Security

French has been working security at an old warehouse these last few months.  It is a huge rambling building.  There are a few businesses in it, but the very back is vacant.

He was doing a night round and busted a guy who was living in an old office.  French said he spotted a can of fresh cigarette butts on a fire escape.  He went up the stairs and found a guy sleeping on the floor.  French woke him up a bit later with a Tim Horton's coffee.  His name was Marko and he told French his story.  He was in his mid twenties, and had immigrated from the former Yugoslavia.  He had Serbian, Croatian, and Bosnian blood, so his family had fled the civil war.  The breaking point had come when a bullet had smashed through their wall and zinged right over the dinner table.  His family left that night.

In Canada his luck had not improved.  His father had died early on in a car wreck, and Marko had been left to fend for his mother.  She too had died just this past summer of Lupus.  Marko had been let go a couple of weeks ago from a seasonal job as a snowplow operator due to the lack of snow this year.  The rent was overdue, and he lost his apartment.  He'd been sleeping, and staying out of the cold by riding on the crosstown buses, but the Transpo cops had caught onto him.

French believed his story, and was able to convince the owner of the warehouse to let Marko stay, and to even let Marko have his security job.  French said, "It worked out for the both of us. I hate working security!"

On brothers, community, and Dutch kissing

Every time I head out with French, especially in Eastern Ontario, we seem to meet someone he knows.  This happens anywhere between Ottawa and Kingston, and sometimes further afield.  I know a great many of these people, but there are always more.  I was trying to break this down today as I drove into work.

For one thing French calls all of these people "brother", and he gives them a long hearty handshake.  I feel he gets this from his years of hanging out in wrestling locker rooms.  This traditional greeting has gone a long way.  He also carries around a pack of smokes, and he'll always offer one up if the "brother" is a smoker.  Most often he'll also offer to buy them a coffee, or a pint.  French also seems to get them talking, and then do a lot of listening.

If he meets a woman that he knows he'll greet them with three kisses on their cheeks.  He'll laugh and say "I'm not Dutch, but I love their greeting".   Once we met a pretty woman, and French was slow to offer his usual salutation; she chastised him, as she offered her cheek: "where are my kisses?"

French sure knows how to anchor friendships, and build community - Brother.

Being Chill

I'm often described as a "chill" teacher by my students.  I've been pondering this label, and I've made at least one small link to how this "chillness" was born.

Back in my high school in rural Ontario one could get time off just by saying, or people even thinking, that you were hunting.  There were always a few days during duck and/or deer season where it was acceptable to be away.  "He's hunting" is pretty much all you'd have to tell the teacher; not even a note was required.  There were too many kids away for them to chase us all down.

French was not a hunter, but he knew his buds would cover for him.  Pancake let all the teachers know that French was "hunting" and he was gold.  I saw right away that French was ditching school, so I snuck out midweek to see what he was up too.  He was in his shed.  There was a small fire going to push back the October cold.  French was on his bunk reading East of Eden.  French held up a finger, read a few more lines, took a drag from his cigarette and handed me a beer.

I asked him "Whatcha reading?"  He said "Steinbeck"  He'd started reading it the previous week while on detention outside the VPs office.  The previous detainee had left in on a table.  French got hooked once the character Cathy was introduced: "This Cathy girl scares the living shit outta me."   French skipped because there was an open excuse, and a chance for him to be alone and just read, play some guitar, and listen to some tunes.

I always remember this moment, and chill, prior to chastising skippers.

Closing Time

It was cottage closing time this past weekend.  Cold, and rainy too.  It was also dump closing day as well. So French and I hurried up, so we could catch a few minutes with Bruce and Rose Fish.

Bruce Fish was in a chipper mood, even though he was mucking out a dump.  I asked him why he was so happy sorting trash and recycling in the cold pouring rain.  He let me know. Turns out a local farmer had hired him to clean out his "old tip" as he called it.  There was decades of ancient trash, and all kinds of mechanical farm debris. There were even old cars with trees growing up through them.  Bruce pulled it out and brought four truck loads to the dump.

Rose walked by a threw an big gear up onto their truck, and said "that is the last of it".  Bruce and Rose had sorted and set aside all the salable metal.  They planned on driving it into Kingston that afternoon and sell it all for a tidy amount.

Bruce said: "sorry lads we gotta run.  There's at least 700 bucks a metal here."

As the drove out Bruce yelled: "God is Good."  French responded "all the time."

Checking in on Bruce and Rose

We finally got up to see Bruce and Rose Fish again.  French and I hadn't seen them in months.  We drove up to their place, and knocked on the door; no one answered.  We looked in and couldn't see anyone.  The trucks were both in the driveway, so they had to be around somewhere.  French said that he knew where they were.

Out back of their place was a well worn path through the snow.  We followed it.  I caught on to where we were going: the dump.

It was a solid hike up and down little rocky hills. Eventually, I could see the tress opening up just ahead.  I caught a whiff of smoke blowing from that direction.  The path ended up behind the dump.  There was Bruce Fish pulling a big chunk of wood out of a huge heap.  He was tossing suitable pieces onto a sleigh.  He looked up from his work and yelled: "Lend a lad a hand eh boys." We all grabbed a big plank and heaved it out.  Bruce Fish was pleased: "Well done lads, that'll keep the ol'home fires burning."

Rose was over by the dump shed (French called it his office. He'd tacked up a big tin office sign over the door). She was huddled by the fire, flipping through a big leather Study Bible, and brewing tea.  Rose smiled and said: "Ah you all found our little refuge."

We drank some Earl Grey tea as Rose read us the entire Book of James.  When she was done Bruce Fish jumped up and said: "Enough fun! Time to haul back the fire wood."

Offended by Jesus

I teach World Religion.  I"ve taught high school students about how one becomes, and the nature of being, a Hindu, a Buddhist, a Sikh, and a Jew.  Next up was Christianity.  I put in the time and really prepped some good materials to explain the Gospel Message, and how believing it, and forming a relationship with Jesus is what makes a person a Christian.

The class become very heated.  Quite a few students, who usually don't say much, had a lot of criticisms of the theology I was teaching.  I was ready for the lesson, but less than ready to defend this unexpected emotional reaction.

I was naive.  They class took in, and accepted with out question, such concepts as: non-linear time, enlightenment, and reincarnation.  However, when it came to the Gospel the class erupted.  I calmed the class down, and pushed on through.  I told them the course didn't demand that they accept the Gospel, just that they know what defines a Christian.

I spoke with French afterwards and he saw that I was a bit rattled.  He said: "Brother the Gospel is offensive.  We murdered God over it".

Working

i.

French slipped into my classroom the other day.  I teach Comm Tech so the students have pretty cool projects on the go.  I nodded g'day and let him wander around and check out what was going down.  I saw him distract one girl, and, slick as can be, tip a book off her computer into his bag.  She didn't notice at all.  I've actually seen him use this move effectively to shoplift back in "the old days".

I asked him later what that was all about.  Turns out it was a novel about two girls having a competition to see who could lose the most weight; the winner would be the thinnest girl.  He said that he saw the book and that it was bad.  To him there was no debate; it was just bad.  He actually took it down to our school librarian, tore it half, and then handed him twenty bucks.  French told the librarian to buy something more redemptive.


ii)

French has another temp job after teaching all day.  There is the usual big rush for people to get their "snows on".  So he is working at a garage swapping out tires.  He was telling me about the people who work there: a family man, an alcoholic, an ex-cop, two ex-cons, and a stripper who works the cash.

The stripper is a single mother of two who works all day, and then a couple of nights a week down the street at a strip-club.  French found this out when she asked him for a lift to her night job.  French went back to work and flipped more tires, then he went back to the club and picked her up after her shift, and dropped her off at home.

ii)

I asked him about how he navigates the seemingly endless complexities of his life.  His only response was: "just keep working".