMATOES,LETTUCE, FRESH MOZZARELLA, DOUBLE SMOKED APPLE WOODBACON, SUN-DRIED TOMATO AIOLI WITH ALDENTE MAC & CHEESE

Lately I’ve been immersed in scanningthe thousands of photographs that weacquired before the dawning of the digitalage of photography. This project began as ameans to manage and preserve our inventoryof pictures and pass them on to our children.In reality, the project has evolved subcon-sciously into a review of the phases of ourlives. The memories ingrained in our photocollection foster a new perspective in howwe see ourselves and forces upon us therealization that we are not only the sum ofwhat we make ourselves, but also of whatothers make us.

As I began the process of sorting ourcollection, I divided pictures into fourgroups and distributed my bundles acrossour pool table. The photographs related toour immediate family were stacked on theleft, followed by the period in which mywife and I had no children. The next pilerelated to my wife and my families, and

siblings. Finally, there were those related toparents and grand-parents. These are older,some in poor condition, and many requireinvestment and expertise to restore. As Icompleted the sorting process, my sonwalked by and began to examine thepictures. He remembered events captured oncamera from the first pile. He asked somequestions regarding the second and thirdgroup, but his interest was marginal. Whenhe saw the damaged photographs in thefourth pile, he asked me if I wanted him tothrow them out.

In many respects, the current debateover making the Brantford Downtown aHeritage Conservation District is like mysituation with archiving my photographs.There are currently two areas already designatedas Heritage Conservation Districts – BrantAvenue and Victoria Park Square. In total,there are 208 buildings currently designatedunder the Ontario Heritage Act. This meansthat development would be governed by theprovincial and municipal legislation that setsout the rules for property standards andmaintenance of a heritage district. Both

Laurier University and theDowntown BusinessImprovement Associationhave indicated that they areopposed to declaring thedowntown a heritagedistrict because it wouldhave an impact on future

development.Laurier argues

that it needsflexibility in

developing futuresites to support

its growing studentpopulation. The

BIA argues that itneeds flexibility in

order to attract othercommercial and retail enterprises.

While both arguments havesome merit, in that the Cityshould not curtail business orcampus development, it seems tome that the concept of preservingour past and future growth are notmutually exclusive. In fact, some ofthe most successful urban renewalprograms have included heritage asthe core principal through whichrenewal would take place. It seems tome that what we are really discussingis the issue of demolition or preservationby exemption. To my way of thinking,the Heritage District Conservationdesignation provides a frameworkthrough which the process of downtownrenewal can take place. Granted it maytake longer than simply tearing buildingsdown and, in some instances, the cost maybe higher, but these should not be the onlyfactors determining future development in

the Downtown. The reality is that Brantfordis not a green-field site as Leo Groarkenoted in his book Reinventing Brantford: AUniversity Comes Downtown. The nature ofwho we are and what we want to become isintrinsically tied to the choices we make.

The idea of throwing out old photo-graphs, without making the effort to restorethem, not only results in a loss from agenealogical perspective, it removes foreverthe traces of how we have evolved into thepeople we are today. In my photographs, Inot only see people who were part of mygenealogy, I see family values, schools andchurches that influenced the values that Ihave, and I see a family that survived earlysettlement, death, wars, the Depression, andthe struggle of building a family business.Without my photographs, all of that wouldbe lost.

It is true that the face ofBrantford has changed. Shoppingmalls have replaced the Down-town as the point of doingbusiness. We are entering apost-manufacturing economy.Revitalization of the downtown is

being driven by Laurier University’sgrowth. All of this is happening at a timewhen new housing developments areattracting people who work in other

cities and have no vested interestin Brantford’s historical roots.Add to this the fact that the localeconomy is suffering and the

Municipality has limited resources tosupport renewal projects.

The easy answer is to say that weshould not make the Downtown a HeritageConservation District because we cannotafford it from both a financial point of viewand as a deterrent in attracting new businessand accommodating Laurier. But is this theright answer?

I suspect that if the majority ofcitizens were asked if the Downtown shouldbe designated a Heritage ConservationDistrict, the question would be met withindifference. Many of those who I havetalked to indicated that outside of sometouristic value and as a site for films, theydid not really understand the significance.Many said that outside of an occasional visitto Harmony Square, they did not go down-town. To me, this is a sad reflection of wherewe are today. People are so busy with theirlives and their struggle to survive in today’seconomy that they have lost track of theirsense of community. And this is what avibrant downtown is intended to provide.

Brantford should not only be aboutbeing the Tournament Capital of Ontario anda satellite campus for Laurier University, itshould be about a city that is proud of itssocial and economic heritage; one that wantsto preserve some of it for future generations.This, to me, is embedded not only in whatwe write, but also in what we see. Liketrying to preserve my photographs, it is ameans of not only preserving past values butalso a means of developing future valuesand a sense of community.


Snowsnake: An Ogwehonweh TraditionBy Tara Froman

In its many variations, the game of snowsnake has beenplayed for centuries in North America, from Atlantic Canada toCalifornia, New Mexico to the Northwest Territories. Butnowhere is this winter game more at home than in the land of theOgwehonweh (Six Nations), where snowsnake tournaments arestill held and the game still revered. Gawasa (kaw-a-sa), orsnowsnake, has long been labeled the national game of theOgwehonweh; much to the chagrin of lacrosse fans. The 100mph speeds, the secrecy of each teams snake shine, the chants ofmen urging a reluctant snake a little further down the track, andthe thrill of competition juxtaposed with the camaraderie ofseasoned players meeting at weekly tournaments are the keyelements of a snowsnake game and the reasons for the continuedlove of this game.

The game of snowsnake is thought to have developedfrom an Ogwehonweh taboo against gathering branches fromliving trees to be used as firewood; only deadwood was permittedfor use as kindling and fuel.Once the area close to anyvillage was cleared of all deadbranches, the wood gathererswere forced to seek their fuelfrom further and further away –not the most pleasant of tasks inthe cold winter months. As ameans to lessen the work loadand introduce a sense of enjoy-ment to the task of collectingwood, the gatherers began hurlingbranches and sticks along frozenwaterways and snow coveredopen fields, in the direction ofthe village; therein avoidinghaving to carry the bundles ofwood through snowdrifts[Hubert Buck: Woodland Cultural Centre Interview, 1994].Quite naturally, this practice evolved into a competition todiscover who could throw their firewood the closest to thevillage. Thus the game of snowsnake was born.

As time passed, this simple game of collecting winterfirewood garnered a following among all the OgwehonwehNations. As such, the game was systemized with rules andregulations. Customs and specialized practices also developed asthe Ogwehonweh embraced the game. The actual snowsnakebecame the medicine of its owner; thus, no other person was totouch another’s snake. Women were excluded from playing anyversion of the snowsnake game. The rationale being that thefemale spirit was too powerful a force and would interfere with

the power of the male players and the game. As such, it is stilltaboo for women to play the game or even touch a personalsnowsnake or the game track.

The concept of building a track for hurling the snakeswas introduced as a means to keep the snowsnakes from travelingall over the playing area. At the start of the track, called thepitch, a thigh-high pile of snow was packed into place then graduallydecreased in height until it was barely above ground level in aramp-like set up. A trough was formed along the snow pile bydragging a log 3 inches in diameter down the middle of thetrack. This trough was to a depth of 3-4 inches. The track couldbe up to a mile long. Water was sometimes sprinkled in thetrough to firm up the sides and provide a smooth surface for thesnakes to run along. Despite all attempts it was, and is, impossibleto keep tracks pristine during use so ice chunks do occur to marthe track surface. In an effort to maintain good game conditions,the ends of the snakes were burnt to harden the wood and

prevent the snake from shatteringwhen it inevitably made contactwith ice chucks or snow debris.Today, the burnt end has beenreplaced with a lead tip.

Central to the game of snowsnakeis a finely crafted and preparedsnowsnake or stick. Ogwehonwehsnowsnakes and snowsnakecompetitions are of two varieties –the long snake and the mudcat. Along snake can be between 1.8 to2.4 meters long (6-8 feet), while amudcat is 0.9 to 1.2 meters long (3-4 feet). Both sticks are made fromhardwood trees such as hickory,ironwood, hard maple, or juneberry

– the ideal hardwoods are those which are fine-grained. Thetree’s trunk must be straight and at least 20 to 25cm (8-10inches) in diameter, or longer, depending on the type ofsnowsnake being made.

Snowsnake playing regulations and the point system arenot complicated. In its most basic form, the game of snowsnakesis played until one team garners four points. A point is earned bythe team whose snake is thrown the furthest each round, witheach competing team throwing four times per round. Two pointsare earned if the same team has the longest and second longestthrows; and a game out occurs when one team earns 4 points bythrowing the four longest shots in one round. Play continuesround after round, until one of the competing teams has garnered

the required four points. If the thrown snake flies off the establishedcourse of the track, known as jumping the track, it results in amissed throw or turn.

A snowsnake team consists of two throwers and as manyshiners as desired or required by the team. Shiners are the menwho specialize in analyzing track and weather conditions, andthen prepare the team’s snakes accordingly. Shiners shine thesnakes with secret wax, shellac and/or oil mixtures to enhancethe stick’s water repellence, as water slows down the speed ofthe snake, and to improve the snake’s travel over the snow.Shiners do not share their secret blends with anyone, and go togreat lengths to hide the mixtures they use on their team’ssnakes. It must also be noted that teams do not share theirshiners. Wax and shellac are easily removed with a knife or steelwool, and fresh coats applied as needed throughout the game.

A thrown snake can reach speeds of 100 miles per hourand travel over 1 mile in distance; this is an estimate, as thepoint of the game is to throw further than the other players, sodistances are not measured. Spectators are warned to keep wellaway from the snowsnake track because these powerfullythrown snakes have been known to jump the track and penetrateboots. Snakes thrown overhand are very powerful but less accuratethrows; whereas snakes thrown using the underhand methodachieve greater accuracy but less power. Most players use asidearm throw that does not compromise accuracy for power.Regardless of the throwing style, hand position on the end or tailof the snake does not really vary. The forefinger is placed in afinger grove on the tail of the snake and the remaining fingersand thumb support the shaft of the snowsnake. The thrower canthen approach the track and release the snake into the trough.This approach can be accomplished in a few running steps or adash of 20 to 30 feet. Most contemporary throwers wear cleats toaid their balance as they approach the track over snow and ice.

The Woodland Cultural Centre hosts an annual SnowsnakeTournament (weather-permitting) on a weekend in late Januaryor through to mid-February. The timing of the tournament is dependent upon the phase of the moon and the timing of theHaudenosaunee Mid-Winter ceremony. With competitions inboth long snake and mudcats, as well as a school-age tournamenton the Saturday morning, spectators of all ages can enjoy theancient Ogwehonweh game of Snowsnake. The WoodlandCultural Centre’s Snowsnake Tournament is scheduled forFebruary 11 and 12, 2012 (or February 18 and 19 if there is notsnow by the 11th). Admission is free for snowsnake spectators -so plan to visit the Woodland Cultural Centre, 184 MohawkStreet, Brantford to enjoy this winter sport!

2003 Snowsnake Tournament, Woodland Cultural Centre


Learning My PlaceBy Laura Duguid

What is human evolution? What we see and hear mostcommonly refers to physical anthropology; the way in whichhumans have evolved over millions of years to be what we aretoday. Fascinating stuff sure, but the evolution of the humanspirit, now that’s something we feel. It happens around us everyday. We may evolve over several decades, years or months.

Twelve years ago I was sitting in a collection agencyworking full-time collecting government debts. I was happy forsure. Strange, I know, but I had a full-time job and as a singleparent, that’s what was important to me. I had gone from working 2 or 3jobs at a time, all part-time, to make ends meet, so 1 full-timejob was an upgrade.

In the ring of a phone my life would change, evolve. Iwould answer the phone and meet my husband. Nope, I wasn’tcollecting from him; we had a mutual friend at the agency. Overthe course of several years, he would convince me to do thingsthat were way outside my comfort level. “Fortune favours thebold,” he’d say. Sound familiar?

I would take a job at another agency, I would move fromcollector to administration to supervisor to collection manager, allthe while forging forward knowing that, as a mother who wassuccessful, I was teaching my daughters to be women. Strong,independent, intelligent women… yeah right! What was actuallyhappening in my delusional state of success was absence. Notintentional absence, but the kind that songs are made of. Cats inthe Cradle comes to mind. I worked far too many hours, andgave too much of myself emotionally to a product that wasn’tmine. Later, when the economy would move my position toomany hours drive away, I would find myself out of a job.

I grew up in a house with a strong intelligent mother. Iwas fortunate to have both parents until my late teens. Mymother took us to women’s rights marches regularly and wediscussed world politics and human rights issues. So I knew thatI didn’t belong in a kitchen, cooking and baking. Women coulddo those things but we could do so much more. We could beExecutive Director’s, we could fix cars, we could paint ourhouses, we could do everything a man could do and more. Mymother worked full-time for the city, but our house was spotlessand she was home at night and on weekends. Don’t get me

wrong, my mom can bake. But if she was busy then to the grocerystore she went and birthday cakes were made the same way as allof my friends; out of a box of powdered mix plus a can of frosting.There were memories of baking cakes, kids helping in thekitchen to bake the boxed cake, to lick the frosting spoon. Thesmell of chocolate cake in an oven to a kid is the same no matterwhere it comes from.

But, as an adult, I have celiac disease. I’m allergic togluten, and dairy, and a number of other ingredients. So are bothof my daughters, so the cake memories are slightly different.

Something as simple as my daughter’s birthday cakewould again cause an evolution in my spirit. When word got outthat I could bake a cake that tasted like a regular cake but wasgluten, dairy and soy free, things got crazy. Linda Tutt at TheBrantford Station Gallery became my biggest Advocate after shetasted the cake for herself. I started getting calls several times aweek looking for something gluten free that didn’t taste gritty,chewy, crumbly or like cardboard; any of the typical gluten freedescriptive words. Cakes, cupcakes, pizza, buns and breads, youname it, I got calls for it. I had no idea there were so many peoplein this community that had celiac disease or were gluten intolerant.So here I was at 30 faced with a dilemma. The very thing that Ihad spent my life running away from, the idea that somehow Ibelonged in a kitchen baking, had become my greatest joy.

We embarked on ajourney to build a business. Wewalked a piece of carrot cakeinto Al Dente on King GeorgeRoad. Ray and Lorrie took achance on us, opening up theirkitchen to offer space andadding legitimacy to ourbusiness. Two years later, we’vebeen regularly on the menu andour new home is ironically theold Al Dente downtown. It hastaken us a year to change whatthose under 30 will rememberas the Ford Plant into a pink andbrown bakery and café. Some

will say it seems like the bakery will never open, but evolutiontakes time. We financed the renovations with our savings andwith the earnings of my husband’s business, all the while doingmost of the work ourselves. We rolled up our sleeves and calledmy incredible father in law and got it done. We’ve painted,drywalled, done plumbing and electrical work, all with the helpof some very talented friends and family. We’ve traded goodsand services, and we have equipment more than a year old that,in some cases, has never been plugged in.

The lesson I was afraid that my daughters would miss,being a woman and accomplishing your goals and dreams,wasn’t lost on them at all. In fact, it was inspired by them. I stillwork long hours, but now I take the kids with me. I am stillpouring my heart and soul into something, but I’m doing it in akitchen, where I now belong. And, most importantly, I’m doingit my way.

Baking isn’t for everyone, but it IS for me. I am stillstrong, intelligent and successful, but I also make one hell of acupcake. I believe wholeheartedly that you are only defined bywhat you feel you cannot achieve. I have taken my biggesthurdle and made it my most successful endeavour. We don’texpect evolution to happen overnight and it doesn’t. It took me30 years to change my mind, 10 years to finally marry my bestfriend and a year for us to build a bakery together as a family.

Photo courtesy of Paul Smith / Photohouse Studio


Pink Floyd,An Inflatable Pig& My Friend Amelia

Story by Lucas Duguid, Photography by Paul Smith / Photohouse Studio

Certain moments in life have a way of standing outamongst others.

I remember with perfect clarity my eighth birthday.My family always pulled out all the stops for our birthdaysbut this year was different. I unwrapped something I wasn’texpecting; my first album. My older sister Kim gave me adouble length cassette of Pink Floyd's groundbreakingmasterpiece The Wall. Every other present that year came adistant second (sorry Mom & Dad).

It seemed most people growing up in the 80’s and90’s listened to a little bit of everything. There were a lot ofdifferent sounds in that era and, over the years, my collectionof mixed and store-bought tapes evolved into a CD collectionfilled with a mash of new, old and hard-to-find. But no matterwhat I was listening to at any given time there was alwaysPink Floyd. Not always at the top of the play list but always there.

Years later, while working at Ball Media, one of theother designers, Terry Davis, introduced me to his wifeAmelia. Amelia works as a manufacturer and sales rep for acompany here in town called Mobile Airships. I rememberasking her at the time, what do you guys do? “Among otherthings, radio controlled blimps,” she replied. I was

impressed. I’ve got a soft spot for anything in the design andprint business and Amelia’s line of work is very unique. I’vebeen fortunate enough to work on some really great projectsin my career, but I’ve never designed something you couldfly. As our conversation continued I asked who some of theclients were that she worked for. “We work for all kinds ofpeople. In fact, we just finished creating the large inflatablepigs for Roger Water’s next world tour.” (Take a minute andlet that sink in)

For those of you who don’t know, Roger Waters wasthe lead vocalist & bass player for much of Pink Floyd’slifespan, and is credited with writing and co-writing much ofthe bands catalogue during the 1970’s and early 1980’s. Thelarge inflatable pig was a prop that wound up on the cover ofPink Floyd’s 1977 concept album Animals. The pig laterbecame a re-occurring fixture as part of their lavish andtheatrical live shows.

So you can imagine that, when I heard this, I was in acomplete and utter state of shock. You have to understand...Pink Floyd’s The Division Bell tour (Summer ‘94) was myfirst real stadium concert (awesome big sister strikes again),so let’s just say Amelia had my undivided attention. The wifeof a close friend and co-worker had an opportunity to deal

one on one, and more than once, with one of modern music’sliving legends. The architect behind the first album I everowned. It would be one thing to say, “Hey, I know RogerWaters.” That would be awesome. But to be able to say that“I helped design the inflatable pig Roger Waters will beusing at every concert date on a two year world tour.” Thereisn’t a word for how awesome that is. And if that wasn’t coolenough... over the next few years Amelia was able to get usplatinum seats to see Roger Waters live three different timesat the ACC.

I’ve said it before and it’s my pleasure to say it again.There is a mountain of star power right here in Brantford.We’re a world-class city filled with world-class people doingworld-class things. It’s our responsibility to remind ourselvesof that every chance we get. By doing so, we can helpre-write the narrative of what it means to be from Brantford.Thank-you very much to the staff at Mobile Airships for thehospitality, and thank-you to Paul Smith and Steve Lacelle ofPhotohouse Studio for the fantastic photography.


How Paul SimonChanged My LifeStory by Dave Carrol, Illustration by Steve Boyd

I didn’t used to like our culture very much. I becamemore jaded about the futility of societal ills than a young personshould. But thankfully, Paul Simon helped me.

In 1986, Paul Simon made the greatest album of mylifetime. He traveled to South Africa and recorded Gracelandalong with local artists like Ladysmith Black Mambazo andlegendary guitar player Ray Phiri. It was a magnificent fusion ofPaul Simon's poetic genius with far off sounds and rhythms thatmost had only heard tales about. It created controversy. Itchallenged people's thinking. It was larger than a piece of art.The music made you stop what you were doing and pay attentionbecause something special was happening.

I was young... and growing up, music wasn't a large partof the culture of our home. So Much Music, radio morningshows and what my friends’ parents had in their homes was mymusical baptism. One day, this video with Chevy Chase and ashort guy I'd never seen came on. The lip syncing of a comedianwas a touch awkward and I wasn’t sure why two guys namedChevy and Paul wanted to call each other “Al”, but I couldn't getthe song out of my head. I had no idea what it was about or theback story... but dang that music.

A few years later, my great grandmother died. My Dadlet me take the day off school. On a minus 30 degree morningmy Dad, my Aunt, and I piled into our giant Ford Econoline Vanand headed to our homestead in Northern Ontario. We stopped ata dirty little mini-mall half way for lunch. That song had beenrolling around in my head that morning.

"He is a foreign man. He is surrounded by the sound.Cattle in the marketplace. Scatterlings and orphanages. He looksaround. He sees angels in the architecture spinning in infinity. Hesays Amen! and Hallelujah!"

I slinked away from the food court and found my wayinto the previously forbidden territory of a Record Store. It justwasn't something we did in our family. I bumbled through thearduous process of prodding a record-jockey about this song Ibarely knew. He somehow understood my incoherence andhelped me find Graceland. Now, I had no money. I'm not totallysure what my grand plan was, but my Dad walked in at thatmoment and saw me ogling an album. Maybe it was just becauseof the emotion of the day but, without saying much, he took theCD in his hand, walked up to the counter and bought it for me.He kinda gave me one of those don't tell your mother looks.

This was not the kind of Top 40 Album that my friendshad piles of next to their stacks of video games. I had neither ofthose things. I sensed the banality of most of it. But THIS wasdifferent. Then I heard it.

"And I believe these are the days of lasers in the jungle.Lasers in the jungle somewhere. Staccato signals of constantinformation, a loose affiliation of millionaires and billionairesand baby.”

Something in my mind blew up. I waded into the poetry,dissecting the metaphors. The rhythms and refrains felt DEEP.Deeper than the world I saw around me. It felt like a place Ihadn't been before but had always wanted to go to. I knew therewas more to life than math equations, baseball and SundaySchool and Graceland was my Matrix Red Pill.

"She makes the sign of a teaspoon. He makes the sign ofa wave. The poor boy changes clothes and puts on after-shave tocompensate for his ordinary shoes”

It's about oppression, greed, financial disparity, pleasure,irony, sadness... but said without saying it. It was spokeneloquently and slapped with funky bass. It was life truths sungwith African harmony and word pictures! It was stunning.

“Joseph’s face was black as night and the pale yellowmoon shone in his eyes. His path was marked by the stars in thesouthern hemisphere and he walked the length of his days underAfrican skies"

Who are these people? What is their story? I began tolearn about Africa. I wanted to be there to meet this Joseph andcheck to see if his face was black as night. I began to think aboutthis big blue globe I lived on. I realized that far off lands weren’tTHAT far off really. All of a sudden global impact and under-standing became tangible. We were all in this thing together.Where I was planted was not a prison.

Graceland also helped me understand the collectivestruggle all mankind experiences "from here to get there". InJRR Tolkien’s poem Mythopoeia he describes it by saying that:

"Man is not wholly lost nor wholly changed."

Life isn’t perfect anywhere. But it’s beautiful every-where. There is a source of GOOD that is constantly wooing usto a deeper place of understanding. As long as we draw breath,there is no finished and there is no trapped.

I eventually did go to Africa and it was beautiful. But themain lesson it taught me was the same one that Paul Simon did.That it’s in all of us to make a difference while being drawntoward GOOD and it never stops


To My BoyTo the little baby boy growing in my wife’s belly:

Hello. I’m Adam, and I’m going to be your father.

Every day I think about what it will be like with you in ourlives. I dream about playing hide and seek, teaching you how tobuild a fort and climb a tree, building snowmen and playing withLego... sharing the joys and wonder of childhood with you.

I dream about the life I want to give you–full of love, ac-ceptance, and laughter. A warm bed at night and tasty food on yourplate. The education you need and the opportunity for you to followyour passions.

As you grow older, I’m looking forward to sharing our faithand principles with you. Your grandparents taught me what it meansto live an honourable life, caring for others and committed to show-ing the love of God to the world around them. As you grow olderyou’ll realize that this is a broken world, with hurt and pain, but wecan each make a difference, one small step at a time. It’s our job todo this. I hope to pass along how important this is to you.

I want to show you how to love and respect your mother.She means the world to me, and I want you to see this every day of

your life. You’ll never fully understand your mother’s commitmentto you. I’ve been around for 32 years now, and I’m only beginning torealize what a mother does for her children.

I promise to provide for you and work hard to give you whatyou need, and I want to teach you to be grateful for everything wehave. We are rich–we have a roof over our head, food in our belly,and most importantly, family and friends that love us very much.Treasure these things always.

I hope you are hungry to learn about this world around us,and let your curiosity lead you into plenty of productive mischief.Take every opportunity to learn and grow. Be happy and positive. Iabsolutely can’t wait to meet you. I’ve never looked forward to amoment with such excitement and trepidation. It’s going to be anadventure for the three of us, but I wouldn’t want to take this journeywith anyone else.

See you April 6–hopefully not much sooner. I have a lot ofwork still to do on your room.

Love, Dad

By Adam Hislop

Photo courtesy of Tae Photography

RadishesIt's February, and just about everywhere we go we are

reminded that Love is in the air. There are red and pink hearts,pretty boxes of chocolates and dozens upon dozens of flowersavailable at flower shops, grocery stores, and even the cornerstore. This year, as the most romantic day on the calendar ap-proaches, I am not going to be thinking about hearts and roses, Iam going to be dreaming of radishes.

This past spring, I had to say my goodbyes to a verybeautiful lady who was a friend of the family. It was at her fu-neral that I truly learned just what it meant to wholeheartedlylove somebody. As I heard her loving husband give his eulogy Iwas overwhelmed with the intensity of his adoration and com-mitment to his wife. His words were so touching; I am sure therecouldn't possibly have been a dry eye in the room. I rememberhearing him say that if he had more time with his wife that itwouldn't have made it any easier to lose her because he wouldhave only loved her more.

As he continued to talk about all the wonderful timesthey shared as man and wife for over thirty years, he reminiscedabout how even a simple shopping trip was a romantic adventurefor the lovebirds. It was incredible to see this man’s face light up

as if, for a moment, he was right back in time. He told the con-gregation of stealing a kiss with his wife in the produce section atthe grocery store. He said that she would look across the aisle athim and give him that beautiful infectious smile of hers and say:"Have you been kissed in the radishes today?” At that moment,there wasn't a story line in a movie that could have compared ortouched me more. This wasn't Brad Pitt reciting to his leadinglady in a major motion picture. This was true love. This was aman that had loved his wife for better or worse, richer or poorer,sickness and in health, 'til death did them part. This love was pa-tient and kind. It was love that bared all things, believed allthings, hoped all things and endured all things. This love neverfailed.

After leaving the church that afternoon, my whole per-ception of what kind of love and relationship I wanted and de-served for myself changed. I knew that I could never settle foranything less than someone that I had to kiss even in theradishes. I was never one for romantic movies or the silly littlechick flicks because I never thought that the story lines were veryreal. I now know that true love, is very real…

By Stacey Farrant

Queen of HeartsAhh, the after-Christmas blahs. Everyone is tired,

deflated, sluggish, shopped-out, and the weather outside is frightful.Then along comes February, and Valentine’s Day. It’s the day oflove, and romance, and poetry, and flowers and heart-shapedboxes filled with treats. Except if you are single. And what iswrong with being single anyway?

Many people are single by choice, just as many othersare not single by choice. As much as it is a day for lovers, and atime when there is romance in the air. It is also a time to spendwith the people you love, whoever they are.

I was single by choice. I liked it that way. So, I tookValentine’s Day as a chance to celebrate how full of love my lifewas, and is, by choice.

Every year instead of having Valentine’s Day, myfriends and I would have a Queen of Hearts party. This was notjust any old party. This was the kind of party that required muchplanning, and fussing about details. There were rules to befollowed, and certain traditions to be maintained. You had tocome to the party single. You had to wear red. You had to eat red,and you had to drink red. We played music that referred to red,was played by a band that somehow was connected to somethingred, had a red CD cover, or used the word red in lyrics or in anyway. The girls came up with a dance routine to Chris De Burgh’sPatricia the Stripper, complete with microphones made from toi-let paper rolls and a ball of tinfoil. It was allowed, because healso did a song called Lady in Red.

We coordinated the table wear, our outfits, party favours,and the most important item, the crowns. Before the festivitiesbegan we were busy cutting out the crowns. Each of the guestslucky enough to be included in the Queen of Hearts party wouldcarefully decorate their own special Queen of Hearts crown. MyAunty Ree, not a Queen of Hearts, would come over during theday and dress up the kitchen with a red table cloth, special nap-kins and confetti, lots of red things for our table, little treats forthe mini Queen of Hearts, and cinnamon hearts for me. Hertreats were always a special part of each holiday! We arrivedhome from school, or work, to a house all dressed up ready for aspecial party.

On the night of the party, when everyone else was diningat expensive restaurants that required reservations, going tomovies, giving flowers and boxes of treats, we were at homepreparing the house, decorating our crowns, preparing spaghetti,tomato aspic, fruit punch, pickled beets, or using food colouringon anything that was not typically red.

As our first guests arrived, we would start out theevening with each of us decorating our own crown, just the waywe wanted it. There were feathers, ribbons, jewels, colouredmacaroni, or just about anything you could imagine… as long asit was red. The more bling the better when it comes to a crownfor the Queen of Hearts party. We would have a great feast of redfoods and red drinks, along with great company and good con-versation. We all had to have our special party manners, andremember to say please and thank you at just the right times.Everyone would do their part to tidy up afterwards, and all of uswould go to bed that night feeling a little more connected andloved. We had the chance to share some special time with specialfriends, and make some great memories.

My now adult daughter refers to it as a tea party with thegrown-ups. She was very sad to have our tradition end. It was methat had changed my relationship status, not her. She was verysad that on my first Valentine’s Day as a non-single person, theycould not have their Queen of Hearts party. She remembers askingabout the party, and being excited about getting started with thepreparations, only to be told that we were not having our specialparty this year. I didn't know it was going to be of such value andimportance to two little people. I was doing it so that we couldcelebrate each one of us at a time when there was great celebrationabout being a couple instead of a person. I had talked to myfriends about it. Most of them had changed relationship statusesat some point, and were either on or off of the Queen of Heartslist at some point. No one minded that this time it was me, exceptfor my kids.

I didn’t find out until much later that she was so sadabout not having our special party. I guess we could have aspecial party at any time of the year, but this one was special toher. It was our special party where we got to dress up, be girly,use our big girl manners and have a grown-up tea party. She isnow an adult, and has made her own home. This year, she ishaving her own Queen of Hearts party with her friends. She wasexcited to tell me about it, and I was excited to come and helpher get ready until she told me that this was HER Queen ofHearts party, and after all, there were rules, and traditions tofollow. It was MY choice not to be single, and it was HER choiceto be single. So, she will be doing her Queen of Hearts party withher friends, and some great food and some great drink, and somefancy crowns, and girly stuff, and big girl manners, and all thatgoes with a fancy grown-up tea party. I really do hope she takespictures, and I hope some of them show magnificent crowns, andhave a microphone made from a toilet paper roll and some tin foil.

By Sylvia Collins


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A Creative InvestmentI was a working artist once.Wait, let me explain.

For about 5 years I worked in the media. I was the ExecutiveProducer of a small video and television production company in Ottawaduring my early 20‘s. The organization was called TV Zoom. We hadabout 8 staffers, all of us quite young and, in my time there, we probablytrained over 150 students on the technical aspects of shooting, editing,writing, and other elements of TV production. Some of the work wasglamourous, like fashion shows and wrestling pay-per-views. Othergigs had a lot less glamour to them. For example, I made infomercialsthat were seen across the continent for a product line that will remainnameless, but here’s a hint: you probably own one, have it in yourkitchen, and make smoothies with it.

I actually got started in high school learning from Mike Olech,who taught me for 4 years as the head of the Communications Depart-ment at Assumption College School, and Jason Souliere, my co-opsupervisor at Rogers Television in Brantford. Small local opportunitiesto gain experience in the field led to something that paid for a goodchunk of my education.

I still edit video today. I volunteer my skills for causes I feeldeserve more attention. I also world have a YouTube account, and use itto highlight social and community issues I think are important. Forother working artists humble beginnings have become lasting careers.

Brett Kelly and I worked together at TV Zoom. He was theProgramming Director and Station Manager there. He’s now theOwner/Director of Brett Kelly Entertainment which is a feature filmproduction company that’s made everything from cult films to piratefilms to westerns and even a children’s movie. Brett’s now made over20 films. I remember having long conversations with him about his

love of Lloyd Kaufman’s Troma Films. He even got to interview Lloydduring his time at TV Zoom. Now Brett is one of Lloyd’s contemporariesand has branched off in many exciting directions. My friend and formerco-worker Lee-Ann Cass now works as an Editor or an Assistant Editordepending on the project. Her first paid media work was at TV Zoom. Iremember she thought there was no way we were going to hire her. Intruth, we probably didn’t need to because she would have done all thatwork for free. But any managers know that those are the best people toget on your team. The passion they bring to their work is incredible andinfectious. I’ve really enjoyed catching the shows she’s worked on overthe years on channels like Much Music, CTV, Global Television,Showcase and The CW.

I have very fond recollections of taking Natalie Kalata, whovolunteered for us, to places like the Museum of Civilization to makeprofiles on the exhibitions there. She was always professional and hadsome amazing natural insights on what an audience would find interesting.I shot her first ever interview with then-Burnaby B.C. MP Svend Robinson.Natalie is now a video-journalist at CBC Toronto who shoots, writes andpresents the news for television, radio and the web. She’s worked inSaskatchewan, Newfoundland and Labrador and has covered everythingfrom weather catastrophes to hostage situations. Her work has been show-cased on The National, and her stories have earned her a Gemini, multiplEdward R. Murrow awards and other accolades too numerous to list here.These are just a few examples (of many) from one itsy-bitsy productionhouse that ran on a shoestring budget.

I have other friends who are working artists or who just asimportantly work in some other facet of the arts and culture sector.Some work for MTV Canada, others make their living as painters,cartoonists, costume designers, curators, festival organizers, editors,

comedians, actors, dancers and graphic designers. I have a few friendswho make a decent living as recording artists of some acclaim, otherswho write and some who are professional photographers and photojour-nalists. Many of them happily live in Brantford, Brant County and SixNations and more are coming.

Thirty-six per cent of working artists live outside of majorurban areas, and that number is growing as the big cities become tooexpensive. The internet makes it easier to connect with a wide array ofclients and partners. They’re coming to places like Brantford and, if wemake a few good strategic decisions, more will come and more willgrow from our community. Brantford and our surrounding areas, if weare smart about it, will entice them here as we would any industry thatcan diversify and grow our economy.

Stats Canada reported in 2007 that the economic contributionof the arts and culture sector in Canada was $43.2 billion, that thoseemployed in arts and culture sector represented nearly 4% of nationalemployment (over 600,000 people) and accounted for 7.4% ofCanada’s Gross Domestic Product. There are more arguments to bemade in support of the arts beyond the benefits of the creative econ-omy.

It’s said that during World War II when he was pushed byfellow politicians to shut down the theatres and museums in order tosave money, then-British Prime Minister Winston Churchill’s responsewas: “What are we fighting for then?” The side benefits like promotingan engaged citizenry, improving our sense of community and quality oflife can be transformational.

All of those benefits are nice but we don’t need just thesentimental arguments when all the financial ones make sense too.

By Marc Laferriere

Imagination LibraryIt was serendipitous that Joe Persia would pick up a Rotarian

publication with the face of Dolly Parton and the caption “The BookLady” on the cover. Dolly Parton started the Imagination Library in1996 as a way to help children learn to read and to improve literacy inher community. The program had positive results right away and beganto grow across the United States, Canada and now all over the world.Children can be enrolled in the program starting at birth. Each monththey receive a free, age-appropriate book in the mail until their 5thbirthday. Having books in a child’s home works to help children learnto read and also encourages families to spend more time together.

Coincidentally, Joe was studying for his PhD in the area ofReading Education and had become interested specifically in earlylearning and literacy. “The article about a book gifting program aimedat specifically improving reading readiness and the love of literaturewas timely indeed. Upon reading the article I thought it would be agreat way for the Rotary Club in which I belong to, to take a uniqueproject and sponsor a program that would pay enormous and tangiblebenefits right here in our own community.”

Persia contacted the Imagination Library administrator inCanada, Catriona Sturton, who suggested finding someone to act as aprogram administrator. After asking around, the name Sharon Brookswas suggested to Joe Persia. “I was approached by Joe to partner in thisinnovative project. The Kids Can Fly Board was immediately keen toget involved as it was a project that totally fit our mandate”, saidBrooks. Joe joined the Kids Can Fly Board and immediately contactedSunrise Rotary for support of the program. Sunrise Rotary agreed tohelp, and committed to $10,000 a year for three years. Since being in-troduced in Brantford-Brant, close to 400 children have been enrolledin the Imagination Library. The Kids Can Fly Board continued to lookfor ways to expand the program locally. As a result, Joe, Sharon, Kids

Can Fly Chair Jeanne Smitiuch, and Board member Lisa Collins allwent to Tennessee for the Imagination Library Homecomin’ Confer-ence in June of 2011. “We thought we knew a lot about this project be-fore the conference and were blown away by the additional waysImagination Library can impact a community. The research to date isshowing that children are flourishing and parents are getting more in-volved with reading and interacting with their kids after the booksstarted arriving from Imagination Library”, says Brooks.

Jeanne Smitiuch is leading the Imagination Library sub-com-mittee for Kids Can Fly. She came back from the conference with agoal to have every child from 0-5 enrolled in the program in Brantford-Brant. “Studies prove that reading to a child improves their schoolreadiness, increases the parent-child bond and is crucial in language de-velopment”, said Smitiuch. Kids Can Fly is now using Imagination Li-brary as a point of contact with new parents so that, in the future, theorganization can provide support for parents such as information onbrain development, ways to get a child ready for school and to informthem of other community events and early learning programs. The or-ganization’s mandate is to help all children in the community reachtheir maximum potential.

“Brant has a 28% drop out rate for high school students. Stud-ies show that 25% of children are not ready when they start kinder-garten. These statistics directly relate to each other. Other branches ofImagination Library throughout the world have researched the impactof the program in their community and overwhelmingly see an im-provement in kindergarten readiness, Grade 3 testing scores and highschool success. Grade 3 marks and absenteeism predicts high schooldrop-out rates with 90% accuracy. These grade 3 test scores are so im-portant that some U.S. states actually use the scores to determine budg-

ets for jails in the future.” Joe, Jeanne, Sharon and the rest of the KidsCan Fly Board are now faced with the challenge of raising awareness togenerate funding to expand the program. Fortunately, Sunrise Rotaryhas continued to fund $10,000 per year and the Friday Rotary Club hasgiven additional funding. As well, the program has gained financialsupport from The Stedman Foundation, the Brant Community Founda-tion, individual donors, and other community grants.

The plan is to fundraise more throughout the winter and openup registration in April to add more children to the program. It costs$5.25 per month per child for the Imagination Library. Their goal is toraise approximately $246,000 each year to cover the cost of 5600 chil-dren enrolled in the program in Brantford-Brant. According to theWorld Bank, for every dollar you spend on early learning, you save $17in the future. Simply put, success in school leads to success in work,which equals success in life.

“We came back from the conference more motivated than everto make sure this program continues to be available to children in ourcommunity”, says Persia. “We have immense support and endorsementfrom our school boards, partner agencies and libraries. No one coulddispute the value of Imagination Library. The challenge is to secure ad-ditional funding to offer it locally”, adds Brooks. The organization isalso encouraging parents, grandparents and employers to sponsor chil-dren in the program. General donations can be made, or a child can benamed to specifically be enrolled in the program.

If you’re interested in supporting the Imagination Library, visitwww.kidscanfly.ca or contact Sharon Brooks at 519-448-1713 or emailher at [email protected].

By Patti Berardi


ShowcasingLocal Talent

The bio of digital artist Steve Mcgheeincludes a rather unique disclaimer: “My workis in no way intended to glorify or condoneacts of terrorism or celebrate the loss ofmillions of souls who have perished in pastevents, rather it is a commentary on the frailtyof human existence and to honour the families,friends and loved ones left behind to deal withtheir unbearable loss.”

The work of Steve McGhee was oncedescribed as “Disaster Porn” by a representativeof the Vatican. In many cases this is a fittingdescription. Steve Mcghee is a world-renowned, multi-award-winning digital artist.Steve has contributed to Photoshop UK and iswidely considered to be one of the best Photoshopusers in the world. His specialty; fabricatingnatural disasters.

Why create disasters? Steve’s onlinebio sheds some light: “I’ve been able to findcreative freedom and hope within the images Icreate. And that in itself has allowed me tocope with some of the issues I face. If youmeet your fears head on, and blast rightthrough them, you can never be controlled bythem.”

I have had the pleasure of knowing andworking with Steve for several years. Whenhe’s not wreaking havoc on large cities, he is amild-mannered husband and father of two, andgraphic designer at Ricter Web Printing inBrantford. If you would like to get to knowSteve, you can visit his website atwww.stevemcghee.com, or follow him ontwitter @JNowhere.

In an effort to introduce you to theabundance of talent that exists here in ourcommunity, the Advocate will be showcasinglocal creative talent in the months to come.From oil paintings and sculpture to dance andgraffiti; if you’re an artist, we want to help.


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Watch for the 2012 edition of The Read Book, included in the Brant News on February 2nd in Paris, Burford,

St. George and surrounding areas

For our Online Business Directory or more Information visit

21stEdition

Our

@thereadbook fb.com/thereadbookThe Telephone & Information Directory for Paris, Burford & St George

Changing PerspectivesAs I write this, I find myself sitting on the floor of a hospital

bedroom. It is completely unrelated to what I was going to write, butequally important and reflective of how one’s world can change in aninstant. In a society in which people are so apt to complain when some-thing is wrong, yet remain silent when things go right, I felt compelledto share this story.

Having had the opportunity to be employed by the Brant Com-munity Healthcare System Foundation, I was fortunate to be exposed tomany of the amazing stories that come out of the Brantford GeneralHospital.

As with everything in life, what you witness is a hospital is asmuch what you conceive it to be as it is reality. I’m all for continuousimprovement and growth no matter what the industry. We always needthe people who advocate for change and improvement, and provide afresh set of eyes looking at and questioning howthings operate on a regular basis. However, we mustalso not lose sight of what we have and how farwe’ve already come.

As I sit in the hospital with nothing to doother than wait for word on the condition of a lovedone, I find myself reflecting on all the things I couldbe complaining about and, instead, rationalizingthrough each one to see why I should actually bethankful for it.

The most common complaint I hear about our healthcare sys-tem is the Emergency Room wait times. I’ve been to the ER before fora variety of reasons, and I’ve done my fair share of time sitting in thewaiting room seats for hours on end, watching the clock, people watch-

ing, anything to fill the time. I’ve always been cognizant of the fact Ishould be thankful to only wait 5ish hours, when around the worldthere are people who dream of seeing a doctor in that time. There arepeople who’ve never seen a doctor their whole life, let alone been ableto see one because their child has a cough or they have a pain that’sbeen there for a day. What I’ve learned now is I’d gladly wait for hoursany day, because coming into the emergency room and being taken im-mediately into a room is much more terrifying.

In my time spent in this hospital this week, I’ve had encoun-ters with about six nurses, each very different, each equally importantto the experience. The first was a male nurse who did the initial onceover; the one who asks how much pain is there on a scale of 1-10, whatmy symptoms are, and other basic but vital questions. It’s evident he’sboth new and relatively inexperienced. His inability to sympathize witha family’s fear, or to bring calm to a scary situation, is extremely frus-

trating. It wasn’t until I left the roomfor a few minutes, and stood out in thehall just watching everyone, that I wasable to understand. These skills aredeveloped. It’s the system we have,and likely, the only option. He needsto work with scared families to under-stand what they need from him whilehe does his job.

The next is the woman, I’ll admit Idon’t know if she’s a nurse or has another title, who comes to set up theIV. I don’t know her, but I already pity her in a way. Her job is incredi-bly important, as it dictates how someone’s pain is relieved, and drugsare administered into their system. I imagine one doesn’t make too

many friends when you poke needles into people. The loved one I wasthere with asked her to stop when she couldn’t find a vein, but she per-sisted. I was so angry in the moment thinking, how can she not stopwhen the patient just asked her to stop, before I realize she must en-counter this daily. Within what was probably 10 seconds, yet felt likean eternity, she found the tiny little vein she needed.

Those were both the emergency room hospital staff. Thencome the floor nurses. These are the ones I must admit really crackedme up. I found they all had strong personalities, from the hilariouslyoverpowering Eastern European nurse, to the adorably sweet girl nextdoor nurse, to the nurse I suspected might just hate her life and every-one in it. I conversed with some (you may just be able to venture aguess as to which ones), and not as much with the others. It’s so easy tocategorize them based on my brief experiences when in reality nextweek, for someone else; they could fit into completely opposite cate-gories. It’s here where I realize no matter who they are to me; they’reall still doing their job which, at the end of the day, is what matters.

The ultimate lesson I’ve learned is to make a conscious effortto find calm amidst the storm. The amount of grief patients, and moreso patients’ friends and families, put on healthcare workers must be as-tronomical. People don’t go into the healthcare industry because theydon’t care. Either they love helping people, or they are fascinated withhow the human anatomy works. Regardless of which they are, youwant those people there by your side. A hospital is a scary place formost, but it’s filled with loving people.

So when we’re there, as scared and worried as we are, let’s tryto give the situation a holistic view. That will allow everyone to givetheir best to who matters most, which is the patient.

By Steph Paige

A Moustache Made Me SmileGrade nine science isn't usually all that life-changing for

people, but it served as a catalyst for some huge adjustments in my life.The three guys I'd hang out with in Miss Verveda’s class were hilari-ous... most of the time. We were all joking around about who knowswhat when there was a lull in the conversation. The guy namedMatt suddenly looked at me and said: "Dude, you have a hugemoustache!"

My reaction: mortified. It was a shoo-in F My Lifemoment.

I don't think I talked to Matt again until we weregraduating. Longest grudge I have ever held. I was so embar-rassed that I only told one other friend. She said she wouldhave beaten them up for me if she had been there. I don't thinkI cried, although my face burned for the rest of the day.

When I got home, I locked myself in the bathroomand contorted my face to get a good look at the unwanted layerof dark fuzz. Wasn't a bubble butt enough? I had to have amoustache too? Should I be expecting a beard by eighteen?

I tried to form facial expressions that would hide theunsightly stubble. In a last-ditch effort, a smile-like grimaceformed on my face and, to my surprise, most of that nasty girl-stache disappeared! The weird grimace thing turned into a grinand I thought to myself, well, I could just start smiling all thetime so people don't see my stache.

From that point on, I honestly started to smile more. It mayhave started off artificial sometimes, but that smile became a lessintentional, more frequent visitor.

Did you know that smiling can help you to feel happy? Yearsafter that little incident, one of my psychology professors instructed usall to bite onto a pen so that the ends pressed against the sides of ourmouths, forming something like a smile. He told us that forming a

smile sends messages to our brains, pretty much telling it to be happy(in far more scientific terms). Chemicals get released and our mood isaffected. It turned out that all that smiling had been helpful!

February of my second year of university was one of the hard-est months of my life. Each day as I walked to campus, one of the me-chanics at an auto shop on my route would wave at me and smile.Sometimes he was the only person for whom I could muster a smile in

return. Things just weren’t working out well for me, and I wastruly struggling to be happy at all. That mechanic’s good-na-turedness was such an encouragement.

February is a tough time for a lot of people, espe-cially for those of us who need a lot of sunlight in order to ac-tually feel alive. The winter and cold have been dragging onfor a while, and it’s legitimately difficult for a lot of people tosmile.

Now that February has rolled around again, I can’tseem to stop thinking about my moustache. To be honest, Iusually try to remove it now (waxing is my preference), butman, it was such a weird reason to start smiling. It’s funnyhow something that horrified me so much became somethingthat began to define me later; I love to smile!

Do yourself, and the people around you, a favour.Just smile. It doesn’t matter if you’re hiding a girl-stache, ifyou have gas, or if you’re happy. Smile. Especially in a monthlike February, we could all use a little encouragement.

By Becca Vandekemp

A hospital is a scaryplace for most, but it’sfilled with loving people.

Donations are urgently needed.Last year, Nova Vita provided emergency shelter for 140 women and 148 children,

while serving 1,219 clients in their community counselling programs.

For the past 28 years, Nova Vita Domestic Violence Prevention Services has offeredhelp, hope and healing to over 18,000 women, children & men. But in order to provide

these vital services to our community, Nova Vita needs your help.

The Advocate is proud to donate this ad to one of our communities most importantorganizations. Please visit www.novavita.org today to find out how you can help.

the brant advocate, issue 6, february 2012

Documents

angel hair

big girl manners

heritage conservation

woodland cultural

brant advocate

heritage district

paul simon

tv zoom