Bruce Atchison

HOW TO LOSE FRIENDS AND INFURIATE PEOPLE.

2012-02-06T01:51:00.000-07:00

Why do some individuals fall for Ponzi schemes and multi-level-marketing hype? From my own experience of money-making rackets, I realize that my pride blinded me to the truth. These schemes are set up to generate substantial wealth for the folks at the top of the pyramid while the bottom level partners lose money.

My introduction to this supposed opportunity to earn an unlimited income came in 1982 when a member of my church introduced me to Amway. From my upcoming How I Was Razed: A Journey from Cultism to Christianity memoir, here is the account of my first experience as a multi-level marketer.

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"Now that you're in Amway, Bruce, you're going to have to hold meetings," Sister Eileen informed me as she drove me home from church the following Sunday. "Invite everybody you know but don't tell them it's about Amway. Say that you've got a business plan or a way to supplement income, depending on who you're talking to. Some people get nervous if you call it a business."

"Why can't I just tell them it's Amway?"

"People have heard some nasty things about the company, but they're all untrue. It isn't a pyramid scheme because products are involved. In a pyramid scheme, people send money to the person higher up in the chain and so on and so forth. The Amway opportunity lets people sell products and build their business as big as they want to."

That made sense but I still felt qualms about withholding information from people who had legitimate concerns.

Sister Eileen taught me how to present the plan that afternoon. Filled with excitement, I sat by the phone after supper with my address book. I opened it and dialled each of my friends from A to Z. Instead of being eager to visit me and find out about the opportunity, each one became suspicious when I evaded their direct questions. Some friends remained cordial afterward but I lost most of them, including my CB buddies, that night.

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How I Was Razed is the testimony of how God showed me his true nature after charismatic house church elders misled me for more than fifteen years. You're welcome to contact me directly for more information about this upcoming paperback.

THE WONDERFUL WORLD OF WORK, EH?

2012-02-03T15:47:00.003-07:00

The saying, "easier said than done" is true of practically every endeavour. Work is no exception to that aphorism. High school and post-secondary students are frequently presented with rosy images of employment in glamorous careers by recruiters from various industries, all touting their company's virtues.

In December of 1975, a CNIB representative extolled the benefits of Caterplan, an employment scheme designed to place blind individuals in cafeterias and kiosks, to a group of us teenage patrons visiting the headquarters in Toronto. Being in need of a job, I applied to Caterplan for work the next month.

In my How I Was Razed: A Journey from Cultism to Christianity memoir, I described my dismay when the promise of a rewarding career didn't immediately materialize. Here's an excerpt from my manuscript that describes what happened.

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The phone rang one morning in late January. A CNIB counsellor named Bob gave me the good news that I would be employed as a dish washer in the cafeteria at the Alberta Legislature. That afternoon, I had my long hair cut short and beard shaved off.

My joy turned to shock on the morning that I reported for work. Except for two coffee breaks and a short lunch, I continually loaded the large dish washing machine's conveyer belt with dirty dishes and dried them when they tumbled out the other end. Additionally, I scrubbed pots and checked the racks by the kitchen for more dirty dishes. The pressure never let up.

By the end of the day, I called Bob at the CNIB from the nearest pay phone. "I can't do this job. It goes too fast," I complained.

"Don't worry, Bruce, it takes time to get into the swing of things. You'll get better at it as the days pass."

"I hope you're right. I didn't realize dish washing would be this hard."

"Just keep working at it. We don't have any spare stands for you to work at now so you'll have to stay where you are."

I did my best to keep up with the demands of the job. Even so, a constant backlog of dirty dishes and angry co-workers badgered me.

"If you think this is busy, wait until the Legislature is in session," one woman admonished. "This will seem like a picnic."

The manager dismissed me at the end of the month. Though I beamed with pride as I held my first pay cheque, and knew that I had earned every penny of it, I lost much of my starry-eyed optimism for the wonderful world of work.

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How I Was Razed is the testimony of how God revealed his true character to me after charismatic house church elders misled me for more than fifteen years. You're welcome to contact me directly for more information about this upcoming paperback.

WALKING IN MY WINTER WONDERLAND.

2012-01-31T03:45:00.001-07:00

The cold, the dark, the endless snow: this is what winter is all about for us adults. Frost is a nuisance we scrape furiously from car windshields as we run late for work. Billows of crystals from car exhaust obscure our vision at times as we try to drive through the ruts of ice on the roads. Then there's the inevitable dead car battery that has to be jump-started. No wonder millions head to warmer countries and spend thousands each winter just to get away.

Not so for children. Snow is just fluffy stuff to them, perfect for building forts or snowmen. Icy sidewalks on slopes are great fun to slide down. Watching their breath rise in the cold winter air is an enjoyable game, as is pretending to be a fire-breathing dragon. Watching snow fall through the beam of a street light becomes a journey through the stars.

In my Deliverance from Jericho (Six Years in a Blind School) memoir, I wrote many vignettes about how I loved playing in the snow. Being from Alberta, what little snowfall Vancouver received reminded me of home. Much to my supervisor's dismay, my dorm mates and I frolicked in it while adult motorists cursed.

When I was home for Christmas, I usually enjoyed being out in sub-zero weather. Of course it wasn't fun when I froze my feet, as I did while exploring the creek by my home one afternoon. Apart from that, I felt proud to be an Albertan and being able to brave what others thought of as impossibly cold weather.

I'm no fan of winter these days. I hate having to dress like an Arctic explorer so I can take out the garbage. Shovelling snow may be good exercise but it gets old fast. By march, I'm tempted to leave the snow where it lies and let spring take care of it.

How I long for the warm sweet-scented breezes of May and the lazy afternoon heat of July. I miss the birdsong I hear coming through opened windows, magpies not withstanding of course. I long for the fresh scent of the air after a thunder storm. Waking to brilliant sunlight and retiring to bed as the sun sets is one of many fond memories I cling to during these long winter nights.

A BLACK-AND-WHITE EXAMPLE OF IGNORANCE.

2012-01-27T03:40:00.000-07:00

"How can you see if you're blind?" Certain uncharitable people have asked me this over the years as if they caught me in a lie. The fact is that I have partial sight, even though the Government of Canada considers me to be legally blind. I can only distinguish general objects, not details such as people's eye colour.

One striking example of fully-sighted folks misunderstanding my limitations happened in January of 1988. Being newly licensed as an amateur radio operator, I devoted much of my free time to the hobby. Every tuesday evening, the Northern Alberta Radio Club held an on-air meeting called a net. At the end of each one, people listed radio equipment that they had for sale or which they wanted to buy. When the controller of the net mentioned that a certain person had a black-and-white video camera for sale, I was the first one to express interest in buying it. The man selling the camera objected on the grounds that I was legally blind, but the net controller declared my offer to be an official bid.

I could feel the waves of hostility as I walked into the next meeting of the club with my money. The man with the camera sold me the device but I could tell he felt nothing but contempt for my audaciousness. After all, what possible use would a video camera be to somebody like me.

As it turned out, I did use that camera quite a bit. I made video letters for my sister, Diane, and a few home videos of me with my rabbit, Floppy. I even made videos for some electronic music tunes that I composed. I still have the camera to this day and it still works.

I've written about other occasions where my poor vision has caused consternation among my sighted associates. Many of these vignettes are included in my When a Man Loves a Rabbit (Learning and Living With Bunnies) and Deliverance from Jericho (Six Years in a Blind School) memoirs. Feel free to contact me directly or friend me on Facebook to learn more about these paperbacks.

THE EVOCATIVE SCENT OF COAL SMOKE.

2012-01-24T03:36:00.001-07:00

Why do certain scents bring back strong memories? I'm told it's because part of our brain associates smells with events. Scientists suppose it's a hold-over from our primitive ancestors. To me, it's a way to effectively catalogue experiences.

One of my favourite scent/memory pairings is the faint odour of coal smoke and the memory of an old friend's shack. Scotty, as everybody called him, was a bachelor who lived on some undeveloped land in my home town of Fort Saskatchewan. Being elderly, he was like a foster grandfather to my sister and me.

We grew so fond of this kindly gentleman that we helped him with his chores. One of those was hauling coal in from his shed. Diane and I often squabbled over who would get to do the coveted chore.

On some winter afternoons, Diane and I visited Scotty on our way home from school. His stove, the only source of heat, radiated a welcoming warmth as we squatted next to it. Watching the flames and glowing embers through its air vents gave me a feeling of contentment that a forced air furnace never could.

As I wrote in Deliverance from Jericho (Six Years in a Blind School), our beloved old friend passed away during a stormy winter night in 1964. His door blew open as he slept and ended his time on earth. I felt deeply saddened when Mom and Dad broke the news to me. Having never known either of my grandfathers, Scotty was the only senior adult who I related to then.

One of the houses here in Radway has a coal furnace, The scent of the smoke on the winter wind fills me with nostalgic memories as I walk to the post office and back home. My mind fills with images of my old friend, his cosy shack, and the winter afternoons Diane and I spent there.

THREE OF THE LONGEST JANUARIES I'VE EVER ENDURED.

2012-01-20T03:31:00.000-07:00

For most folks, January is the start of a new year. All their hopes and plans are neatly lined up, gleaming with promise. The old year is behind them as they plough forth into new ventures and adventures.

It wasn't like that for me in 1965, 1966, and 1967. Unlike most Canadian children, I was sent to Jericho Hill School for the Deaf and Blind for months at a stretch. The government only allowed me to go home during summer and Christmas. When I returned each January, I knew that I wouldn't set foot in my beloved home until the end of June.

Six months is a long time to be away from home, especially for children. I soon learned to cope by focusing on whatever difficulty or pleasure engaged me at the moment. Only at night or whenever supervisors allowed me to be alone did the thoughts of home return.

As the days passed, I took note of the changing seasons. Vancouver's sodden winters turned to spring as I busied myself with the demands of school and outings. Even so, homesickness plagued me from time to time.

Then came Easter and the soul-crushing burden of knowing that I couldn't go home like most of the inmates of that institution did. Substitute supervisors took pity on us from time to time but it was cold comfort to me.

The resumption of school took my mind off going home for a few weeks. But the arrival of June started me counting down the days until the night I'd sleep in my own bed again. Three weeks, two, one: each minute seemed slower than the last as that wonderful day approached.

Finally, the long-awaited day came. Having ridden in a bus, plane, and Dad's Volkswagen, I found myself once again in the home that I yearned for with such intensity.

January no longer torments me with the depressing prospect of a six-month exile or even a three-month-long one. After writing Deliverance from Jericho (Six Years in a Blind School), memories of those miserable years don't sting like they once did. Additionally, my parents eased my suffering by paying for my train ticket home twice. In 1970, the British Columbia government took pity on us Alberta kids and flew us home.

I've written many more vignettes of my time at that institution in my Deliverance from Jericho (Six Years in a Blind School) memoir. It, and When a Man Loves a Rabbit (Learning and Living With Bunnies), are available directly from me. I hope to have How I Was Razed: A Journey from Cultism to Christianity in print this year. Check out the information on the left hand side of this page or contact me directly for more information.

PREACHING TO THE CHOIR.

2012-01-17T02:53:00.000-07:00

This is a lesson that I learned after years of failure. People read what they're interested in, not what they ought to read. How did I learn this? I wrote two memoirs. The sales of these paperbacks aptly demonstrate the value of knowing your readership.

In 2006, I wrote When a Man Loves a Rabbit (Learning and Living With Bunnies). Because I knew of six-hundred folks who lived with house rabbits, I was able to sell approximately two-hundred-and-fifty copies. Blitzprint, the publisher, also sold some copies through their website. I have forty or so for sale at present.

My second memoir, Deliverance from Jericho (Six Years in a Blind School) was literally a different story. Due to a misunderstanding with my publisher, I ended up with a hundred-and-fifty copies. Sales of this paperback have been poor since its publication in 2007. No matter how I promoted it to groups dealing with social or historical issues, the copies gathered dust on my shelves.

Only one group of people expressed interest in the book. A considerable number of blind and visually-impaired readers wrote to me, asking if the book was in an accessible form. Unfortunately for me, I misjudged the sighted public's interest in my eye-witness account of life in a residential school for the blind. This is why I published only a print version of it. Furthermore, several blind folks wanted the book for free. My hope was to have the book pay for itself as When a Man Loves a Rabbit did.

These lessons are quite clear to me. I must write paper versions of books for those with sight, the inclination, and the money to buy them. I must also investigate e-books and their readability by blind customers's screen reader software. Crass though it sounds, preaching to the choir sells.

I hope to have How I Was Razed: A Journey from Cultism to Christianity published sometime this year. As it's my testimony of how God lead me to a proper understanding of himself and his Word, I believe it has much wider appeal than my previous books. Additionally, I hope it shows the importance of discipleship as well as the danger cults pose to new converts.

I'M GLAD I'M NOT THAT "MIELKE BOY."

2012-01-13T02:48:00.000-07:00

"Why aren't you like that Mielke boy?" my mom often exclaimed in exasperation whenever she ranted about my failings. "He can't see at all, yet he types his own letters and plays the piano. He gets such good grades too." If she thought this criticism would spur me on to achieve academic excellence, it had a much different effect.

"That Mielke Boy" who Mom esteemed at my expense was my schoolmate at Jericho Hill School for the Deaf and Blind in Vancouver, British Columbia. As his parents lived near the school, he was able to go home each evening. I had to board at that institution for months at a stretch. This fellow pupil could do no wrong in Mom's eyes. I feel sure she envied his parents for having such a brilliant son while she had lacklustre offspring.

If only Mom knew the rest of the story. My friend's parents were strict disciplinarians who stood for no nonsense. For example, talking at the dinner table was forbidden. So was any sort of frivolity inside the house. Even the living room was off limits to the children unless they were supervised. No wonder this pet of Mom's excelled at school.

The last time I spoke to "that Mielke boy" was in the summer of 1975. The change in him astonished me. He swore, listened to rock music (which his parents forbad), and proudly announced that he took drugs. The break between him and his parents caused such extreme hard feelings that they might never have reconciled.

My mom should have been grateful that I wasn't like her adored "Mielke boy." My marks were average and I graduated from high school, yet I turned out all right.

Though I forgave Mom and pray for her each day, the emotional damage she caused with her constant comparison of me to my school friend still hasn't healed after more than forty years. The lesson from this is clear. Parents should encourage, not discourage, their children. My friend and I would have felt far more affection toward our respective parents had they cheered us on in the good things we did rather than pick at our failures.

Deliverance from Jericho is filled with many more vignettes of what life was like in that government-run institution. These range from poignant experiences of homesickness to hilarious incidents of mischief. Please feel free to contact me directly as well.

"HANDING TICKETS OUT FOR GOD."

2012-01-10T02:39:00.000-07:00

Whenever I hear "Tiny Dancer" by Elton John, I'm reminded of the days when I handed out tracts on the streets of Edmonton. This fad was commonly practiced among evangelical Christians during the early seventies. This wasn't solely a Christian practice as other religious groups also handed out their handbills.

In my upcoming memoir called How I Was Razed: A Journey from Cultism to Christianity, I wrote about my introduction to this style of outreach ministry. Here's how it went.

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Though Thee Church had no overt evangelical mission program, some members encouraged me to share my faith through handing out tracts. my first experience of this practice happened late one January afternoon when Linda and I rode the bus downtown.

"Here's some tracts," she instructed. "Just walk down the street and hand people one," she instructed. "I'll be close by if you need any help with questions."

"I've never done this before," I said as I nervously fingered the slips of paper. "Is that all I have to do?"

"Yes. If the Spirit lays something on your heart, say whatever he tells you. Don't be afraid. Remember that Christ promised never to forsake us."

Most people I approached ignored my proffered slip of paper. When I held up one with the words "NOT TOO SHORT" on it, a sour-voiced old man said, "Not too short of money, I'll bet."

Knowing the false reputation among unbelievers of Christians constantly begging for donations, his remark stung. By the time I thought of a civil reply, the man had walked away.

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How I Was Razed is my testimony of how charismatic house church elders misled me for more than fifteen years. After leaving that congregation and turning my back on God for almost a decade, due to the lies that the cult taught about him, the Lord revealed his true nature to me. I now realize how blasphemous that house church's doctrines were.

You're also welcome to contact me directly for more information about my memoirs.

HAPPINESS IS HAVING YOUR OWN BEDROOM

2012-01-06T02:35:00.000-07:00

What a simple pleasure being in one's own private space is. As our family expanded and the three of us kids grew, the large bed upstairs no longer accommodated us like it once did.

Two years before I was sent to Jericho Hill School for the Deaf and Blind, my dad built a bedroom in the basement for my sister, Diane, and me. To a six-year-old boy who admired his less-than-perfect dad, this was a wonderful development.

Each weekday during the winter of 1962, I raced home from school during the lunch break to see what Dad had added to it. witnessing the progress he made thrilled me. I watched in fascination as he laid the floor boards down. Excitement filled me as he built the walls and hung sheetrock on them. When I asked why he was shoving pink blankets into the ceiling, he taught me about Fibreglass Pink insulation and how it kept out the cold. After a few coats of paint, it was done.

Diane and I were ecstatic the evening Dad let us into our new bedroom. Our excitement knew no bounds. We each had our own bed to sleep in. Additionally, our new room had robin's-egg blue walls, pinkish-brown floor tiles, and the wood trim was a natural pine colour.

But it wasn't ours to enter and leave as we pleased. Dad locked the door during the day and only let us in before bed. He claimed to have a magic key that would only work if we didn't peek. Diane disobeyed one evening and discovered that Dad just used a nail to disengage the lock.

From then on, we played happily in our own special place. Whenever my brother, Roy, was having one of his violent tantrums or my parents were fighting like caged animals, that bedroom became our sanctuary. During cold winter days, or when it was raining, Diane and I entertained ourselves there. Both of our parents resigned themselves to our steadfast wish to use the room for more than just a place to sleep.

Fifty years have come and gone since that thrilling evening when Dad presented our new bedroom to us. The house is now owned by strangers but I still remember it as it was in my childhood. If those people have children, I hope they enjoy our special hideaway as much as Diane and I did.

A NEW YEAR BUT SO WHAT?

2012-01-03T14:30:00.000-07:00

The way people act on New Year's Eve, a casual observer would assume that something absolutely awe-inspiring had happened. Somebody from another planet, if there are such beings, would be puzzled at the eruption of joy around the world since nothing but the date changes from year to year. The annual Times Square ritual is the most striking example of this.

I blogged before about one New Years Eve when Mom taught me that years have numbers when I was eight. The novelty of this discovery wore off soon when I found that the snow was just as deep and the air was just as cold outside my bedroom window on the first day of January as it had been the previous day.

A few years after I gave my life to Christ, I attended a house church that observed something called Watch Night Service. The leader often made predictions, much to the delight of his handful of loyal congregants. When the spell of this pseudo-prophet eventually wore off, I realized that his "revelations" were invariably wrong.

When I discarded my Christian beliefs for nine years, each first of January was like any other. I felt no reason to celebrate something as artificial as the changing of calendars. The only pleasant aspect for me was having a day off work.

My attitude about this passing of the years didn't change when I returned to Christ's fold in 1996. I still had the same problems and opportunities as always. All that changed for me was that I brought my concerns to the Lord in prayer rather than fuming about them to myself.

I still don't bother getting all excited about New Year's Day. I have my hopes, such as publishing How I Was Razed: A Journey from Cultism to Christianity, and perhaps they won't be thwarted.

Even so, I've learned that I must find work-arounds for the difficulties I face. Like Christ admonished, I'll take things one day at a time since there's enough trouble at present. I'll let tomorrow worry about itself. This is good stress-busting advice for us all.

HOW WE HAD A "REEL" GOOD TIME DURING CHRISTMAS.

2011-12-30T04:27:00.001-07:00

The festive season is supposed to be a time of unlimited happiness. Everybody knows that, right? The general expectation is that family and friends get together to exchange gifts and eat turkey. The last thing people expect or want is domestic conflict.

The holiday season isn't a joyous time for many in this age of marital contention and no-fault divorce. Christmas is one time of year when incidents of family violence, or the threat of it, peaks. Everybody - according to advertisers - is supposed to have the "perfect Christmas." That pressure sometimes causes quarrels to turn deadly.

In my Deliverance from Jericho (Six Years in a Blind School) memoir, I wrote about how we managed to have fun during the holidays in spite of the perpetual threat of family strife. In this excerpt from the book, I related how we coped with this omnipresent danger.

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Another source of entertainment for my family was an open reel tape recorder. While I was in Vancouver, Mom purchased it, along with a handful of reels, in order to tape Dad's tirades and play them to a lawyer or whomever did not believe he behaved as violently as she said. The machine was rarely used for its intended purpose but Diane and I thoroughly enjoyed using it. Hearing our voices coming out of the speaker was a sublime experience which kept us entranced for hours.

Diane interviewed me with the recorder one afternoon. First, I related how my day went when I left Jericho for Christmas vacation and how I met Dad at the airport.

"What did you eat for dinner on Friday night?" she asked next.

"Oh, the usual - fish and chips - but for dessert I think we had bananas instead of apples." "Sounds delicious."

"You bet." I said that about the bananas, not the supper.

"Have you been in the indoor swimming pool?" Diane continued.

"Yeah. I've been in there lots of times."

"Can you go ice skating?"

"No."

"Too bad."

"Do you play the piano?"

"Well, yeah, but I feel like quitting."

That recording was the only one to survive from the holiday. Because we only had a few reels of tape, we continually reused them.

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Deliverance from Jericho is filled with many more vignettes of what life was like in that government-run institution. These range from poignant experiences of homesickness to hilarious incidents of mischief. Read more about Deliverance from Jericho here. Please feel free to contact me directly as well.

THE PRESENT THAT MEANT SO MUCH.

2011-12-27T04:23:00.001-07:00

Have you ever given someone a gift that meant immeasurably more to that person than you ever expected it would? Though it eventually broke, the Christmas gift that my dad gave me in 1966 touched me deeply. This man, usually at the bar with his buddies, showed at least some recognition of how much I yearned to be with him. Perhaps he, in his sober moments, realized the bond all boys feel with their fathers.

This short excerpt from Deliverance from Jericho (Six Years in a Blind School) is one of many which demonstrated how deeply those rare acts of kindness from Dad touched me.

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I associated Volkswagens with my father because he had always driven that make of vehicle. Even though he was an alcoholic, I felt great affection for him. Consequently, when I opened my gifts on Christmas morning, I was delighted to find a battery-powered metallic brown toy Volkswagen.

"I would have given you a blue one but the store didn't have that colour," Dad informed me. Though it was brown, I treasured that toy.

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Deliverance from Jericho is filled with many more vignettes of what life was like in that government-run institution. These range from poignant experiences of homesickness to hilarious incidents of mischief. Read more about Deliverance from Jericho here. Please feel free to contact me directly as well.

BUNNIES AND KIDS DON'T MIX WELL.

2011-12-23T04:14:00.000-07:00

Unless a person is knowledgeable and willing to take care of an animal of any sort, never give one as a gift. I know this sounds harsh but it's for the creature's own well-being that I make this statement. Animals aren't toys but creatures with feelings and emotions. Rabbits are especially sensitive to noise and commotion. A pet given to somebody on a whim often ends up at a shelter or dead.

In When a Man Loves a Rabbit (Learning and Living With Bunnies), I wrote of the time when my sister, Diane, visited me with her two children. Like rabbits, I likewise dread noise and commotion. To my great relief, Logan and Linda behaved themselves. Here's how the visit went.

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Two days before Christmas, Diane and her children visited us. Harry was the first to greet them. He let Linda and Logan pet him and didn't seem too concerned. I was glad because he had hidden in the past whenever company stopped by.

Neutrino was the next rabbit they met. As we sat in the living room, he went up and sniffed the new humans in his domain.

"What's that stuff on his whiskers?" Logan asked.

I told him that Neutrino had something wrong with his nose and that it made him sneeze a lot.

Logan was full of questions.

"How come his fur is brown on his neck?"

"That's just the way it is," Diane explained. "Different breeds of rabbits have different colours of fur?just like cows."

"Does he drink all that?" Logan asked, pointing to two water bottles.

"That's to keep the tunnel still," I informed him. "Poor Neutrino doesn't like it when it keeps rolling away on him."

Then Logan wanted to know how to pick up a rabbit.

Because he was leery of small animals, I demonstrated with Neutrino by placing my hands under the bunny's chest and around his knees. Then I hugged his furry body close to my chest, so he couldn't wriggle.

"I wanna see him hop," Logan demanded.

I was tempted to tell him that would be cruel, but then Diane said, "Leave him alone. He'll hop if he wants to."

She took a few photos of us all, then we went to see Gideon.

"Look at his weird red eyeball!? Logan blurted, when he saw the bunny in my bedroom doorway.

Diane explained that some animals had red eyes and were called albinos.

As Logan petted Gideon's head, the bunny nervously pulled his ears together.

"How come he keeps doing that?" Logan wanted to know.

"Gideon's just nervous," I explained. "He's never met you before. That's why he's worried."

As Diane and her children were getting ready to leave, Linda admired my china cupboard full of bunny teapots and other things.

"You sure must love rabbits," she commented.

I wanted to explain to her how much those bunnies meant to me, but Diane needed to leave right away. I'm sure my three lads felt relieved once the company had left. Though I missed talking to Diane about the old days when we were kids, I breathed a sigh of relief as I made lunch and petted my lads.

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When a Man Loves a Rabbit is filled with many more fascinating stories of life with house bunnies. These vignettes range from the tragic to the hilarious. You're also welcome to contact me directly for more information.

HAY IS HAY, RIGHT?

2011-12-20T04:06:00.000-07:00

To most people, hay is hay. They don't know the difference between Alfalfa and grass hays such as Brome or Timothy. But there is a huge difference, one more importantly that impacts the health of pet rabbits.

Alfalfa is a legume, not a type of grass. The digestive system of rabbits is geared toward the low levels of nutrition and carbohydrates found in grass. Alfalfa contains much more of both supplying too much for a bunny to metabolize. The excess ends up as fat. Alfalfa, particularly the pelleted form, is geared toward fattening livestock in the prime of their lives.

As rabbits age, they need less nutrition and carbohydrates for growth. Like humans, overweight bunnies suffer from arthritis, congestive heart failure, and many other geriatric illnesses.

As I wrote in When a Man Loves a Rabbit (Learning and Living With Bunnies), I deliberately searched for growers of grass hay. I understood that my bunny, Gideon, needed roughage from a non-Alfalfa hay. My diligent search was rewarded, as this excerpt from my book shows.

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When December arrived, I discovered that I was almost out of hay. While talking with the woman who ran a grocery store, I learned about a farmer who grew the grass kind, not Alfalfa. I called the number and the farmer delivered the bails later that week. He only charged five dollars each and since he was so kind in hauling them to my house, I gave him a five-dollar tip.

I had taken a risk buying three bails, but fortunately the bunnies liked the hay. Poor Harry still had bouts of diarrhea and the grass hay seemed to help lessen them.

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When a Man Loves a Rabbit is filled with many more fascinating stories of life with house bunnies. These vignettes range from the tragic to the hilarious. You're also welcome to contact me directly for more information.

ANOTHER PARTY POOPED.

2011-12-16T03:05:00.001-07:00

A pox on these people who spoil parties! We've all known bossy individuals who had to make false accusations or order others around. Even worse, these sort of party-goers never seem to understand how odious they are to the rest.

I had little choice but to endure the rudeness of two attenders at a dorm party in December of 1968. In Deliverance from Jericho (Six Years in a Blind School), I wrote about the time two disagreeable people ruined what could have been an enjoyable evening. This is what happened.

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The supervisors held a Christmas party in the study one evening. The intermediate and senior girls were invited along with the senior boys. As I enjoyed a piece of chocolate cake, Mr. Moiarty said, "Take those and offer them around to the other kids." I hastily ate the piece I chose and walked around the room with the tray. I resented being imposed upon without warning but I obeyed.

Once I finished, I sat down. "Why did you have to take a bite out of my cake?" Tracy accused.

"I didn't do that," I protested. She turned her back and ignored me as I explained that I never touched her piece. "So much for the Christmas spirit," I thought.

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Deliverance from Jericho is filled with many more vignettes of what life was like in that government-run institution. These range from poignant experiences of homesickness to hilarious incidents of mischief. Read more about Deliverance from Jericho here. Please feel free to contact me directly as well.

AN UNWELCOME "TIN ANGEL" AT A CHRISTMAS PARTY.

2011-12-13T03:18:00.000-07:00

Parties are supposed to be fun and Christmas parties especially so, right? I discovered that isn't always the case. The guests at one school party were less than charitable toward me and a record I wanted played.

From Deliverance from Jericho (Six Years in a Blind School), here's what happened when I foolishly asked that my favourite disk be played to the end.

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It seemed as if I missed out on a fair amount of local news. No one told me that Jericho had a Student's Union until the organization held a Christmas party in the Music Room. Tracy and her blond senior dorm friend Patricia were the main supporters of the Union. Consequently, I felt absolutely no desire to join it.

I took a few of my favourite records, which I brought from home that autumn, to the party. Mom had recently purchased a big bag of seven-inch disks for a dime. Some of those obscure rock bands were surprisingly good.

Since I adored the song called "Tin Angel", I asked Patricia, who was the DJ, to play it. That was a mistake since the song lasted more than five minutes. Everybody, especially Patricia, wanted the record taken off halfway through the song but I begged to hear the whole tune. She reluctantly complied but I heard several partiers nearby sigh. Those less-than-subtle hints took much of the pleasure out of hearing my favourite song.

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Deliverance from Jericho is filled with many more vignettes of what life was like in that government-run institution. These range from poignant experiences of homesickness to hilarious incidents of mischief. Read more about Deliverance from Jericho here. Please feel free to contact me directly as well.

ADVENTURES IN ELECTRONIC MUSIC.

2011-12-09T02:59:00.000-07:00

I've blogged in the past about my love of electronic music, a genre not well known to most people. In fact, the work of one pioneering band of musicians from Germany inspired me to compose my own pieces. Though I'm far from being an accomplished musician, I did create some fascinating sonic landscapes. Some of my compositions were aired on radio stations in cities such as Moscow, Warsaw, Paris, and Helsinki.

In When a Man Loves a Rabbit (Learning and Living With Bunnies), I briefly mentioned my passion for this synthesizer-oriented music. Here's an excerpt that explains how I combined my twin loves of electronic music and bunnies.

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Over the past fifteen years, I had composed and recorded my own form of experimental music. My passion for that genre began in 1975 when I became an instant fan of Kraftwerk, a German electronic music group. I heard their hit, Autobahn, played on 630 CHED, Edmonton's rock music radio station, and I bought their first three albums.

Listening to them, I felt inspired to create my own sonic textures. Other electronic artists intimidated me with their racks of expensive synthesizers, but Kraftwerk's earlier music could be produced even by poor musicians.

During the late seventies, I had tinkered with various circuits and acoustic sound-making devices in my home. It was for my own amusement and I never mentioned it to my friends
because I never dreamed that anybody would be interested in my sort of compositions.

In December 1984, I discovered a program on CJSR radio called Departures. The host Marcel Dion played all sorts of fascinating compositions and he invited "home tapers" to submit their music for broadcast.

In March, 1985, believing that my work might have a chance of being played, I copied all of my experiments onto a cassette and hand-delivered it to Marcel while he was doing his program.

Those early recordings were very primitive, but as time passed, I bought better gear and improved my technique. During the summer of 1998, and in honour of my beloved Gideon, I recorded an album called Lagomorph.

The title refers to the family of animals comprising of rabbits, hares and pikas. When I visited a web page containing the word rabbit in different languages, I decided to title each of my new tunes with those names. It took me a few months to record and manufacture the album at home, partly due to my freelance writing work and also because of other interruptions.

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When a Man Loves a Rabbit is filled with many more fascinating stories of life with house bunnies. These vignettes range from the tragic to the hilarious. Read more about this memoir here. You're also welcome to contact me directly for more information.

I WAS SOAKED IN MORE WAYS THAN ONE.

2011-12-06T02:48:00.000-07:00

Time, money, loyalty, - I gave them all willingly to Thee Church (as I thought of it). And what did I get in return? The elders criticized and mislead me for more than fifteen years.

As I previously posted, I was a naive convert with no clue that not all who claim the name of Christ had my eternal welfare in mind. In this excerpt from my upcoming How I Was Razed: A Journey from Cultism to Christianity memoir, here is the first example of the erroneous expectations which the elders placed upon me - beginning at my baptism on this date in 1971.

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"Here's a bathrobe, Bruce," Sister Roberta said after the hymn. "Go upstairs to Sister Eileen's bathroom and change into your bathing suit."

When I walked into the church a few minutes later, I saw Brother Herald waiting by the tank for me. He and Jay removed the comforters and lid. Then Sister Roberta lifted a short wooden step ladder that stood to the left of the tank, lowered it into the water, and held it steady. Brother Herald and I removed our bathrobes and Sister Eileen placed them on the freezer. I took note of the way Brother Herald climbed into the tank so I wouldn't embarrass myself. Then I followed him in.

"We are gathered here tonight to witness the baptism into the name of Christ of this new member," Brother Herald intoned to the four congregants standing by the tank. "Let us pray. Lord Jesus, be with this young man as he accepts baptism into your family. In Jesus' name we pray this. Amen."

"Bruce," he gave me a penetrating stare, "are you ready to receive the baptism of Jesus Christ for the remission of sins?"

"Yes, I am ready to receive the baptism of Jesus Christ for the remission of sins."

"Then, in Jesus' name, I baptize you into the name of Christ. Receive the Holy Ghost."

I pinched my nostrils closed as Brother Herald pushed me backwards and held me under the water for a few seconds.

"Start speaking in tongues," Sister Roberta exhorted as my head broke the surface. Everybody except Brother Herald jabbered as I stood, awaiting the promised Holy Spirit to manifest.

"Come on, Bruce," Sister Eileen urged. "You've got to speak in tongues. Just say anything and let the Spirit take control."

"How do I do that? What if I say something wrong and don't know it?"

"Just let the Holy Spirit guide your tongue."

I spoke a few nonsense syllables as if to jump start the process but I sensed no supernatural change.

"Hallelujah! He's starting to speak in tongues," Sister Roberta blurted. This sent the congregants into an accelerated frenzy of babbling. In spite of all their efforts, I remained mute.

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How I Was Razed is my testimony of how charismatic house church elders misled me for more than fifteen years. After leaving that congregation and turning my back on God for almost a decade, due to the lies that the cult taught about him, he revealed his true nature to me. I now realize how blasphemous that house church's doctrines were.

Check out my previous memoirs here. You're also welcome to contact me directly for more information.

LIKE A LAM TO THE SLAUGHTER.

2011-12-02T14:33:00.000-07:00

It happens all the time. Some charismatic preacher sets up a church and claims to have direct revelations from God Almighty. Instead of targeting unbelievers, these wolves dressed in shepherd costumes prey upon naive converts.

Forty years ago, I was one of those wandering sheep. No mature Christian discipled me so I had no idea of what was true or false. This excerpt from my How I Was Razed: A Journey from Cultism to Christianity memoir shows how I was seduced by a false teacher.

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Three people looked me over as they sat at a rickety, brown card table in front of the pulpit.

"This is Sister Roberta and Sister Eileen," Jay said as he gestured toward a silver-haired woman wearing a flower print dress and her brunette daughter in a beige blouse and slacks. "And this is our minister, Brother Herald," he gestured toward a short, bullet-shaped man at the head of the table who sat with his back to the pulpit. He wore gold wire-rimmed glasses, a brown dress shirt, and grey suspenders with matching dress pants. His greyish-brown hair and moustache made him appear younger than his sixty-six years.

"We're about to start the meeting," Sister Roberta announced. "You better pull up a chair and sit down."

At first, Brother Herald's teaching style perturbed me. He spoke in a low monotonous rumble for many minutes, then his voice abruptly rose in volume and pitch as he pounded the table for effect. After startling us all, his voice dropped back to its normal level. This, and his laboured breathing, made listening a challenge in the beginning but I soon adjusted to his mannerisms.

By the end of the meeting, this man's preaching captivated me. I can't remember the subject of that particular lesson but I recall thinking that he explained arcane mysteries which ordinary ministers never preached. Only Garner Ted and Herbert W. Armstrong taught such revelatory doctrines on their radio and television programs called The World Tomorrow. Like Christ's audience when he finished preaching the "Sermon on the Mount" in Matthew 7:28 and 29, a sense of awe gripped me.

Though I gave my life to Christ at a Vacation Bible School in 1969, nobody discipled me until that evening. This was Thee Church, and my spiritual home, as I came to think of it.

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How I Was Razed is my testimony of how charismatic house church elders misled me for more than fifteen years. After leaving that congregation and turning my back on God for almost a decade, due to the lies that the cult taught about him, he revealed his true nature to me. I now realize how blasphemous that house church's doctrines were.

Check out my previous memoirs here. You're also welcome to contact me directly for more information.

WHAT HARM COULD A PEACE SYMBOL DO?

2011-11-28T03:08:00.001-07:00

Remember when people drew peace symbols in the sixties? Believe it or not, certain superstitious Christians believed that drawing one was an evil act. Moreover, they taught this superstitious nonsense to impressionable disciples as if it was some sort of commandment from God Almighty.

This was one of many ridiculous doctrines that I learned at a cultic house church. Being new to the faith, I didn't know what was biblical and what was bologna. Wanting with all of my heart to please God, I obeyed these sometimes painful injunctions.

Here's an excerpt from my upcoming How I Was Razed: A Journey from Cultism to Christianity memoir that shows not only how credulous I was but how misguided those church members were.

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Because nobody discipled me until I joined Thee Church, the Christian faith seemed to consist of many arbitrary customs and prohibitions. One of these was the drawing of certain symbols.

A few years previously, a cereal company offered free booklets depicting famous scenes from N.H.L. hockey games in each box. When the pages were flipped, the players seemed to move. Though I hated sports, I became enamoured with the concept of still pictures being arranged to produce a short animation.

During my first month at Jay and Linda's home, I realized that I too could make my own animated booklets. Whenever I had an evening with no homework to do, I sat at the kitchen table and drew each frame of my short animations. One of them displayed a peace symbol rolling like a wheel.

"Look at this, Jay. Isn't it cool?" I said after showing him how to animate the pictures.

He frowned at the booklet and then at me.

"You shouldn't draw this. Peace symbols are evil."

"Evil? How come?"

"It's an ancient pagan fertility sign. Christians should have nothing to do with it because it's of the Devil."

Not knowing any better, I sighed as I dropped my creation into the garbage and refrained from drawing peace symbols.

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How I Was Razed is my testimony of how charismatic house church elders misled me for more than fifteen years. After leaving that congregation and turning my back on God for almost a decade, due to the lies that the cult taught about him, he revealed his true nature to me. I now realize how blasphemous that house church's doctrines were.

Why books need pictures.

2011-11-25T02:59:00.000-07:00

Imagine if you couldn't read but you wished you could. Because I had no magnifying glass when I was a child, I could only enjoy the illustrations in regular print books. I was fortunate that the library at Jericho Hill School for the Deaf and Blind had a number of these with well-drawn illustrations. The multiple shelves of stories and encyclopedias would have been of no help to me otherwise.

I wrote about my discovery of the library's treasures in my Deliverance from Jericho (Six Years in a Blind School) memoir. Its books helped me endure the painful autumn of 1967 .

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In addition to studying, I began to borrow books from the school library. One described the lives of cavemen, including plenty of exciting drawings. I felt strongly tempted not to return the book. The print was too small for me to easily read without a magnifying glass but I did enjoy the illustrations. Of course, I eventually returned it.

The pictures in the dorm's encyclopedia were interesting to look at as well but the print was far too small to read. I especially liked leafing through the volume with the clear plastic pages displaying the human anatomy. Various internal organs were painted on each sheet. As I turned pages, I could see different parts of the body revealed.

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Deliverance from Jericho is filled with many more vignettes of what life was like in that government-run institution. These range from poignant experiences of homesickness to hilarious incidents of mischief. Read more about Deliverance from Jericho here. Please feel free to contact me directly as well.

LIKE A VOICE FROM ONE'S HOMELAND

2011-11-22T02:56:00.000-07:00

To an exile, hearing news from home is wonderful. I believe that I've earned the right to understand that feeling. When I was a child, the government of Alberta and British Columbia sent me to an institution because they assumed that I couldn't be taught at my local public school. Because I was among strangers in a strange province, I feel justified in empathising with outcasts and deportees.

In Deliverance from Jericho (Six Years in a Blind School), I wrote about how radio became my best friend in that uncaring asylum. It kept me sane and helped me momentarily forget how far from home I was.

One day in November of 1969, it also brought the feeling of home to me. Here's how that happened.

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The atmospheric conditions also provided a different type of sublime experience. On another foggy afternoon, I sat on my bed while tuning the dial of the vacuum tube radio. Suddenly, I discovered distant stations coming in. That was unusual since they generally were heard only at night. As I turned the tuning knob, I heard CFRN, one of the Edmonton radio stations. It seemed like a voice from home. A delightful nostalgia filled my heart. For that brief time, I felt connected to the place I loved.

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Deliverance from Jericho is filled with many more vignettes of what life was like in that government-run institution. These range from poignant experiences of homesickness to hilarious incidents of mischief. Read more about Deliverance from Jericho here. Please feel free to contact me directly as well.

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Deliverance from Jericho is filled with many more vignettes of what life was like in that government-run institution. These range from poignant experiences of homesickness to hilarious incidents of mischief. Read more about Deliverance from Jericho here. Please feel free to contact me directly as well.

THE COMPANIONSHIP OF ISOLATION.

2011-11-18T02:53:00.000-07:00

How can being isolated from people be sublime? When a person lives among uncaring strangers, being alone becomes a better restorative than merriment. The gospels record how Christ often left his disciples and spent hours communing with his heavenly Father in the wilderness. On occasions, we all need a break from our humdrum circumstances.

In November of 1969, I had an experience that seemed to transcend my mundane world of supervisors and dorm mates. It was as if I stepped into a different dimension or into another world.

This excerpt from Deliverance from Jericho (Six Years in a Blind School) describes how I came to sense something awesome for a brief moment.

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One asset of being a child is the gift of imagination which became very real to me one murky Saturday morning in the fog that Vancouver commonly experienced. I decided it might be fun to venture out onto the lawn below Tyler House.

"You better be careful not to get lost," Michael cautioned as I put on my coat.

"I won't," I assured him, "I can always just keep going until I come to a fence".

It was an awesome eerie experience as I walked until all the scenery vanished behind me. At one point, I stood on the lawn with no landmarks visible. All I could see in every direction was a twenty-foot circle of grass and the light grey fog. It was as if I was in my own little world. I imagined how wonderful it would be to have a planet all to myself where; no one would dominate or bother me. For a second however, a chill of fear went through me. I became unsure where I was in relation to the dorm. Then I remembered that I could walk to the top of the hill and find the dorm eventually.

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Deliverance from Jericho is filled with many more vignettes of what life was like in that government-run institution. These range from poignant experiences of homesickness to hilarious incidents of mischief. Read more about Deliverance from Jericho here. Please feel free to contact me directly as well.

SEE FOOTBALL THROUGH MY EYES.

2011-11-15T02:49:00.001-07:00

Imagine if you went to a football game but you couldn't see the field or hear a play-by-play announcer describing the action. Would you patiently sit there for a few hours or demand your money back?

This scenario isn't as far-fetched as you might think. My blind schoolmates and I endured hours of boredom at various sports events. We had no choice in the matter either. Supervisors and administrators decided we needed to attend games and that was that.

In my Deliverance from Jericho (Six Years in a Blind School) memoir, I wrote about one occasion when everybody at the game became unable to see the field. For a while, they experienced the same tedium we did at those outings.

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It was a rare occasion when the sighted public found themselves in the same situation as us visually impaired students. Our supervisors periodically took us to various UBC football and hockey games on weekday evenings and weekends. On one particular sunlit Saturday afternoon, Mr. Moiarty ordered everybody into the school bus. I sat in the bleachers and fumed as the game began. Football appeared to be a waste of a beautiful day. Since our supervisor seated us fairly high up, all I could see were tiny coloured blurs moving around the turf.

As I waited for the game to end, I noticed fog begin to obscure the field. It soon became so dense that play was stopped. I burst out laughing. For once, the sighted spectators and I were in the same position. Everyone needed to wait for the fog bank to roll through before play could resume.

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Deliverance from Jericho is filled with many more vignettes of what life was like in that government-run institution. These range from poignant experiences of homesickness to hilarious incidents of mischief. Read more about Deliverance from Jericho here. Please feel free to contact me directly as well.

A REMEMBRANCE OF A LIFE LESSON.

2011-11-11T02:45:00.001-07:00

We certainly have it good here in North America, even with the economy stagnating for the past few years. The blessings of peaceful prosperity that we've enjoyed for decades came at the price of the blood, sweat, tears, and lives of our military.

Because of these perennial benefits, children tend to think that they're entitled to have whatever they desire. I know this because I once felt that way when i was young.

From Deliverance from Jericho (Six Years in a Blind School), here's a turning point in my life when I learned that there are no free snacks, let alone lunch.

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During that autumn, I learned the hard way that life did not owe me a living. The weekend supervisor, a loud-voiced, heavy set, middle-aged, authoritarian whom I shall call Mr. Moiarty, took us to the beach one November afternoon. We walked along a road, which ran parallel to the ocean, for a few hours. We finally stopped at a kiosk selling candy and chips.

"Could you buy me one of these?" I asked our supervisor and pointed at the chocolate bars.

"Use your own money; I'm not your dad. This isn't the little kids dorm. You're supposed to buy your own candy. You can't expect people to always buy everything for you, you know," he chided. Mr. Moiarty's rebuke stung. I foolishly hoped some measure of grace would be extended to us and we could have a few more treats than usual but I realized then that I must make do with my allowance and could not expect help from others.

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Deliverance from Jericho is filled with many more vignettes of what life was like in that government-run institution. These range from poignant experiences of homesickness to hilarious incidents of mischief. Read more about Deliverance from Jericho here. Please feel free to contact me directly as well.

BEWARE OF FLYING HOCKEY PUCKS.

2011-11-08T02:31:00.000-07:00

As I've written before on my blog, supervisors and teachers at Jericho Hill School for the Deaf and Blind frequently took us to events which we couldn't enjoy due to our disability. Their "good deeds" were only for show. Escorting us to the Ice Capades, the circus, and sports events certainly must have looked good on their reports and created a favourable impression in the minds of their superiors. I'm sure that some of those civil servants meant well. For us though, outings meant sitting on hard benches for hours while the fully-sighted audience enjoyed the spectacle.

Though I hated sports when I was young, I was allowed to keep a souvenir from one game that I was forced to attend. Here's an excerpt from Deliverance from Jericho (Six Years in a Blind School) that tells how a hockey puck became mine one November afternoon.

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During one game, my boredom was abruptly interrupted. As I sat and yearned for the end of the third period, an object hit my chest and landed in the row in front of me. "Hey, it's a hockey puck," Brian exclaimed as he picked it up.

"So that's what hit my chest," I said as I rubbed the spot.

Brian pondered the puck in his hand and then said, "Well, I guess it should be yours since you're the one who got hit by it."

Though I thought the sport was a complete waste of time and effort, I felt excited to actually hold a real puck which was used in a game. That was one item I felt proud to take home from Vancouver to show my family.

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Deliverance from Jericho is filled with many more vignettes of what life was like in that government-run institution. These range from poignant experiences of homesickness to hilarious incidents of mischief. Read more about Deliverance from Jericho here. Please feel free to contact me directly as well.

VANDALS ALWAYS HAVE TO RUIN IT FOR THE REST.

2011-11-04T02:27:00.001-06:00

We've all experienced this, haven't we? Authorities revoke a wonderful privilege or ban a device because of one unthinking individual's rash behaviour. Our sense of injustice is multiplied when the perpetrator of the mischief receives little or no punishment.

This excerpt from Deliverance from Jericho (Six Years in a Blind School) shows how an expensive machine was ruined by one boy's bone-headed stunt.

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This room also contained a primitive print enlarging machine. Light from an incandescent bulb illuminated the page and lenses in a box projected it to a white translucent screen. This made reading more enjoyable. Furthermore, I discovered I could see my drawings in greater detail. Volcanoes were what I passionately enjoyed sketching at the time. I created my own "television shows" based on what I drew. I loved that machine and used it often that autumn.

I felt devastated when Jimmy yielded to a destructive urge and jumped off the top of the bookshelf one Saturday. He deliberately put his foot through that remarkable print enlarger. I don't recall if Jimmy received punishment for his vandalism but the school removed the machine and they never replaced it.

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Deliverance from Jericho is filled with many more vignettes of what life was like in that government-run institution. These range from poignant experiences of homesickness to hilarious incidents of mischief. Read more about Deliverance from Jericho here. Please feel free to contact me directly as well.

THE GREAT CANDY CONTEST OF 1967.

2011-11-01T02:23:00.000-06:00

Now that all the trick-or-treating is over, children across North America have an ample supply of goodies. Even so, parents usually dole out candies, peanuts, and other snacks to their children during the first weeks of this month. Though kids would rather eat as much of their halloween swag as they want, they understand that this rationing is for their own good.

In this excerpt from Deliverance from Jericho (Six Years in a Blind School), my fellow dorm mates and I received the rare privilege of keeping all of our halloween stash. This is what we wisely decided to do with our windfall.

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Those of us who were new to the dorm felt pleasantly surprised when no supervisor confiscated our goodies. For the first time at Jericho, the authorities actually trusted us with our Halloween treats. I stashed mine in my locker and rejoiced that my candies were not seized "for my own good."

"I don't know about you guys but I'm going to try and make my candies last," I announced the next evening.

"Yeah, let's have a contest to see who can make theirs last the longest," Geoffrey encouraged. All four of us roommates agreed and carefully hoarded our bootie. Though we had a monumental struggle to resist the siren call of the treats in our lockers, I felt proud of myself for being one of the last to run out of candy.

I grudgingly ate the apples first to prevent them from going bad, remembering all those "starving children in India" lectures from grownups. Apples weren't much of a treat compared to chocolates, popcorn balls, peanuts, caramel kisses, and other sweets but they were better than nothing.

This process of sorting and hoarding taught me to conserve my candy and make it last for a couple of weeks. Every single one of us prized the privilege of being trusted with our treats and did not want to lose it by becoming ill from overeating.

We did, however, yield to temptation in another matter. Weeks passed as we waited impatiently for someone to collect the UNICEF money boxes. I felt no qualms when I spent those pennies since I rationalized we were needy children too and deserved the cash. The other boys shamelessly spent their UNICEF donations as well.

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Deliverance from Jericho is filled with many more vignettes of what life was like in that government-run institution. These range from poignant experiences of homesickness to hilarious incidents of mischief. Read more about Deliverance from Jericho here. Please feel free to contact me directly as well.

KINDNESS FROM THE CRUEL.

2011-10-28T04:05:00.000-06:00

In previous blog posts, I've written and provided book excerpts about the cultic church I once attended. Though its members wounded my spirit many times with criticisms and assumptions about my supposed moral failings, they did help me from time to time as well. From How I Was Razed: A Journey from Cultism to Christianity, here is one example where the church leaders came to my rescue.

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The elders of Thee Church likewise demonstrated their care for me by celebrating my eighteenth birthday. After supper one Wednesday afternoon, Sister E handed me a bulky package. Inside it was a greyish-green down-filled winter parka with a blond fur trim on its hood.

"You looked so cold in that old, brown jacket your dad gave you so we bought this for you," Sister E said as I admired the coat.

"Thanks," I said as gratitude overwhelmed me. "This is really nice." When I tried it on, it fit well.

"Brother H also wrote a poem for you in this card," Sister R said as she handed it to me.

In my room later that evening, I opened up the envelope, pulled out the card, and studied it under my magnifying glass. Inside a boarder of flowers, Sister R typed several verses of Brother H's doggerel. Though he wrote about facing the trials of life, I burst out laughing at one line which read, "At least we know there's a man in there."

This act of kindness touched me deeply. In spite of Sister R's perennial criticism and Brother H's claim that I chose to have poor sight, the church leaders showed they cared about me.

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How I Was Razed is the testimony of how a cultic house church misled me, how I turned my back on God after I felt he perennially failed to heal my eyes, and how he graciously brought me to my senses. Feel free to click here to e-mail me for more information about my books.

NEVER ASK A LADY'S AGE?

2011-10-25T04:00:00.000-06:00

One thing I never understood when I was young was why everybody could ask my age but I couldn't ask how old a grown-up was. This hypocrisy was dramatically brought to my attention when I was sent to Jericho Hill School for the Deaf and Blind. I lacked the space to include this story in Deliverance from Jericho (Six Years in a Blind School) so I'm relating it here.

I forget where we were headed that hazy Saturday morning in October of 1964 but I remember that I and the others were going for a walk around the grounds with Mrs. Sandyford. She was our weekend supervisor. As we walked, she asked our ages.

Knowing little of the social morays of adults at the time, I innocently asked, "How old are you, Mrs. Sandyford?"

"You should never ask a lady's age," she admonished. "It's not polite."

"How come?"

"Well," she faltered, "you just shouldn't, that's all. Women don't like to be asked how old they are."

"How come?" I insisted.

She turned to another child and began talking to him. The way she wouldn't look at me and the tone in her voice suggested that I was being a naughty boy. I decided not to ask her any more questions.

Though women today are more open and less vain about their ages, I still am cautious about asking such personal questions. It really doesn't matter how old a person is in years. Maturity of attitude is the important factor in a person's character. I've met some mature children and some immature adults in my five decades of life. My hope is that I'm one person who others feel has learned wisdom.

Deliverance from Jericho contains many more vignettes of what life was like in that government-run institution. These range from poignant experiences of homesickness to hilarious incidents of mischief. Click here to read more about this compelling story. You're also welcome to contact me directly.

HUNTING FOR RARE GAME.

2011-10-21T03:56:00.000-06:00

In past posts, I've mentioned my passion for radio. It began with my discovery of distant stations on my dad's car radio when I was ten years old and continues to this day. Because my memoirs deal with subjects other than distant signal reception, referred to by radio aficionados as DX, I haven't been able to write much about this infatuation.

One aspect of hunting for DX is travelling to remote locations that are free of man-made interference. When I learned that my cousin, Wayne, was going hunting near Lodgepole in October of 1984, I begged a ride with him.

In a clearing along a cut line, I erected a seventy-foot-long wire antenna and connected it to my general coverage receiver which I powered with a car battery. While Wayne hunted moose, I tracked down exotic stations. Just as the fresh autumn air invigorated me, so did the crystal-clear reception of stations which I could barely hear back home.

At our makeshift camp site, I often let my cousin listen to the radio. This occasionally lead to some strange situations. As we ate breakfast early one morning, I tuned in a station from Papua New Guinea. To my astonishment, the announcer began playing country music. There we were, two Canadians in the Alberta wilderness, listening to American country tunes from a station on the other side of the Pacific ocean.

Another memorable radio moment happened one night when I picked up a coast guard station in contact with a ship somewhere in the Pacific. Somebody on board it was hurt and needed a doctor. The radio man could barely speak English and the American on shore could barely understand the sailor's accent. If it wasn't a serious situation, it would have been comical.

My uncle, Bob, who hunted in a different part of the forest, met us one evening as we relaxed by the fire. When he asked what I was doing with that fancy radio, I showed him by tuning in Deutsche Welle, Germany's international broadcaster. Uncle Bob gawked at the set and listened in awestruck silence for a minute. "I can understand that," he exclaimed as a news announcer droned on in German. "I can understand everything he's saying. How can you pick up a signal all the way from Germany?" he marvelled.

I couldn't even begin to explain the intricacies of F2 radio wave propagation to him so I said, "Signals like that always come in like that on the short wave bands."

I felt sad at the end of the week when we packed up and drove toward Edmonton. Though Wayne came back empty-handed, I had the fulfilling experience of listening to far away stations free of annoying buzzes from TV sets and power lines.

When a Man Loves a Rabbit (Learning and Living With Bunnies) and Deliverance from Jericho (Six Years in a Blind School) contain more examples of my love affair with radio. Click here to read more about these compelling memoirs. You may also contact me directly for further information about my books.

YOU KNOW YOUR DAD IS A CHEAPSKATE WHEN....

2011-10-18T03:45:00.000-06:00

When children of middle income families apply for welfare because their parents are too stingy to give them enough to live on, it's disgraceful. Though the Bible does teach that we should honour our parents, it also says that a person who doesn't care for his own is worse than an infidel. At the risk of dishonouring my father, here's why I ended up on the dole.

In October of 1974, I visited the Alberta Social Services office. The woman who interviewed me that afternoon began by asking why I was applying for Social Assistance. I explained that I attended a high school in edmonton that had special counsellors. They were tasked with helping visually-impaired students by reading assignments onto tape and assisting them in filling out test papers. My parents lived in Fort Saskatchewan, twenty miles north of the city. Due to the rapid rise of inflation the previous year, my allowance from my father barely paid the rent or bought enough food to fill me.

I gave her my address but when she asked for my phone number, I admitted that I couldn't afford one. After she sent another woman to visit my tiny furnished room to ensure that I was telling the truth, she gave me food vouchers and a cheque for the next month's rent.

I felt humiliated the first time I purchased groceries with a voucher. People behind me sighed and shuffled their feet impatiently as the cashier filled out the form and had me sign it. In spite of that humiliation, I finally had enough food to satisfy my teenage apatite.

Once I cashed the cheque, I set about to make my life easier. I had a telephone installed, bought an orange cardigan, and began buying fresh produce rather than the cheapest items in the store. No longer did I have to buy mint jelly because it was twenty cents cheaper than a jar of jam. Meat became a regular part of my diet. I could even afford the occasional block of cheese. Though I was dependent on the government, having money for the good things in life cheered me greatly.

In my Deliverance from Jericho (Six Years in a Blind School) and my upcoming How I Was Razed: A Journey from Cultism to Christianity memoirs, I mentioned my penury during those high school years. In upcoming blog posts, I'll be writing about topics that I could only hint at due to space limitations in those paperbacks. Read more about these compelling memoirs here. You're welcome to contact me directly for more information about my books.

A QUESTION OF QUESTIONABLE QUESTIONING.

2011-10-14T03:42:00.000-06:00

Perhaps some folks will disagree with me but I believe having partial vision is, in many ways, worse than being totally blind. Fully sighted folks seem better able to comprehend total blindness better than poor vision.

Throughout my life, I've had to explain my level of vision. Neighbourhood kids, mimicking parents and other sighted adults, held up fingers and asked me to count them. I hated that. It made me feel like some sort of freak. They also threw stones at me while calling, "blindie, and "four eyes." No wonder I often played alone.

My school days were likewise filled with incidents where pupils and teachers felt uncertain about what I could or couldn't see. At first, I was allowed to draw pictures and play with plasticine because the teacher believed I couldn't possibly be taught anything. When I started learning aurally, she showed me off to the principal as if some sort of miracle happened.

My freedom came to an end in 1964 when a government agent convinced my parents to send me to Jericho Hill School for the Deaf and Blind. They, never suspecting the institution's endemic sexual harassment of deaf children, sent me there for six long years. I only came home for Christmas, summer, and three Easters. Because the bar magnifying glasses they had there weren't of any help to me, somebody decided I should learn braille. I objected since I had enough vision to read with an eight power magnifying glass. My teachers soon gave up on me and let me read large print.

On September 16, 2011, I blogged about the pathetic vision aids that were provided to me by my parents in junior high and high school. My visual arts teacher gave me the first decent magnifying glass, a type similar to what jewellers use. Though some thug cut the combination lock on my locker and stole it, along with the monocular which I read the blackboard with, I managed to find similar visual aids through the Canadian National Institute for the Blind (CNIB).

I've also experienced similar challenges to my truthfulness in several workplaces and in personal relationships throughout my adult life. These are too numerous to mention here.

The crux of the matter is that people feel a sense of unease about me until I demonstrate how much or little I'm able to see. As I've explained in Deliverance from Jericho (Six Years in a Blind School) and to a lesser extent in When a Man Loves a Rabbit (Learning and Living With Bunnies), I see well enough to get around but I can't see details. I have to go close to something to tell what it is. I've also learned that there are always work-arounds to my difficulties. As long as I can, I intend to live as independently as possible.

PHANTOM VISION AND FALSE EXPECTATIONS.

2011-10-11T03:20:00.000-06:00

Self-delusion is a frightening force. It makes normally-rational human beings do the most irrational and monstrous things. From the followers of Jim Jones to the Taliban, the world has witnessed behaviour that no sane person would ever think of doing. Deception results in less-harmful irrationality but its grip is no less powerful.

I'm ashamed to admit it but I was deceived by the name-it-and-claim-it crowd. Not knowing any better, I joined a charismatic cult and became convinced that if I only had enough faith, I would be healed of my poor vision. Even when my left eye hemorrhaged in 1988, I still clung to a faint hope that the Lord would reward my faithfulness by performing a miracle.

From How I Was Razed: A Journey from Cultism to Christianity, here is how the illusion of vision in my left eye was shattered by an ophthalmologist's diagnosis.

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"Your hemorrhage is much worse," the doctor said in October. "I'll give you an alcohol block. That will kill the nerves and you won't feel any more pain after that."

"Won't that ruin what little vision I have in it?" I exclaimed

"You don't have any vision in that eye. It's blind."

"It can't be! I can still see light and dark with it."

"I'm telling you, Bruce, it's totally blind. Look," he said as he shone a flashlight in it. "Can you see anything?"

"No," I admitted with great reluctance. "Isn't there any sort of operation to fix it?"

"I'm sorry to say this but it's too far gone. You'll never see out of that eye again. Your pupil doesn't even dilate. Come in next week and I'll inject alcohol in that eyeball."

When I arrived home, I conducted an experiment to find out if the doctor was right. I stared at the chandelier when it was lit, covered my right eye with my hand, and switched off the lights. My left eye still saw a glow for a few seconds. My heart plummeted as I realized the horrible truth. My brain compensated for the blindness by imagining that the eye still saw light. Any hope of it seeing again died that day.

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How I Was Razed is the testimony of how a cultic house church misled me, how I turned my back on God after I felt he perennially failed to heal my eyes, and how he graciously brought me to my senses.

WHEN THEY STOP EATING, START WORRYING.

2011-10-07T03:14:00.000-06:00

People generally don't realize that rabbits must keep food flowing through their digestive systems. When they stop eating, toxins build up in their gut, leading to death. I made the mistake long ago of doing nothing about a bunny who stopped eating and he paid for my ignorance with his life. Spurred on by this tragedy, I learned techniques from my PetBunny and alt.pets.rabbits friends that would stimulate a bunny's apetite.

In my When a Man Loves a Rabbit (Learning and Living With Bunnies) memoir, I wrote about the time when one of my long-eared friends worried me when he became gravely ill in 2003. This is what happened when he refused to eat.

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In September, Harry developed his own case of gastro-intestinal stasis. I tried all the home remedies I could think of, but bribing him with lettuce, force-feeding canned pumpkin and rubbing his belly didn't help. The poor guy refused food for a week and I was sure he was going to die.

Then one morning, he had diarrhea. What a relief it was to see! It may sound strange to rejoice over liquid faecal puddles, but the diarrhea indicated that Harry's gut was working again. Of course, the downside was cleaning up the mess and enduring the smell. Still, it was a relief to see him eating heartily. And as a precaution, I made sure he had plenty of fresh hay in his litter box.

The diarrhea continued and poor Harry needed a severe cleaning. In spite of the expense, I took him to the vet for a haircut. He sulked for hours after that, but I felt good that he was free of his matted coat and fouled rear end.

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When a Man Loves a Rabbit contains many more fascinating stories of life with house bunnies. These range from the tragic to the hilarious. Click here to read more about this book and to order it. You're also welcome to click here to e-mail me directly for more information.

HOW I "BAGGED" A SQUIRREL

2011-10-04T03:03:00.001-06:00

In the previous post, I described how my house rabbit became alarmed when I put an exercise bike in my bedroom. The sudden appearance of this large foreign object in the place he considered safest completely flustered him. The thought of Gideon's astonishment still makes me chuckle. It reminds me of another time when an innocent prank caused a certain squirrel extreme consternation.

In the autumn of 1975, I boarded at the head office of the Canadian National Institute for the Blind in Toronto. After the weekday training and mobility course sessions, our instructors allowed us an hour of leisure time before supper. A fellow student casually remarked to me one afternoon that squirrels lived in the park behind the training centre. Having never seen those animals in the flesh, this gave me an idea. I bought some unsalted peanuts from a local convenience store, went to the park before supper, and scattered a handful around the bench. Then I sat down and waited.

After a minute, I heard rustling noises amid the leaves above me. Two black squirrels climbed timidly down the tree trunks, snatched the peanuts, and ran back up. They soon learned that I was harmless and that I provided a feast whenever I sat in the park. Before long, they not only stayed on the ground but boldly strolled within a foot of me.

My following of bushy-tailed freeloaders grew until I had half a dozen black squirrels, a few grey ones, and a tiny tawny fellow dining confidently at my feet. Encouraged by their acceptance of my hand-outs, I decided to test the limits of how hard they would work for treats. I placed peanuts on my shoe, on the bench next to me, and tossed them directly behind their tails. Finally, I placed a few peanuts in a paper bag and waited to see what would happen.

One bold black squirrel sniffed at the opening, then crawled inside to seize a peanut. Feeling the paper enveloping him, he panicked. The other squirrels scattered as a white object with a black behind zoomed across the lawn, spurred on by my raucous laughter. The moist grass weakened the paper so that it tore, freeing the frightened rodent. He raced for the nearest tree with all thoughts of peanuts forgotten. Though I hadn't intended to "bag" a squirrel that day, the trick provided me with a memorable highlight of my stay in Toronto.

Likewise, I treasure the memories of those pranks I once played on my house rabbits. Many hilarious vignettes, similar to this post, are included in my When a Man Loves a Rabbit (Learning and Living With Bunnies) memoir. Click here to read more about this book. You're also welcome to contact me directly for more information.

INVASION OF THE METAL MONSTER.

2011-09-30T03:42:00.002-06:00

Did you know that rabbits are suspicious of any changes in their territory? I discovered this by accident one day when I bought something at a garage sale and put it in my bedroom. Gideon, the house rabbit who taught me so much about his kind, reacted in a completely different way than I imagined when he discovered what I had bought.

From When a Man Loves a Rabbit (Learning and Living With Bunnies), here's the hilarious story of how my fur friend came nose to wheel with my purchase.

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On the same Saturday that Heather and Jason returned for the bunnies, I went to a neighbourhood garage sale. Among all the items in the driveway was an exercise bike. When I found out that it was only five dollars, I bought it. Then I realized that I'd have to lug it the three blocks back to my home.

As I consoled myself with the fact that it was a nice afternoon and that I had plenty of time, the woman who was looking after the sale took pity on me.

"How far do you live from here?" she asked. I told her."We could give you a lift home if you want."

Accepting her kind offer, I loaded my things into the car and the bike was in my bedroom in a matter of minutes. Meanwhile, Gideon was impatient to be freed from his cage and when I opened the door, he raced out to survey the house?not knowing what waited for him in his territory.

Once my sock hurler arrived at the bedroom door, he froze. The poor guy was shocked and it took him a few minutes to work up the nerve to approach and sniff the bluish-grey metallic monster. I had never before seen his ears so far forward or his pink eyes so wide open. He crept up to the metal invader and acted as if it would pounce on him at any moment. When it didn't move and attack him, he gave it an intense sniffing. A half hour later, Gideon was still leery of it, but eventually he became used to the exercise machine.

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When a Man Loves a Rabbit contains many more fascinating stories of life with house bunnies. These range from the tragic to the hilarious. Click here to read more about this book and to order it. You may also e-mail me directly if the comment form doesn't work.

THOSE TRICKS WEREN'T FOR US KIDS.

2011-09-27T03:36:00.002-06:00

Children usually forgive tricks played on them by adults. Lying is a different matter. The quickest way for an adult to lose the trust of children is to trick them with a lie and then refuse to apologize for it. I don't need a degree in child psychology to know this is true.

On September 20th, I posted an excerpt from Deliverance from Jericho (Six Years in a Blind School) about a singularly disagreeable supervisor charged with our care each weekday. Here's how he retaliated when we complained too much about the early morning runs he forced on us.

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The strain on Mr. Thynne of urging twelve reluctant boys to do his bidding finally took its toll. Everybody groaned and complained so bitterly that he gave up enforcing his exercise plan. He decided that, since we refused to exert ourselves voluntarily, he would trick us into it. We were relaxing after supper when he came rushing in and exclaimed, "There's a fire on Eighth Avenue! Quick! Come and see it! Hurry before it goes out!"

We all ran down the stairs, out of the dorm, and up to the gate in the chain-link fence. Those of us with vision glanced all around for smoke and flames. "Where's the fire?" several of us asked as we strained to detect any sign of a conflagration.

"I just said that to get you guys to exercise," Mr. Thynne admitted. We groaned in unison and trudged sheepishly back to the dorm.

Because Mr. Thynne's conduct and attitude disgusted us, we had no respect for him. We nicknamed our supervisor "pretty boy" and "Mr. Knackers" behind his back. Life was bad enough with Mr. Moiarty on the weekends but now this singularly disagreeable man was running our lives all week.

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Deliverance from Jericho contains many more vignettes of what life was like in that government-run institution. These range from poignant experiences of homesickness to hilarious incidents of mischief. Click here to read more about this compelling story. You may also e-mail me directly if the comment form doesn't work.

THE POINT OF NO RETURNING.

2011-09-23T03:27:00.003-06:00

Most children dread going back to school. Nevertheless, they accept it as an inevitable part of being a kid. Unlike regular students, I feared being sent back to my former residential institution for a far different reason. Though I attended a public school in Edmonton, beginning in 1970, and went home on weekends, a nagging worry haunted me that I would again be exiled five hundred miles from my family for months at a stretch.

In Deliverance from Jericho (Six Years in a Blind School), I described the ecstasy I felt when I suddenly realized that I would never be sent back to that soul-destroying institution. Here's what I wrote.

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The fear of being returned to Jericho lessened as I attended public school but it never quite disappeared. One September afternoon, a sudden realization struck me. The officials could no longer send me back to Jericho. That school only went up to grade ten. During the past two years, I managed to catch up with the rest of my schoolmates.

Because the public school curriculum was a year ahead of Jericho's, I needed to work hard at first in order to earn mediocre marks. Even so, my report cards conclusively proved that I could learn along with my sighted peers. I suddenly realized that I was fully integrated into the public system and had no need to fear being institutionalized again. The joy which swept over me was palpable. I danced around my housekeeping room for five minutes straight, gleeful that I was home to stay. "They can't send me back!" I repeated to myself. That was one of the happiest days of my high school years.

A teacher at Jericho had once told me that exceptional students did receive tutoring for grade eleven and twelve. I would have refused to go back to Jericho in any case since I proved my ability to learn in the public system. I was almost sixteen and conscious that I was a human being with rights. Though I did not matriculate, I passed grade twelve and received my diploma. My heart swelled with pride that I accomplished such a feat.

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Deliverance from Jericho contains many more vignettes of what life was like in that government-run institution. These range from poignant experiences of homesickness to hilarious incidents of mischief. Click here to read more about this compelling story. You may also e-mail me directly if the comment form doesn't work.

STALAG JERICHO

2011-09-20T03:21:00.003-06:00

Would I seem melodramatic if I occasionally refer to Jericho Hill School for the Deaf and Blind as a prison camp? It had no armed guards in towers equipped with machine guns. Neither did it have search lights, delousing stations, vicious guard dogs, and barbed wire around the perimeter. How then could I and my dorm mates call it a prison?

In Deliverance from Jericho (Six Years in a Blind School), I wrote about the unnatural way we were housed, fed, and poorly educated at that institution. The administrators micromanaged our activities so that we couldn't even go unescorted to the local store to buy chocolate bars. A supervisor took all of us there once a week like prisoners on a day pass. One particularly nasty "dorm parent" treated us like POWs, as I point out in the following excerpt.

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Back at the dorm, we had a new weekday supervisor whom I shall call Mr. Thynne. He was a tall man in his twenties, whose voice had an annoying whining quality to it. Everyone hated him almost instantly. One of his first unpopular ideas was to make us run up and down Eighth Avenue at seven o'clock in the morning.

The rising sun appeared as red as our eyes felt when we dressed hurriedly. "Come on, you lazy bums," he goaded as we struggled into our clothes, "You boys need to get your exercise."

When everybody lined up at the gate, he addressed us like a drill sergeant. "Listen to me. You boys will run each morning for fifteen minutes. It's not gonna kill you to do a little running." When we began to murmur, he said, "Stop whining. You boys don't get enough exercise so I'm going to make sure you do."

After the first few mornings of these pre-breakfast runs, even Charlie grumbled. Mr. Thynne refused to heed our pleas for rest and resorted to insults whenever we slowed down.

Michael summed up our feelings eloquently after one morning jog. "He's running this place like a bloody prison camp." All of us heartily agreed.

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Deliverance from Jericho contains many more vignettes of what life was like in that government-run institution. These range from poignant experiences of homesickness to hilarious incidents of mischief. Click here to read more about this compelling story. You may also e-mail me directly if the comment form doesn't work.

A SHORT-SIGHTED APPROACH TO PROVIDING VISION AIDS.

2011-09-16T03:16:00.002-06:00

Why didn't my parents buy me even basic visual aids before I attended grade eight? Any thinking person would have figured out that a boy with poor sight would need a monocular to read the blackboard and a proper magnifying glass for reading the textbooks. It wasn't until mid September of 1970 before my parents did anything to get the adaptive tools I needed.

From Deliverance from Jericho (Six Years in a Blind School), here is how I had to scrounge together or do without visual aids when I was reintegrated into the public school system.

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I was ill-equipped, from a visual aids standpoint, to enter the public system. Since teachers scrawled assignments on the blackboard without verbalizing what they wrote, I needed to ask somebody what the teacher had written. Mom solved this difficulty when she took me to the CNIB to purchase a monocular. This visual aid magnified distant objects, allowing me to read the blackboard.

Some solutions to my visual aids deficiency were improvised. When my landlady gave me a couple of magnifying glasses, neither one enlarged print to the size I needed. Then I made a discovery. If I placed both together, the text book print became legible. A few years later, Mom arranged for an optometrist to grind a strong magnifying glass for me. That made reading even easier since I did not need to hold both glasses together.

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Deliverance from Jericho contains many more vignettes of what life was like in that government-run institution. These range from poignant experiences of homesickness to hilarious incidents of mischief. Click here to read more about this compelling story. You may also e-mail me directly if the comment form doesn't work.

IT SEEMED LIKE A GOOD IDEA AT THE TIME.

2011-09-13T03:09:00.002-06:00

How many times have you rushed into something, then regretted it for years? This problem is common to all of us. Some people, including me, get fired up about some activity and become obsessed with involving others in it. Then reality sets in and brings us back down to earth with a resounding thud.

From Deliverance from Jericho (Six Years in a Blind School), here's an excerpt that shows how trusting and foolish I became when I had a pair of two-way radios.

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Back at the dorm that September, I thought I would have fun with my new walkie-talkies. I faced the same predicament as I did at home, namely finding somebody to use one at some distance from me. Charlie agreed to take one transceiver and walk to the top of the school grounds while I made my way down the hill. As I walked, I felt eager to learn how far I could travel and still communicate with him.

The experiment was going well until Charlie said, "I'm not going to give you back your walkie-talkie. I think I'll just keep it. What ya gonna do about that, Atchison?" Horrified, I begged him to return it. Once Charlie felt satisfied with my pleadings, he agreed to give it back. I never let any boy use the walkie-talkies after that. The two-way radios remained in my locker until Christmas. I removed the batteries and used them to power my broadcast receiver.

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Deliverance from Jericho contains many more vignettes of what life was like in that government-run institution. These range from poignant experiences of homesickness to hilarious incidents of mischief. Click here to read more about this compelling story. You may also e-mail me directly if the comment form doesn't work.

WELL-INTENTIONED DAMAGE

2011-09-09T03:02:00.002-06:00

I've heard that the road to hell is paved with good intentions. How true that is. We've all had some well-meaning friend or authority figure ruin something we spent hours making, toss out something we needed, or buy us an inappropriate present. Certain churlish individuals act out of spite but most folks just don't realize the consequences of their deeds.

The motives of those who sent me five hundred miles from home for months at a stretch might have been either honourable or malicious. Whatever they were, I left that institution socially stunted. From Deliverance from Jericho (Six Years in a Blind School), here's an excerpt that demonstrates the extent of my cultural deprivation.

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My social skills were likewise inadequate from being isolated in Jericho. As a result, I rarely gazed at people who spoke to me. My knowledge of etiquette, beyond saying "please" and "thank-you," was nonexistent. No one even taught me to hold doors open for ladies.

My conversation skills were similarly insufficient. I often answered questions without asking people any. My isolation made relating to sighted students and their activities difficult. They also regarded me as an oddity at best and a freak at worst.

Many of my social blunders were due to adopting mannerisms from the other children at Jericho. I often stared at the ceiling, rocked back and fourth, and held my head at an odd angle. These visually distracting habits were inoffensive to totally blind people but they bothered my sighted acquaintances.

Years later, a church friend told me that I was difficult to be with at first. "You're a likeable person now," she confided.

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Deliverance from Jericho contains many more vignettes of what life was like in that government-run institution. These range from poignant experiences of homesickness to hilarious incidents of mischief. Click here to read more about this compelling story. You
may also e-mail me directly if the comment form doesn't work.

THE BEST PLAYGROUND OF ALL.

2011-09-06T02:56:00.001-06:00

What was your favourite place to play when you were a child? For me, it was a tract of undeveloped land on a residential school compound. Armed with only my imagination, I spent many happy recesses and hours after school exploring it. In my mind, it became everything from Sherwood Forest to an alien planet. It also helped me fend off my chronic homesickness.

From Deliverance from Jericho (Six Years in a Blind School), here's an excerpt that tells how we lost that marvellous play area due to government officials and their uninformed idea of what sort of recreation we would enjoy.

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During my time at Jericho, I fell in love with the small forest behind the classrooms and the plain above it. Whenever I played in that undeveloped area, I felt free from the supervisors and their judgmental scrutiny. That natural wonderland became my refuge. Therefore, I felt absolutely horrified when I saw what had happened to it. Landscapers had ripped it up and put in sidewalks and shrubs. Worse yet, the grownups admonished everybody not to play in the shrubbery and to keep to the sidewalks. The plain above the school, once a wild mix of boulders and mud, now had sod, a cinder track for running, and a path for walking.

Other unwelcome changes took place too. The strip of lawn, which we used for soccer, was also gone from behind the school. Dirty grey sand and a few large rocks were spread in its place. A set of swings and teeter-totters were erected by the grade two classroom. Next to it, a pyramid-shaped wooden structure with a built-in slide had been constructed. Behind the Music Room a concrete bunker had been built. It had an open door on the lower level and a hole in the ceiling with a metal ladder going up to the roof. This was level with a sidewalk and a wall ran around the top of the edifice to prevent children from falling off.

Though playground equipment was installed, its novelty soon wore off. In fact, some boys only used the bunker as a convenient place to urinate. While we did play reluctantly on the new equipment, it was highly inferior to the natural playground we had lost.

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Deliverance from Jericho contains many more vignettes of what life was like in that government-run institution. These range from poignant experiences of homesickness to hilarious incidents of mischief.

THE COLD WIND OF FREEDOM.

2011-09-02T02:48:00.000-06:00

Remember back in 1991 when the Soviet Union collapsed? People in satellite countries and former USSR republics immediately found themselves without masters. For the first time in their lives, these folks had to make their own decisions rather than relying upon the government.

Like the former citizens of the Soviet Union, I had to learn quickly how to make my own personal decisions. In many cases, people assumed that I ought to know how to do this without being told. From Deliverance from Jericho (Six Years in a Blind School), here's an excerpt that demonstrates how unprepared I was in 1970 for freedom.

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Because of being cloistered at Jericho, I lacked the social graces and mobility skills which children learn as a matter of course. The culture shock of returning to the public school system proved difficult for me to cope with. The tumult from hundreds of children alone disoriented me. I forgot how loud the hallways became when classes ended. Since we now went to different rooms for every subject, I needed to learn quickly where each was.

As I habitually walked to school when I attended grade one in Fort Saskatchewan, I assumed that I was supposed to travel the same way to my new school. I came in late the first few days since I kept underestimating the time it would take to walk there.

My teacher sent me to the principal's office on the third morning. "You are expected to be in class on time. Why were you late again today?" he demanded as he glared at me through his black horn-rimmed glasses..

"I live fifteen blocks away and it takes a long time to walk that distance."

"Why don't you take the bus then?"

"I don't know how," I admitted as I stared at the floor.

"You'd better learn to take the bus or find a ride with someone. You can't keep coming late to school."

My mobility skills were so deficient that I had no clue regarding how to catch a bus. The first time I tried, I did not know where to deposit the fare. "Stop fooling around," the bus driver demanded as I searched for the box. In desperation, I placed the coins on his hat which he left on the dash board.

Nobody told me that I qualified for a special bus pass which would allow me to ride for free. "Why don't you have a CNIB pass?" one driver asked. "If you can't see well, you should be allowed to have one."

Mom set up an eye exam appointment and, once the proper forms were filled out, I was the proud owner of my own pass. The freedom of not having to pay fifteen cents per ride as well as being able to travel wherever I wanted delighted me.

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Deliverance from Jericho contains many more vignettes of what life was like in that government-run institution. These range from poignant experiences of homesickness to hilarious incidents of mischief. Click here to read more about this compelling story. You may also e-mail me directly if the comment form doesn't work.

A LITTLE KNOWLEDGE TRULY IS DANGEROUS.

2011-08-30T04:17:00.000-06:00

Whatever made me think I knew how to take care of rabbits? I once assumed that all they needed were alfalfa pellets, carrots, weeds, and water. I also figured that bunnies could only be kept in cages and that they thrived in tight quarters.

Many years later, the realization that I was abismally uninformed about the physical and psychological needs of these herbivores finally sunk in. The House Rabbit Handbook by Marinell Harriman proved to me the extent of my ignorance and gave me the resolve to care for bunnies properly in future.

In When a Man Loves a Rabbit (Learning and Living With Bunnies), I described how my lack of knowledge took the life of one sweet, handsome animal.

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In 1989, I bought a bunny from a breeder who built me a large hutch with sliding dropping pans. Since the bunny had medium brown fur with dark brown points, I named him Mr. Chocolate.

He was most likely an American Sable and had a patch of white fur on his left front paw as if there weren't enough pigment to go around. That disqualified him as a show rabbit. However, he was an affectionate and intelligent bunny.

One September evening, I gave Mr. Chocolate some stalks of stinkweed from the garden. He wolfed them down, as he did the dandelions and other greens which I habitually brought him.

When I went to feed him the next morning, he refused to eat his alfalfa pellets. Figuring Mr. Chocolate would soon eat again, I decided not to bother taking him to a vet. I'd heard somewhere
that certain animals occasionally go off their feed, so I waited for my bunny to resume eating.

Mr. Chocolate's health deteriorated and my new furry friend died about a year later from an intestinal blockage. After he died, I was depressed because my inaction had killed him. Though the rabbit had lived with me for only fifteen months, he had claimed a place in my heart and won me over with his charm.

Mr. Chocolate was so much a part of my daily routine that the house felt empty without him and I soon yearned to have another bunny.

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When a Man Loves a Rabbit contains many more fascinating stories of life with house bunnies. These range from the tragic to the hilarious. Click here to read more about this book and to order it. You may also e-mail me directly if the comment form doesn't work.

THE SOUND THAT CHANGED MY MUSICAL TASTE

2011-08-26T04:13:00.000-06:00

What was the sound that hooked you and changed your musical preferences? Was it Chuck Berry's guitar? Was it The Beatles' energetic pop songs? For me, it was an electronic device invented by Doctor Robert Moog. Having been somewhat of a maverick, unusual sounds often captured my attention. Imagine my delight therefore when I discovered music made from purely electronic sources.

In Deliverance from Jericho (Six Years in a Blind School), I wrote about the time when, in the summer of 1967, I heard a tune that turned me onto a whole genre of music.

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My family stayed home that summer. Even so, I kept busy with my own activities. One television station aired a show called University Of The Air. The content of the program soared far beyond my understanding but its theme music entranced me. It consisted of a simple melody played on a Moog synthesizer. I had never heard such intriguing music before. Each weekday morning, I tuned in the program so I could hear the music at the beginning and end of it.

This began my life-long love affair with electronic music. In those early days, albums featuring synthesizers were hard to find. Recordings of this genre were usually used in commercials or as program theme music. Whenever I heard that futuristic sound, I drank it in as a desert plant takes in the rain.

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Deliverance from Jericho contains many more vignettes of what life was like in that government-run institution. These range from poignant experiences of homesickness to hilarious incidents of mischief. Click here to read more about this compelling story. You may also e-mail me directly if the comment form doesn't work.

HOW TO RECEIVE DISTANT STATIONS WITHOUT CABLE OR SATELLITE.

2011-08-23T04:09:00.000-06:00

Have you ever tried turning the channel during summer mornings when the weather was excellent? Chances are that you discovered TV stations on normally vacant channels. You also may have found that the spaces between FM stations likewise come alive with broadcasters. Why does this happen? An atmospheric condition called tropospheric ducting funnels the very high frequency signals, that normally would go out into space, and carries them for hundreds of miles. Depending on the dome of high pressure over a given area, this can continue all morning. Once the air heats up and the wind starts, the duct is destroyed.

Being an avid radio listener and television watcher since early childhood, the lure of tuning in distant signals, not meant for our area, was too strong to resist. I wrote about my discovery of tropospheric ducting in Deliverance from Jericho (Six Years in a Blind School). During August of 1969, Alberta's fine weather provided me with weeks of long distance viewing entertainment.

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I discovered a new form of long distance television viewing that month. Stations located a couple of hundred miles away came in clearly during the early mornings of cloudless days. Though the stations rebroadcast the programming of the CTV and CBC networks, I felt thrilled to see channels seven through thirteen filled with signals. I learned from the station identifications that these repeaters were located in small towns in northern Alberta. A station from Lloydminster also came in one day.

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Deliverance from Jericho contains many more vignettes of what life was like in that government-run institution. These range from poignant experiences of homesickness to hilarious incidents of mischief. Click here to read more about this compelling story. You may also e-mail me directly if the comment form doesn't work.

GO FLY A KITE.

2011-08-19T04:00:00.000-06:00

Is it any wonder that my first experience of flying a kite was a dud? Enthusiasts know that you need a windy day, plenty of string, and a little patience to keep a kite aloft.

In Deliverance from Jericho (Six Years in a Blind School), I wrote of the experience that disillusioned me about the hobby.

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Towards the end of August, Dad bought us a small red kite. Deciding to play the father role for an afternoon, he put it in the back seat and drove my sisters and I out to a grassy field near the town. I had often heard how much fun flying kites was. Various books and television programs sang the praises of this activity. Since I had never flown a kite before, I anticipated having an exciting time.

"Throw it up in the air and run with it," Dad instructed. Diane and I took turns but the kite refused to become airborne.

"This is supposed to be fun?" I thought to myself as I towed that stick and plastic contraption behind me on its short string. After one try, I handed the kite to Diane and let her tire herself out with it. Since Linda was too young, she ran around the field with her own imaginary kite.

It was unfortunate that our father chose a cloudy and calm day for kite flying. Had it been windy, the activity might have been more enjoyable. Dad drove us home after a half hour. As I gazed out of the car's window, I thought kite flying was a colossal waste of time.

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Deliverance from Jericho contains many more vignettes of what life was like in that government-run institution. These range from poignant experiences of homesickness to hilarious incidents of mischief. Click here to read more about this compelling story. You may also e-mail me directly if the comment form doesn't work.

AN ODD SPOT FOR A GOOD TIME.

2011-08-16T03:57:00.000-06:00

What was your favourite candy store? In 1969, a wonderful little shop opened in downtown Fort Saskatchewan. The vast selection of candies, chocolates, and potato chips dazzled us each time we entered the place.

In Deliverance from Jericho (Six Years in a Blind School), I wrote of those wonderful days when my sisters and I strolled downtown, coins jingling in our pockets, envisioning those wonderful treats that would soon be ours.

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Though my family stayed home that summer, we were preoccupied with plenty of activities. A new candy and magazine store in town, called The Odd Spot, had opened. Whenever my siblings and I could beg some money from Mom or Dad, we would walk to the shop and then we would make our agonizing financial decisions. My sisters and I had a limited amount of money and far too many tempting choices.

My favourite candy was called Hippy Sippy. It came in a plastic bottle, had a straw to suck up the tiny coloured beads, and a badge was pinned to the label. Slogans like, "HIPPY SIPPY SAYS, HOW DOES THIS GRAB YOU?" were printed on each one.

Linda absolutely loved the new candy store. She chanted, "Odd Spot! Odd Spot!" whenever we put our shoes on to go uptown. Naturally, we needed to budget for her since children that age are incapable of knowing how little or much money can buy.

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Deliverance from Jericho contains many more vignettes of what life was like in that government-run institution. These range from poignant experiences of homesickness to hilarious incidents of mischief. Click here to read more about this compelling story. You may also e-mail me directly if the comment form doesn't work.

A PUPPY IN THE DOG DAYS OF SUMMER.

2011-08-12T03:53:00.000-06:00

Why do parents insist on giving children pets in order to teach them responsibility, then become disgusted when the children leave all the work to them? In far too many households, the same sad scenereo plays out year after year. Animal shelters overflow with once-loved creatures, yet the public never learns that teaching children responsibility takes constant reinforcement.

When I was young, we had a steady flow of cats passing through our home. Mom decided to get us a dog, presumibly to coax us to take care of him, but the same pattern of neglect continued. Here's an excerpt from Deliverance from Jericho (Six Years in a Blind School) that shows how ill-advised Mom's plan was.

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We received a learning experience of a different type in August. Mom adopted a puppy who we named Muffin. His fur was similar in colour to that type of bread while his ears partially flopped down the sides of his head. Diane, Linda, and I spent many happy hours playing with that obliging animal, but we were very mean to him. Along with the usual tricks played on unsuspecting pets, we once put Muffin on the teeter totter in our yard. He became so frightened that he left a puddle behind on the seat.

Muffin certainly was a devoted little creature. I once fell off of the fence in the front yard and he came bounding up to see if I had been hurt. As Diane and I thought this was humorous, we decided to train him to come when I fell. Bribing him with wieners worked only once. Muffin soon started coming for the treat and not because he was concerned about me.

Our puppy ate well while he was with us. Mom gave Muffin a bowl of scrambled eggs and chopped-up wieners one morning. He enjoyed it so much and danced so joyfully before being fed that we nicknamed the dish Muffin's Delight. We begged for a bite of it too. The combination tasted so delicious that we asked Mom to make Muffin's Delight every morning for us as well as for him.

As is often true, the novelty of having a pet wears off quickly. Mom assigned me the chore of walking Muffin. Soon I found that he refused to heel. Muffin once bit through the string on his collar and dashed away. I eventually caught the little rascal and carried him home. After a few walks up to a run-down barn-like garage, which Diane and I once thought was haunted, I grew weary of scolding that rambunctious puppy.

Mom decided to give Muffin away after a couple of weeks. We tired of walking him and none of us wanted to even fix his meals. Though the five of us felt sad to see Muffin go to another family, at least we were not burdened with caring for him anymore.

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Deliverance from Jericho contains many more vignettes of what life was like in that government-run institution. These range from poignant experiences of homesickness to hilarious incidents of mischief. Click here to read more about this compelling story. You may also e-mail me directly if the comment form doesn't work.

AVOIDING A CLASS REUNION IN HELL.

2011-08-09T03:48:00.000-06:00

Did you ever dread attending a class reunion? I certainly did but for reasons different from the average alumni. Having suffered a total of approximately 58 months at Jericho Hill School for the Deaf and Blind, the last thing I wanted was to set foot on the grounds of the institution that traumatized me for most of my life.

From Deliverance from Jericho (Six Years in a Blind School), here is how I was invited by one sycophantic graduate of that pseudo-school.

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In the summer of 1991, I received a call from Brian McIvor. Certain Jericho alumni arranged a reunion in Vancouver during the first weekend in August, on the grounds as well as at a downtown hotel. After describing the event, he asked if I wanted to attend it. Brian felt shocked at my emphatic refusal.

"Why don't you want to come? It's going to be fun," he enthused. How could I explain my profound hatred for Jericho in one phone conversation? I felt stunned that he, who attended it for years, was incapable of understanding why I despised that place. After a short argument concerning Jericho's merits, we hung up. As with David, I never heard from him again. I received a printed invitation to that school reunion in my mailbox as well. I tore it up and tossed it in the garbage after only reading a few words.

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Deliverance from Jericho contains many more vignettes of what life was like in that government-run institution. These range from poignant experiences of homesickness to hilarious incidents of mischief. Click here to read more about this compelling story. You may also e-mail me directly if the comment form doesn't work.

MOM NEEDED DOUGLAS ADAMS' "DON'T PANIC!" TOWELS.

2011-08-05T03:43:00.001-06:00

As I wrote in the previous post, Mom was easily alarmed by emergencies. Her hysterical nature caused me to hide whatever was wrong with me. I somehow believed I would get blamed for my malady. This could have been dangerous if I had some sort of fatal illness that came on gradually. Glaucoma, though not lethal, damages the optic nerve without the sufferer being aware of it. Had Mom taken me to an ophthalmologist in 1966 when I first started seeing rainbows around lights, my vision might be better today.

In Deliverance from Jericho (Six Years in a Blind School), I wrote about the time I innocently mentioned a temporary condition with my vision that caused Mom to panic.

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One evening a strange thing happened to my sight. I began seeing rainbow halos around the mercury vapour lights above the pool and my vision appeared foggy. Fear that it would remain that way seized me. Fortunately, the condition cleared up after I left the pool. I did not dare tell Mom about it as she became hysterical in times past regarding any sort of medical problem.

I recalled what happened a few years previously when we were all eating dinner. A white mist slid across my right eye. I blinked it away, fearing it might not go. "Hey, my eye's going funny," I announced to the family.

"Huh! What! What do you mean?" Mom demanded. The entire world came to a halt as everybody stared at me and I felt so frightened of her panic that I said nothing.

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Deliverance from Jericho contains many more vignettes of what life was like in that government-run institution. These range from poignant experiences of homesickness to hilarious incidents of mischief. Click here to read more about this compelling story. You may also e-mail me directly if the comment form doesn't work.

PARENTS MUST BE STRONG.

2011-08-02T06:50:00.000-06:00

It's a fact of life that children, especially boys, have accidents. They skin knees, burn their fingers, get scratched, and suffer a thousand other injuries. Distressing though it may be to a mother, these things happen.

In Deliverance from Jericho (Six Years in a Blind School), I wrote about how completely unprepared my mom was when I had an accident in the neighbour's yard.

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Another good example of Mom's inability to handle medical misfortunes happened in the first week of August. Diane and I were with the MacLeans in their front yard early one evening.

"Let's play piggyback," I suggested and everyone enthusiastically agreed. I climbed on Diane's back, riding her around the yard. Then we switched places.

I was doing my best to "giddy up" when I stumbled. Reflexively, I put out my left arm to shield myself from the fall. Unfortunately, that broke one of the bones between my elbow and wrist. I howled in pain as everybody stared. Diane helped me up and we both walked as briskly as possible to the house. I held my broken arm out to keep it from bumping against my side.

"Just rub it and it'll get better," Diane said as she gave it a vigorous massage. New waves of pain shot up my arm, causing me to howl even more as we walked through the side door of our house.

I walked carefully downstairs and laid on my bed, hoping my arm was only sprained. Knowing how hysterical Mom became when confronted with injuries, I thought I would leave it alone and wait for the swelling to go down.

"You get up here right now!" Mom bellowed from the upstairs landing.

"I'll be alright, Mom. I just need to lie down for a while." As Mom continued to holler at me, I reluctantly climbed the stairs.

She became frantic, as I feared, when she saw my arm, which obviously appeared broken. After she called the hospital, she raced to the living room door and yelled loud enough for the entire neighbourhood to hear, "You damn stupid kids broke Brucey's arm!" Fortunately, Dad was home at the time of my accident. He drove Mom and I to the emergency door of the hospital.

"Remove your trousers," a nurse said as I sat on the examining table. When I did so and handed them to her, a shower of rocks tumbled out of my pockets. I had gathered some interesting specimens before going to my neighbour's yard to play.

"I'm so sorry for the mess," Mom said. "My boy likes to collect rocks and things. You know how boys are." She had that tone in her voice which hinted that I was in big trouble later for humiliating her.

"Don't worry," the nurse soothed, "This sort of thing happens here all the time."

The anesthetist administered a general anesthetic and I went under immediately. I awoke in a dark room with my arm inside a hard and heavy object. "So this is a cast," I thought as I examined it with the fingers of my free hand. Then I drifted off to sleep.

The next morning, a nurse woke me. "How did you sleep and how's your arm feeling?" she asked after she brought in my breakfast.

"My arm doesn't hurt too much but it feels funny having this cast on," I admitted.

The hospital discharged me that afternoon. Linda danced excitedly around the living room when she saw me, obviously happy to have her big brother home. Diane, However, felt so guilty that she raced downstairs and hid in our bedroom.

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Deliverance from Jericho contains many more vignettes of what life was like in that government-run institution. These range from poignant experiences of homesickness to hilarious incidents of mischief. Click here to read more about this compelling story. You may also e-mail me directly if the comment form doesn't work.

T.V. MANIA.

2011-07-29T04:34:00.001-06:00

Would today's average North American boy become excited about his family purchasing a black-and-white television? Unless he had little in the way of amusements, probably not. It was a different story back in 1967. Children never dreamed of having high-tech marvels as computers, electronic games, and cell phones. If we were fortunate, our parents bought us tinny-sounding transistor radios.

In Deliverance from Jericho (Six Years in a Blind School), I wrote about how my dad's purchase of a new set excited me. It kept me feeling that way for weeks during that summer.

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Our old television died that summer. Dad decided to replace it with a new set. We had owned that television for over eleven years and repairs were costing us serious money. I felt privileged that Dad let me help choose a new television. Knowing nothing about prices, I kept picking the finest-looking and largest ones. Dad finally settled on a set with the words MONITOR 300 printed below the controls.

The new set was a pleasure to watch. The knobs from the old television had been lost and the channel selector required a pair of pliers. The new set displayed no vertical lines which marred black and white broadcasts. The brightness of its picture, compared to our old television, astonished me.

Drawing televisions and cutting pictures out of catalogues kept me busy too. This mania refused to release its hold on me. "If only I could have my own set," I wished repeatedly. I felt extremely eager to try an experiment. What would happen, I wondered, if a television was turned upside down. Would the picture stay the right way up? Naturally, Mom and Dad wouldn't let me perform that test with such a big-ticket item. I would have to wait until I became an adult to find out.

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Deliverance from Jericho contains many more vignettes of what life was like in that government-run institution. These range from poignant experiences of homesickness to hilarious incidents of mischief. Click here to read more about this compelling story. You may also e-mail me directly if the comment form doesn't work.

By the way, when I did turn a T.V. upside down, the picture stayed upside down too.

THE MYSTERIOUS PRESENT.

2011-07-26T04:29:00.000-06:00

When I boarded at Jericho Hill School for the Deaf and Blind, a local family let me stay at their place during certain weekends. I deeply appreciated their care for me, being that I was only allowed to return home during Christmas and summer holidays. Staying in their cosy home, rather than a utilitarian dorm, was a welcome break for me.

In Deliverance from Jericho (Six Years in a Blind School), I wrote about the mysterious gift this family gave me as a going away present for the summer. I had no clue what it would do until my mom helped me set it up.

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Before I left for the summer, the Rupert family gave me a strange gift of coloured plastic chunks and a bag filled with clear viscous liquid. Once I arrived home with them, Mom read the instructions and learned that it was a kit which would grow stalagmite-like objects in jars. She placed those coloured chunks of plastic in a clear fish bowl, mixed the liquid with water according to the instructions printed on the bag, and let the contents stand for a day.

Since the bowl was shallow, the stalactites resembled mushrooms. Even so, I thought the kit was amazing. "I wonder what other plastic objects would grow in there," I exclaimed as I gazed at the bowl.

"I don't know but the plastic needs to have a rough surface for it to grow," Mom said. She then placed the bowl on the fireplace mantel where I admired it whenever I walked past it.

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Deliverance from Jericho contains many more vignettes of what life was like in that government-run institution. These range from poignant experiences of homesickness to hilarious incidents of mischief. Click here to read more about this compelling story. You may also e-mail me directly if the comment form doesn't work.

polkamania.

2011-07-22T04:26:00.001-06:00

Apart from seniors and Weird Al Yankovic, does anybody like polka music anymore? Tuning across the radio dial, this genre is scarcely aired. Forty years or more ago, it was a different story. In fact, some television stations broadcast live polka performances each weekday.

In Deliverance from Jericho (Six Years in a Blind School), I wrote about the time when one of my favourite cartoons was replaced by a locally-produced polka program. Being a ten-year-old at the time, I didn't care that others might actually prefer different musical forms.

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This bingo segment came before The Noon Show, another of Mom's favourites. It featured a local polka band and was hosted live by the band leader who, apart from the show and a few records played on the country music radio station in Camrose, was not well known. The Noon Show replaced The Flintstones during July and August. This greatly enraged me.

"Why do they have to put that stupid program on, Mom?" I complained the first day it was aired.

"They played the cartoons for kids who ate lunch at home but now it's summer. Besides that, some people like that kind of music," Mom explained. I wished The Noon Show would go off the air and that all of us children could watch The Flintstones again.

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Deliverance from Jericho contains many more vignettes of what life was like in that government-run institution. These range from poignant experiences of homesickness to hilarious incidents of mischief. Click here to read more about this compelling story. You may also e-mail me directly if the comment form doesn't work.

CRUEL ACCUSATIONS OF DISABLED PEOPLE.

2011-07-19T04:19:00.000-06:00

Believe it or not, some misguided individuals actually blame disabled folks for having handicaps. Some Christian cults even teach their followers that a disability proves that the sufferer is being punished for unconfessed sin, a lack of faith, or ancestral sins. Even today, charismatic preachers, such as Benny Hinn, believe that any sort of deficiency or ailment is a result of the sufferer's insufficient faith to be healed.

In my upcoming How I Was Razed: A Journey from Cultism to Christianity memoir, I wrote about how the minister of that pseudo-church said, behind my back yet, that my lack of healing was due to lust.

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"May I borrow the tape of the meeting again?" I asked Sister R after the following Sunday Service.

She hesitated, looked away, and said, "You don't want to hear this."

"How come?" I asked as my frown deepened.

She paused again for a few seconds and bowed her head as she mumbled, "Brother H spoke about you during the meeting."

"Why can't I hear what he said? Don't I have the right to know?"

"Look -- will you promise not to take what he said the wrong way?"

"Yes. I really want to hear what he said about me." Sister R dragged her feet as she fetched the reel from the basement and handed it to me.

As soon as I arrived home, I threaded the tape on the machine. I enjoyed the recording until I heard Sister R ask, "Why isn't Bruce being healed? We've prayed faithfully for him but he still has poor sight."

Brother H drew a long breath and said, "The reason God hasn't given him full sight is because he lusts after it."

I gasped as if he had kicked me in the crotch.

"But can you blame him?" Brother H continued, his voice becoming choked with emotion. "To see his young playmates running around and not being able to join them when he was a child, it's no wonder he wants sight so badly."

Then he opened the scriptures to James 4:1 and read. "From whence come wars and fightings among you? Come they not hence, even of your lusts that war in your members? Ye lust, and have not: ye kill, and desire to have, and cannot obtain: ye fight and war, yet ye have not, because ye ask not. Ye ask, and receive not, because ye ask amiss, that ye may consume it upon your lusts."

Then he said something that wounded me even deeper. "There is also generational sin in his ancestry. I will not mention the scarlet lady, but we know that God punishes those who hate him to the third and fourth generation. It has been revealed to me that this is a generational sin but I have put a stop to it. His children will not be affected by this curse."

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How I Was Razed is the testimony of the way I was mislead by a cult church, how I turned my back on God after I felt he perennially failed to heal my eyes, and how he graciously brought me to my senses.

My previous books are now available for purchase online by clicking here. You can also click here to e-mail me directly as well.

MY FIRST EXPERIENCE WITH BUILT-IN OBSOLESCENCE

2011-07-15T01:19:00.000-06:00

When did you first discover the concept of built-in obsolescence? My first transistor radio was a precious gift from my parents. When a boy at Jericho Hill School for the Deaf and Blind pulled the ferrite rod antenna out of it, I assumed the repair\ man could fix it. After all, he fixed our T.V. many times.

In Deliverance From Jericho (Six Years in a Blind School), I described how I hoped my receiver could be repaired. This is what actually happened.

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Meanwhile, I begged Mom to have my radio fixed. One sunlit afternoon, we walked uptown to the repair shop. Mom placed my transistor portable on the counter and said, "My son's radio won't play. Can you fix it?" The technician opened the back and examined the receiver's innards for a minute.

"It would cost more to fix than the radio was worth," the man said as he handed back the receiver. I felt crushed. Arnold's wrong-headed tampering had irrevocably separated me from hearing the music I loved.

"Please buy me another radio," I begged as we walked home. "All the other kids have radios. Why can't I have one?"

"Because they cost a lot of money, that's why. You should have taken better care of your radio. Every time we give you something, it gets broken."

My thoughts were gloomy as Mom and I walked home. I hardly noticed the brilliant July afternoon. For the millionth time, I wished that boys would leave my possessions alone.

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Deliverance from Jericho contains many more vignettes of what life was like in that government-run institution. These range from poignant experiences of homesickness to hilarious incidents of mischief. Click here to read more about this book and to order it. You may also e-mail me directly if the comment form doesn't work.

FACING CONSEQUENCES

2011-07-12T01:13:00.000-06:00

"It seemed like a good idea at the time." That's one of many excuses people use to justify doing something stupid. I was no exception. In the spring of 1967, I encouraged some boys to throw rocks at the windows of an old shed. Not only did our supervisor send us to bed after supper for six weeks but our parents were billed for the damage we caused.

From Deliverance From Jericho (Six Years in a Blind School), this is what happened when I, not realizing what awaited me, arrived home that summer.

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All the way home, I anticipated the immense pleasure of having two whole months of summer freedom and fun. I was totally unprepared for a verbal assault when Mom called me into the kitchen. "What's this about you breaking windows at school?" she demanded. Guilt washed over me as I recalled the rock- throwing incident in May. "The school sent us a bill for twenty-six dollars," Mom snapped.

"How many windows did you break?"

"I don't know. A couple of other kids were breaking them too."

"Well then, why did we get this bill for twenty-six dollars?" she demanded as she shoved the letter in my face. As I had no answer to that question, I mutely stared at the floor. "I bet they sent all the parents of those kids the same bill," Mom surmised.

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Deliverance from Jericho contains many more vignettes of what life was like in that government-run institution. These range from poignant experiences of homesickness to hilarious incidents of mischief. Click here to read more about this book and to order it. You may also e-mail me directly if the comment form doesn't work.

PANDORA, THE CONQUEROR.

2011-07-08T03:55:00.000-06:00

Like people, animals can have characters ranging from passive to outgoing. Pandora was one rabbit who knew what she wanted and often plotted how to get it. In When a Man Loves a Rabbit (Learning and Living With Bunnies) I described just how forceful Pandora's personality was.

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The following evening, Pandora enjoyed exploring my bedroom. She boldly hopped in, checked out Gideon's socks and started shredding my fur-clad lad's stack of newspapers. She was so happy that she binkied and ran between the kitchen and the bedroom with the enthusiasm of a child at a playground.

When I stretched out on my stomach, Pandora jumped onto my back without hesitation and sniffed around. The feeling of four little feet hopping all over me almost made me burst out laughing. And then that adventuresome rabbit jumped up onto my bed and sniffed it thoroughly.

Since she was happy and well behaved, I let her explore my office the next day. Just as with the other conquered rooms, she ispected and chinned everything. Once she had left her scent on all prominent objects, such as doorposts and the suitcases where I stored my junk in, she became extremely frisky.

I'd only seen Gideon run the Bunny 500, so watching a ten-pound bunny dashing madly up and down the hall was quite an impressive, heart-warming sight. Then she flopped contentedly in the kitchen doorway and surveyed her newly expanded domain. Watching Pandora's happiness made me temporarily forget my lack of writing and music sales.

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When a Man Loves a Rabbit contains many more fascinating stories of life with house bunnies. These range from the tragic to the hilarious. Click here to read more about this book and to order it. You may also e-mail me directly if the comment form doesn't work.

THE FURTHER ADVENTURES OF PANDORA AND OTTO.

2011-07-05T03:49:00.001-06:00

Continuing from my previous post, here is another excerpt from When a Man Loves a Rabbit (Learning and Living With Bunnies) in which I describe the trials and tribulations of managing two opinionated bunnies and one who was easily frightened.

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The next afternoon, I let Pandora out of her cage first. To prevent her and my little prince from fighting, I used the NIC barrier to block the kitchen from the hall. Then I put Gideon on the other side, giving Pandora the run of the kitchen.

As if it were her place all along, she took over right away and hopped into Gideon's litter boxes. Then she chinned everything bearing my fur-clad lad's scent, went into his cage
and ate some of his treats. She even jumped into the recycle bin and shredded a few pages. Pandora seemed to have no shame and she took over Gideon's domain. There wasn't any place that girl wouldn't go.

Meanwhile, The Earl of Hurl inspected the hall and other rooms?perhaps looking for new strangers who might be lurking there. Once Gideon realized his route to the kitchen was blocked, he was frantic. The poor guy kept putting his paws on the NIC barrier and nosing around the base of it. He paced the hall, desperately trying to figure out how to get at the new bunny that was shamelessly using his property.

Sadly for him, I had completely blocked him off.

After some time, I took pity on the poor pink-eyed lad and locked Pandora up. Then I let Gideon back into the kitchen where he promptly chinned every spot where Pandora had left her scent. Both rabbits sniffed noses through the cage bars and I was ready with a pistol-grip water bottle, just in case one nipped the other's nose.

Luckily, nothing serious happened.

Then it was time to let Otto out for his exercise. True to his timid character, he cautiously explored his new surroundings. While Gideon thumped in his cage and Pandora supervised from hers, Otto inspected the litter boxes and Gideon's toys.

I didn't notice him chin anything.

When he sniffed at Pandora, she tried to bite his nose through the bars. I thought her naughtiness might be because she was jealous, so I let her out while Gideon continued to thump defiantly in his cage.

Things were going well until Pandora became a bit bossy. The bunnies scuffled, but there was none of that rolling and kicking which rabbits do when they're in mortal combat mode. I could see by their reactions to each other that letting the three
rabbits out together would cause quite a war.

When I put both guest bunnies back in their cages, I let Gideon out. He immediately hoovered every spot where the strangers had hopped. After all, it was his home.

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When a Man Loves a Rabbit contains many more fascinating stories of life with house bunnies. These range from the tragic to the hilarious. Click here to read more about this book and to order it. You may also e-mail me directly if the comment form doesn't work.

TAKIN' CARE OF BUNNIES.

2011-07-01T03:40:00.000-06:00

I recently posted about how I became a bunny-sitter in June of 1999. It was an interesting experience to say the least. I think I'll say the least too and let you get on reading this book excerpt from When a Man Loves a Rabbit (Learning and Living With Bunnies).

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My new responsibilities were totally different in character as well as looks. Otto was a timid Dutch rabbit with a thin blaze on his forehead. The poor bunny had been badly abused at his previous home and had never quite gotten over it. He was frightened by any sudden moves.

Pandora was a mixed breed and considerably larger than Otto. She had lovely white and caramel fur, and her left ear drooped, making her look comical. Pandora was adventurous and full of mischief, living up to her name.

Later that evening, I let Gideon out for his exercise, but I kept the other bunnies caged for their protection. I had heard that rabbits could fight so violently that combatants sometimes killed each other.

Initially, Gideon was extremely inquisitive. He hopped from one cage to the other, first sniffing Pandora and then Otto. True to her nature, Pandora became very interested in Gideon. In fact, it seemed like she was brazenly flirting with The Earl of Hurl. Otto just loafed in his cage for the most part, only sniffing a few times at my bunny boy's inquiring face. Meanwhile, I taped the bunnies and their cute reactions to each other.

Once the introductions were over, Gideon wasn't happy at all that his house had been invaded by two strange rabbits. He thumped almost continuously when his access to the foreigners from Calgary was denied.

I couldn't help laughing. It was as if he were a bar patron challenging new rivals to "step outside."

When I locked Gideon up for the night, he kept rattling the cage door at me and stomping angrily. I brushed my teeth and headed for bed, but I could still hear him thumping his defiance.

The poor guy yearned to mix it up with the two new strangers. I suspect he was eager to establish his dominance over them. And Gideon might have been pleased to find some of his own species in the house. It must have seemed like being an exile in a foreign land and suddenly finding a crowd of people who spoke his language.

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When a Man Loves a Rabbit contains many more fascinating stories of life with house bunnies. These range from the tragic to the hilarious. Click here to read more about this book and to order it. You may also e-mail me directly if the comment form doesn't work.

A BOY'S BETRAYED TRUST.

2011-06-27T03:35:00.000-06:00

Remember how adults told you when you were a child that you should trust them because they knew better? The sad truth is that some grown-ups have ulterior motives. Other times, they mean well but circumstances intervene.

When I turned eight years old, I received a silver dollar from my uncle, Bill. As I attended Jericho Hill School for the Deaf and Blind in Vancouver, my supervisor, who I respected, promised to look after the coin until June when I left for home. She held out her hand after Uncle Bill left and said, "A whole dollar is a lot of money for a little boy to keep. You might lose it or some one might take it"

In this excerpt from Deliverance From Jericho (Six Years in a Blind School), I wrote about what actually happened when I took the supervisor at her word.

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Before the seemingly interminable term ended, we received some sad news from a temporary staff member. "You'll be getting new supervisors next September. Miss Boyce won't be coming back," she announced as we sat in the Quiet Room. "Mrs. Sandyford won't be coming back either." My heart sank when I heard the news. I had occasional disagreements with those women but I still admired their fairness and kindness toward us.

Recalling the silver dollar which I received from Uncle Bill for my birthday, I asked the temporary supervisor for it. "I don't know what you're talking about. There's no silver dollar here," she said as she rummaged in the desk drawer. I felt crushed.

"How could it not be there? Miss Boyce promised me that I could have it in June when I went home."

"I told you it isn't here. Go play or something."

I shuffled broken-hearted to my bedroom, realizing the futility of arguing with this hireling. The coin may have been mislaid or given to another child. I had no way to prove what happened in any case. Even so, I felt betrayed by adults again.

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Deliverance from Jericho contains many more vignettes of what life was like in that government-run institution. These range from poignant experiences of homesickness to hilarious incidents of mischief. Click here to read more about this book and to order it. You may also e-mail me directly if the comment form doesn't work.

2011-06-24T04:25:00.000-06:00

Have you experienced your own version of Exodus? Most of us have in some small way or other. Whether we leave an abusive relationship or a miserable school, we all experience the profound relief of putting an unpleasant situation behind us.

In my Deliverance From Jericho (Six Years in a Blind School) memoir, I recounted the last time I left that uncaring institution to begin my life as a free student in public school. Had I known I would never return there, I would have been much happier. As it was, I felt glad just to be heading home for summer holidays. Here's how my exodus from Jericho went.

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After all the tedious school activities were over, it was time to pack our belongings. Along with my suitcases, I decided I would bring a shopping bag filled with whatever would not fit in my luggage. When we arrived at the airport, some of my possessions fell out of the bag at the precise moment when everybody was leaving the bus.

As I felt around under the seats, Mr. Thynne said, "You're holding us up. Why did you have to bring so much stuff anyway?" I managed to escape the bus with my luggage intact. Behind me I could hear the rest of the boys murmuring about how my accident made them late.

Apart from that mishap, my home coming was uneventful. The hard times were behind me for the moment and I knew I could relax for two glorious months.

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Deliverance from Jericho contains many more vignettes of what life was like in that government-run institution. These range from poignant experiences of homesickness to hilarious incidents of mischief. Click here to read more about this book and to order it. You may also e-mail me directly if the comment form doesn't work.

ONE CHILD'S VIEW OF PERFORMING.

2011-06-21T04:22:00.000-06:00

When I received my first piano lesson in the autumn of 1964, I had no idea I'd be performing on a stage the following june. The administrators of the blind school I attended expected this of all their students, no matter how talented or untalented they were. In Deliverance From Jericho (Six Years in a Blind School), I wrote about my musical debut.

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June seemed filled with activities. Jericho held its annual piano recital near the end of the month. Mrs. McMaster coached us on where in the program we would appear. I felt intimidated as she spoke since I disliked being on stage and worrying about making mistakes.

Our music teacher held a rehearsal in the music classroom on the day of the recital. I almost missed my part in the proceedings. During recess, I had so much fun playing in the sunlit forest that I lost track of time.

"I'm sorry I'm late," I said as I found a chair.

"It's alright. Your turn hasn't come yet," she reassured. I sat amazed as the other students took their turns playing the piano. I thought I would be in big trouble but our music teacher spoke kindly to me.

The officials held the main recital in the deaf students' auditorium that evening. Their classrooms and dorms were housed in an H-shaped structure, similar to ours, a few hundred metres past the gymnasium. Usually we never interacted with those children. Apart from staying in the infirmary, which was upstairs from the deaf boys' and girls' residences, and exploring the mainly-empty basement, I had not been in the rest of that building.

Mrs. McMaster called my name when my turn came. I walked nervously onto the stage and sat at the piano. "Well?" she coaxed when I hesitated, "play your piece."

I made a few mistakes as I played but I finished the tune. Some children became too nervous and quit halfway through. Being on stage for the first time was not as frightening as I imagined. I pitied the audience, though. One blind girl, after nine months, could only play that simplistic middle C tune which I easily mastered the previous September. It seemed pathetic to me that she made no progress after all that time. I learned later that she was mentally challenged. Regrettably, my opinion of her did not change until I grew up.

We finally went to sleep after ten o'clock, the usual bedtime rule being waved for that occasion. I felt relieved that the event was finally over and that I no longer needed to practice my piece.

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Deliverance from Jericho contains many more vignettes of what life was like in that government-run institution. These range from poignant experiences of homesickness to hilarious incidents of mischief. Click here to read more about this book and to order it. You may also e-mail me directly if the comment form doesn't work.

A TROPHY IS A TROPHY, NO MATTER HOW SMALL

2011-06-17T03:53:00.000-06:00

Though I have always disliked competitive sports, mainly because I wasn't much good at any, I actually did well on rare occasions. My first and only sports-related trophy was puny but winning it was a huge victory for me.

From Deliverance From Jericho (Six Years in a Blind School), here are two examples of how I hated losing but enjoyed one moment of victory.

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School resumed and the days dragged painfully by. An event called Sports Day was held at Jericho each June. Classes were cancelled and we participated in a variety of races and games. As I had never experienced that sort of activity at public school, I assumed it might be fun. However, I hated Sports Day almost immediately because I invariably came last or far behind in races. Charlie loved it and generally won first, second, or third place. The only enjoyable aspect of that event for me was the refreshments. The hot dogs and Kool-Aid we received that day were never served in the Dining Hall.

The Braille Rally, organized by the University of British Columbia Car Club, was the only enjoyable sports-related activity that I participated in that month. Each navigator received instructions which were supposed to be read to the driver. As I could not read the braille copy and the print was far too small for me to see, I held the pages for my partner as he drove. I do not recall if we came in first but I did win a trophy which had a man holding up a large ring on it. As I had never won an award before, that trophy was special, even though it stood only four inches tall.

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Deliverance from Jericho contains many more vignettes of what life was like in that government-run institution. These range from poignant experiences of homesickness to hilarious incidents of mischief. Click here to read more about this book and to order it. You may also e-mail me directly if the comment form doesn't work.

BRUCE, THE BUNNY-SITTER

2011-06-14T03:46:00.000-06:00

Taking care of people's pets can be fun as well as profitable. I learned that lesson when I looked after a friend's dog in June of 1978 while she and her children journeyed across Canada for a month. I also watched their house as well as worked her daughter's news paper and flower routes. Though I worked a full-time job at night as a security guard, I enjoyed all of my responsibilities that month.

Twenty one years later, another friend hired me to take care of her two rabbits while she went on vacation. Loving bunnies as much as I do, I felt overjoyed at the opportunity she offered.

From When a Man Loves a Rabbit (Learning and Living With Bunnies), Here's how this wonderful job opportunity came my way.

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One June morning in 1999, I was listening to my e-mail when a post caught my ear. A woman in Calgary, Alberta, was looking for a bunny-sitter. Heather owned two rabbits, Otto and Pandora. She was leaving for Europe for two months, so she could travel and see the total eclipse of the sun.

I volunteered to bunny-sit, partly to be of help, but also to have two more bunnies to love.

Heather arrived in Edmonton with her boyfriend Jason. She had brought two cages, pellets and other supplies along with her bunnies.

"Let's put them in the kitchen," I suggested. "I haven't properly rabbit-proofed the living room yet."

Heather agreed and we put Pandora's condo, a Neat Idea Cube or NIC, between the fridge and Gideon's cage. Otto was placed in a white cage with doors on the top. It was not the best kind of housing for a bunny, but it had to do.

"You can keep that cage if you want," Heather offered.

I thanked her, even though the PetBunny folks said such a cage wasn't the best for rabbits.

After Heather gave me the feeding instructions, she kissed her bunnies goodbye and then the three of us humans went for supper at Capital Pizza. Not only was the food good, but I enjoyed chatting with folks who actually thought of rabbits like companions instead of livestock.

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When a Man Loves a Rabbit contains many more fascinating the hilarious. Click here to read more about this book and to order it. You may also e-mail me directly if the comment form doesn't work.

ONE CHILD'S VIEW OF PERFORMING.

2011-06-10T01:19:00.000-06:00

WHEN A DIME WAS WORTH SOMETHING.

2011-06-07T03:27:00.000-06:00

What can a dime buy today? Apart from some small item at a garage sale, I know of no item that a person can purchase for only ten cents.

When I was a child, it purchased a chocolate bar, a bag of chips, a pay phone call, or a bottle of pop. Stores also sold a wide assortment of candies for a penny each.

In Deliverance From Jericho (Six Years in a Blind School), I wrote about how spending a dime put a damper on an otherwise thrilling event.

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On a sunlit evening, Mr. Dunston drove us to Seymour Mountain. Having never been to the top of one before, I stood amazed by the view. Higher peaks surrounded us but the mere idea of standing on a real mountaintop thrilled me.

The commercial aspect of the peak disappointed me however. After leaving the bus, we gathered around a coin-operated telescope. I tried to look through it but all I saw was blackness. "You have to put a dime in it," our supervisor said. Reluctantly parting with my precious coin, I peered through the lens. It was interesting to see all the various landmarks but the time ran out much too quickly. I felt disgusted that I wasted a dime on such a contraption. A chocolate bar or bag of candies would have lasted longer.

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Deliverance from Jericho contains many more vignettes of what life was like in that government-run institution. These range from poignant experiences of homesickness to hilarious incidents of mischief. Click here to read more about this book and to order it. You may also e-mail me directly if the comment form doesn't work.

THE SELF-IMPORTANT MAN.

2011-06-03T03:19:00.000-06:00

Know your audience. This maxim is what every public speaker needs to keep in mind. Since children have a limited attention span, this is especially true.

In Deliverance From Jericho (Six Years in a Blind School), I wrote about how our minders made us sit through a long speech before we went on a field trip. The following passages demonstrate what really mattered to us at the time.

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Another big event, from the adults' point of view, was the retirement of Mr. MacDonald. We were on the way to a class field trip one morning when our driver parked the bus next to the Administration Building. After approximately a half hour, the superintendent boarded the bus and stood next to the driver's seat. He made a long speech concerning how he served the school since 1934 and how much he would miss us. Then he announced that Mr. Bryce would be the superintendent in his place. Our new school principle would be a woman named Mrs. Corrigan, one of the few staff members who wore glasses and the only adult with auburn hair.

Mr. MacDonald's news astonished me. The possibility of a woman serving in such a position seemed bizarre. Men had always held those titles. Mr. MacDonald wrapped up his speech by telling us to be good and that he might come to visit from time to time. To our relief, he exited the bus and we continued on our way.

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Deliverance from Jericho contains many more vignettes of what life was like in that government-run institution. These range from poignant experiences of homesickness to hilarious incidents of mischief. Click here to read more about this book and to order it. You may also e-mail me directly if the comment form doesn't work.

JERICHO EXPOSED!

2011-05-31T02:59:00.000-06:00

In my previous post, I quoted part of a damning letter which somebody sent to the parents of the blind school I attended. Since it verifies my contention that the institution was run to make the government look good, I'm publishing the whole document here. Though it's long and rambling, it sheds light on a few of the many corrupt practices which occurred there for decades. I've corrected the mistakes which the O.C.R. program made when I scanned in this document but the writing style is that of the anonymous author.

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ATTENTION OF PARENTS OF CHILDREN AT JERICHO HILL SCHOOL:

This is a report written to expose to the Government Authorities and to parents the abhorrent practices which are currently enacted by the Administrative staff of Jerico Hill School. The reasons necessitating this report are not based on personality clashes but result from the sufferings, both physical and mental, which the children experience from an administrative staff, who daily become more lax and indifferent.

The casual observer, or even perhaps the professional investigator, might well conclude after a visit to the school and Resident Buildings, that the above observations are over-passionate and melodramatic. The floors are thoroughly polished, the lawns systematically mown, the children seem responsive and laugh appropriately, and the meals are well-cooked and nourishing.

Were I to go to the Victoria government, infuriated with a petty grievance that one of my Blind boys had been given 50 cents less than the requested amount in his weekly allowance, I would be laughed out of court; rightly. or wrongly. Were they to take such a small issue and demand an explanation from the Administration, the latter would be well equipped with a convincing answer. As Resident Instructors. we are less fortunate in being provided with the answers than the more influential outsider. On one occasion, when the Blind Boys' refrigerator had been removed for some unknown reason to Mrs. Pearson's office, (Mrs. Pearson is in charge of the Laundry) I was told by Mr. Armitage that it was "not for you to be given answers."

A further instance of how the Blind Intermediate and Senior Boys are being deprived occurred recently. For some months they received bread, peanut butter, tea, and other items for an evening snack around 9 p.m. On our return from a camp at Easter we see that Mr. Freemantle, shortly before his trip to Washington, has posted a notice to the effect that there were to be no further evening snacks, owing to such a disgusting mess of old food, which had been found in the dormitories. As Mr. Dustan (who is on the relief schedule) Mr. Jack, and myself personally supervised the evening snack, this 'reason' was unimpressive and certainly not justified. ***Further as Mr. Freemantle had left for Washington and Mr. Bryce ... [8 words were blacked out on the original document.] the Resident Instructors were given no opportunity to discuss the matter further. Incidently the girls , who were deprived of their snack for another reason, have now got their snack re-established. However we were 'appeased' with a vague promise that if we compiled a joint time-table for our evening snack, and submit this to Mr. Freemantle, we would conceivably get our snack back. That was done over a month ago and nothing has come of it, and now we will be fortunate if we get it in September.

Earlier I mentioned that the Blind Boys were deprived of their refrigerator. It is ironic that the excuse for ending the snack on account of alleged food-soiled dormitories is hardly made consistent by the removal of the fridge, the one available place for food which was taken some 2 weeks later. Now the Blind boys buy their own bottles of pop and chips, and consume them indiscriminately in the dormitories.

If explanations were to be given to the kids, at least this would provide some compensation, however inadequate. No explanation of a verbal nature has been given in regard to the snack-stoppage.

In early May, students from Simon-Fraser University wished to receive urine samples from each of the Blind Boys with regard to finding any chemical or genetic associations with their blindness. As the kids were given no formal explanation and no reassurance, their reluctance and embarrassment in giving a urine sample was to be fully appreciated. Several of the boys, whose blindness has been the result of an accident, need never have been involved.

Recently the Bowling Alley has been closed by Mr. Armitage: his involvement here seems strange, as he is the Business Manager. ***No reason was given as to why the Alley has been closed; the boys are further frustrated and one more activity is curtailed. No reason was given for the termination of the daily newspaper. Of course there is no reason as this is an expense paid for by the P.T.A. No reason was given the other day when the kids had to have their feet inspected at the Infirmary. (It was later established that Mr. Freemantle's children had warts on their feet.) No reason was given to all the Intermediate children when it was stipulated that their dormitory doors were to be left open. They resisted this new piece of "legislation" so firmly that the night-aid had no option but to leave the doors open. [I think he meant 'closed.]

At this stage the Reader may (Hopefully) be getting as depressed as the Writer. The task of making any headway seems remote and impossible. There may be a faint understanding of what is being described, a few sympathetic nods, but now there needs to be a complete realization that there is through and through corruption at Jerico Hill School. The argument that this is "just the government and what more can you expect?" is simply a valueless evasion. Nevertheless, this 'reason' is constantly given by the Administration. This merely excuses them for delays and contradictions, which the children suffer. Such delays and contradictions could be eliminated merely with Administrative effort and integrity; instead the kids suffer Administrative laziness and deceit.

Just the other evening I was told by Mr. Bryce not to let my boys wander off the pathways. He was unable to say what the purpose of the acres of available grass was, except there was a rule about it somewhere. Of course they are little more concerned with the rules, which are petty and clearly not meant to be enforceable, than the Resident Instructors. Again it is ironic that they themselves do not respect some of the rules which really matter. Frequently, Mr. Bryce does not appear until 2:30 p.m., when he should be there at 1 p.m. Of course the studies he is doing may be a reason, but this. regular absenteeism only furthers a breakdown in communications.

On May 17th. Mr. Freemantle appears at the sight of the newly-erected trampoline which straddles a pit some three feet apart. In a moment of clear hastiness, he ordered that the pit be filled in and that the boys be made to do it. The pit took the deaf boys and some partially-sighted boys 8 days to dig, and apparently Mr. Bryce had not notified Mr. Freemantle that the trampoline had been set up. Mr. Bryce, being in an embarrassing position, has said that the pit might stay open, but that Mr. Freemantle must not know about it.

***This leads into the next point, that there is acute mistrust among members of the Administration themselves. I have had frequent instances of their passing the blame onto another when a criticism has been levelled at them. Here then are some of the wretched practices to which the children are directly exposed. Most Resident Instructors would readily endorse it, but inevitably some of us have become infected with this widespread corruption. Some of the teachers feel as strongly as the Resident Instructors, but they are not as vulnerable as the latter, I know that Mr. Rose, the excellent and well-qualified Vice principal of the Deaf has encountered numerous frustrations, in the short time that he has been there.

To conclude, these are the questions that we try to give an answer to, in order to console the Resident boys and girls who are so bewildered. The trampoline should not be used, as Mr. Freemantle was angry; the Bowling Alley has been closed because Mr. Armitage has said it must be closed; you must give 'your urine because Mr. Freemantle has said so, and it is wanted for some tests (one blind boy asked me whether this would mean that they were going to have an operation). What is the real reason for the snacks ending? Why has Mrs. Pearson got all the keys to the Tyler House Boys' lockers, when they should be in the hands of the appropriate Instructors? Why are the drawers of the boys gone through regularly when nobody is present or on duty? Why should the children be made to walk on the paths, though there are acres of available grass? WhY is there so much resistance in letting the kids go on regular camps? One of the reasons is that Mr. Bryce complains he's not the bus driver.

WHY was Mr. Walter Lhortsky dismissed? That Was such a piece of white-collar crime that one hardly dares ask the question! It would be a rhetorical question to ask why has pressure been brought to bear on me to quit on my own accord. Other outspoken Instructors have been similarly pressured. Why has there been a vast turnover of Resident staff in the last year? (No knowledge of sign language does not seem to bother the Administration.) Why is there not careful assessment of a Resident Instructor's mentality and moral standards? At Jericho, the unspoken motto is: "Don't rock the boat, we live in splendid isolation (both from Victoria and the public)

In reference again to the deaf and blind boys and girls:

1. No audiograms

2. No vocational counsellor. (Mr. Freemantle has provided no
volunteer professional to cater for this)

3. No P.E. instructor, and Mr Freemantle has made no provision
for a substitute.

4. Inadequacy of Mr. Bryce.
a. fails to turn up for his hours.
b. cannot speak the deaf language efficiently.
C. physically and socially unfit for job.
d. reluctant to drive the bus.

5. No swim club. Stopped in September; this means the end of
the Olympic team.

6. Depriving them of dependable outside help.
I Heith Watson-Swimming.
II P.T.A. were asked to come and assist-Driving.

7. Complete supervision of outside activities-one camp
obtained for the girls with great difficulty.

Just a note regarding available sources of money: Why was the Resident Instructor not in receipt of petty cash, which can be used for items such as glue, Scotch tape, Strings, Labels, and a hundred-and-one other essentials. Each day, the Resident Instructor finds himself obligated to provide for small items, purchased from his own pocket. There are many points not even touched on, but I hope and pray that some light may have been thrown on an atrocious set-up at this school.

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Deliverance from Jericho contains many more vignettes of what life was like in that government-run institution. These range from poignant experiences of homesickness to hilarious incidents of mischief. Click here to read more about this book and to order it. You may also e-mail me directly if the comment form doesn't work.

DAMNED IF I DID AND DAMNED IF I DIDN'T.

2011-05-27T03:36:00.000-06:00

Have you ever had no choice but to be under the authority of somebody who perpetually criticized everything you did? This is a common affliction suffered by many. That sort of person often rises to prominent places in corporate and government organizational structures. People like that are motivated by the rush of making underlings jump as they bark commands. These individuals are obeyed by their subordinates but never truly liked by them.

In Deliverance From Jericho (Six Years in a Blind School), I recounted how many of the supervisors at that institution relished the thrill of bossing us boys around. It didn't even matter to some when we became ill. Below is one of many instances when a supervisor showed no compassion for me when I felt miserable.

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My hay fever persisted through May and June. I appeared to suffer attacks at the worst possible times. After school one afternoon, Mr. Moiarty sorted out the laundry, handing items of clothing out as he read aloud the names on the tags.

I tried in vain not to sniff as I stood with the other boys.

"Stop that sniffling! Go to the bathroom and blow your nose for crying out loud!" he roared.

"Who'll collect my clothes for me?

"I'll put them in a pile for you - just get out of here and go blow your nose."

As I hurried to the bathroom, I cursed my allergy and Mr. Moiarty's insensitivity. "If I left he would get mad and if I stayed he would get mad," I muttered to myself.

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Deliverance from Jericho contains many more vignettes of what life was like in that government-run institution. These range from poignant experiences of homesickness to hilarious incidents of mischief. Click here to read more about this book and to order it. You may also e-mail me directly if the comment form doesn't work.

A GLIMMER OF LIGHT IN A DARK TIME.

2011-05-24T03:32:00.000-06:00

Various victims of oppression have said that they found glimmers of joy even in the darkest of times. During war or imprisonment, I've heard that people discovered ways to have fun and even laughed at certain situations.

Though I've never been in a battle or a correctional facility, the authorities of Jericho Hill School for the Deaf and Blind repressed independent-minded children like me. From my Deliverance From Jericho (Six Years in a Blind School) memoir, here is one of those shining moments in an otherwise bleak time of my life.

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The school provided us with exercise of a different sort than the twenty-five-mile walk that May. One of the administrators took the trampoline out of storage and dug a pit for it near the gym. Mr. Moiarty marched everybody down to it one evening. Each of us took his turn on the trampoline. When Mr. Moiarty bounced, his heavier weight caused it to touch the water at the bottom of the pit. All of us, including our supervisor, laughed heartily at the absurdity of it all. As nobody else could make a splash, we begged Mr. Moiarty to jump as high as he could.

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Deliverance from Jericho contains many more vignettes of what life was like in that government-run institution. These range from poignant experiences of homesickness to hilarious incidents of mischief. Click here to read more about this book and to order it. You may also e-mail me directly if the comment form doesn't work.

TALK ABOUT JUNK SCIENCE!

2011-05-20T03:27:00.000-06:00

I've heard of some weird scientific studies but this one was perhaps the strangest of them all. While I attended Jericho Hill School for the Deaf and Blind in the late sixties, Our supervisor ordered us to give urine samples for some sort of study. We asked him why but he gave us no clear idea what it was all for.

Thanks to an anonymous letter to my parents, from a supervisor who complained about corruption at the school, I now understand what this mysterious business was about. Here's the relevant part of the letter:

In early May, students from Simon Fraser University wished to receive urine samples from each of the Blind BOYS with regard to finding any chemical or genetic associations with their blindness. As the kids were given no formal explanation, and no reassurance, their reluctance and embarrassment in giving a urine sample was to be fully appreciated. Several of the boys, whose blindness has been the result of an accident, need never have been involved.

At the time, I believed it was a professor at the University of British Columbia, not Simon Fraser students, who asked for the samples. Even so, I did feel some humiliation regarding what the supervisor ordered me to do.

From my Deliverance From Jericho (Six Years in a Blind School) memoir, which was written before I found out about the letter, here's what we thought of this oddball request.

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Occasionally, adults required of us tasks which appeared to make no sense. Somebody from UBC approached the school and asked for urine samples from the students. From what we could gather, it was a research project conducted by a professor. One afternoon, Mr. Moiarty marched us into the dorm bathroom and gave each of us a glass specimen bottle with a black lid. "Maybe they think they'll figure out a cure for blindness from this," Peter joked. We all laughed at the thought of such an absurd notion.

After we filled the jars and gave them to our supervisor, some were left over. "Can we keep these since they are unused?," I asked Mr. Moiarty. He consented and each of us who wanted a jar was allowed to take one. That surprised me since adults usually did not let children keep articles which were neither practical nor toys.

One game I enjoyed playing was filling the jar almost to the top with water, screwing the lid on tight, and swirling the contents around. By shaking it in a circular pattern, I made what looked like a tornado form in the bottle. I imagined it was a real twister as I shook the jar and held it close to my eyes. The ability to control such imaginary power helped take my mind off of my helplessness at Jericho.

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Deliverance from Jericho contains many more vignettes of what life was like in that government-run institution. These range from poignant experiences of homesickness to hilarious incidents of mischief. Click here to read more about this book and to order it. You may also e-mail me directly if the comment form doesn't work.

SUNBATHING BUNNIES.

2011-05-17T03:22:00.001-06:00

The public's lack of understanding regarding rabbits continually astonishes me. While riding in a friend's pickup truck recently, I mentioned to him that my dear companion, Carolyn, died of bloat last August. He was shocked as he only knew of cattle perishing from that malady.

This reaction of my acquaintances to the facts about house bunnies is no rare occurrence. People generally don't allow them a chance to be themselves. Most rabbits end up in tiny hutches with little social interaction. No wonder they withdraw into themselves and seem witless. Living with these misunderstood pets has taught me much. One of those surprising facts I've learned is that they love to sunbathe. During the months when the sunlight fell on the floors rather than on the walls, I've been treated to the sweet sight of bunnies contentedly flopped out like a human at the beach.

I wrote of how my long-eared companions enjoyed the simple pleasure of sunbathing in When a Man Loves a Rabbit (Learning and Living With Bunnies). Hear's an excerpt from my debut memoir in which I described one of many episodes of my furry friends soaking up the rays.

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That spring and summer, a sunbathing fad had set in at my house. Harry had found the sunlight by the stove. And as the morning sun shone into the living room each day, Neutrino discovered the pleasures of laying in it. Now I had three rabbits who loved lounging in patches of sunlight. I suppose it might have been age-related, but they all enjoyed soaking up the rays. When I had time, I'd lay with my bunnies and pet them.

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Since the publication of this book, I've adopted four bunnies. Whenever they had access to a patch of sunlight, I invariably found them either lounging contentedly or washing themselves.

Of course too much of a good thing could prove fatal. If you have a rabbit, make sure he or she can hop to a shaded area or, better yet, take the poor creature inside as a house pet. bunnies can overheat and die if left in temperatures above thirty degrees Celsius (ninety degrees Fahrenheit) for more than a few minutes. No animal-loving person would leave a dog or cat in an enclosure where she or he had no cool area to go to. Why then treat rabbits differently?

When a Man Loves a Rabbit contains many more fascinating stories of life with house bunnies. These range from the tragic to the hilarious. Click here to read more about this book and to order it. You may also e-mail me directly if the comment form doesn't work.

LET HIM WITHOUT SIN CAST THE FIRST STONE.

2011-05-13T15:07:00.002-06:00

In past posts, I've written about how the administrators at Jericho Hill School made our lives miserable with their arbitrary rules and callous attitude toward us. Though I suffered injustice along with the rest of the boys and girls, I deserved my punishment at times.

In my Deliverance From Jericho (Six Years in a Blind School) memoir, I wrote about the time I vandalized a storage shed and coaxed some other boys to help me. We were justly punished for our rebellion in that instance.

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One sunlit evening, I became obsessed with the idea that those windows in the shed next to the pool were begging to be broken. I figured that, since some panes were already shattered, no one would notice a few more.

I outlined my idea to a few boys standing next to the pop machine, urging them to join me. "We'll never have a chance like this again," I urged. "Someone already broke a few windows in that shed so what would a few more matter? Come on, guys, let's smash a few more. It's an old building anyway."

My audience appeared strangely reluctant, but they eventually gave in to my urging. We gathered handfuls of pebbles and started hurling. The windows shattered delightfully. We were happily breaking them when Jimmy ran toward us. "I'm telling on you guys," he threatened. We implored him not to but he refused to listen, turned, and sprinted toward the dorm. Since we were already in trouble, we threw one last volley of rocks.

Mrs. Parker strode out of the dorm full of wrath. "You boys are going to bed right after supper for six weeks," she announced. "You'll get no candy either." Our hearts crashed to the ground. Six weeks seemed such a long time and to be with out candy was pure torture. The penalty impacted me so thoroughly that I felt intense dread whenever I walked passed that shed on the way to and from the Dining Hall.

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Deliverance from Jericho contains many more vignettes of what life was like in that government-run institution. These range from poignant experiences of homesickness to hilarious incidents of mischief. Click here to read more about this book and to order it. You may also e-mail me directly if the comment form doesn't work.

EXPERIENCE IS THE BEST TEACHER

2011-05-13T01:36:00.000-06:00

Life has radically changed for the average person over the last hundred-and-fifty years. Our houses are now constructed by professional builders. We heat and cool our homes by adjusting a few controls. We cook dinner using radio waves. Most of us shop rather than grow, raise, and hunt for our own food too.

In my Deliverance From Jericho (Six Years in a Blind School) memoir, I wrote about a field trip in 1969 that gave my classmates and me a glimpse of what life in Canada's pioneer days was like. Of course, my classmates and I didn't have to work from sunup until sundown as the settlers did. Additionally, I wouldn't have envied their ability to burn wood in their stoves if I had to chop it first. Nevertheless, it was a lesson that I never forgot.

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On one of our school field trips, we went to a museum where they were constructing a replica of a log cabin. The curators invited us to help build it. I enjoyed splitting the precut cedar logs to make shakes for the roof. The way the wood split so easily along its grain fascinated me. In my previous attempts at cutting boards, I always sawed across the grain. The wood also gave off a wonderful aroma. I felt tempted to dawdle and inhale its scent.

The staff allowed us to handle some of the tools and examine the kitchen implements. The wood stove reminded me of the one Scotty owned except that his was coated in gold-coloured enamel. I envied folks who were able to burn wood in their stoves.

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Deliverance from Jericho contains many more vignettes of what life was like in that government-run institution. These range from poignant experiences of homesickness to hilarious incidents of mischief. Click here to read more about this book and to order it. You may also e-mail me directly if the comment form doesn't work.

TO BOLDLY GO WHERE NO TELEVISION SHOW HAD GONE BEFORE

2011-05-10T01:26:00.000-06:00

Remember the way science fiction T.V. programs were before the nineteen-sixties? Either the heros continually vanquished aggressive aliens or the shows were frivolous sitcoms. Then one aired in 1966 that took the science part seriously and even dared to examine social problems.

In Deliverance From Jericho (Six Years in a Blind School), I described how the cancellation of this show, a mere three years after it began, grieved me. During the days when television helped me temporarily escape the depressing surroundings of Jericho Hill School for the Deaf and Blind, the loss of this inspiring program hit me hard. Here's the excerpt from my book describing how I felt when I heard the sad announcement.

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The news came over my radio one day in April that Star Trek had been cancelled from the fall television line-up. Normally, the loss of a show did not bother me but I felt that program was special. Unlike Lost In Space and similar science fiction series, this one seemed to be, for lack of a better word, plausible.

Furthermore, Star Trek examined many social problems such as racism, conservation, and inequality. I felt sad that this show, which was optimistic about the future of humanity, was leaving the air. The Enterprise's five-year mission ended in only three.

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Deliverance from Jericho contains many more vignettes of what life was like in that government-run institution. These range from poignant experiences of homesickness to hilarious incidents of mischief. Click here to read more about this book and to order it. You may also e-mail me directly if the comment form doesn't work.

FRUGAL VERSES CHEAP.

2011-05-06T00:42:00.000-06:00

What's the difference between being frugal and being cheap? Frugal people understand that some expenses are necessary whereas a cheap person skimps on everything.

In When a Man Loves a Rabbit (Learning and Living With Bunnies), I learned the difference when I thought my home remedies were sufficient to cure my rabbit, Esther. Here's what happened in May of 2003 when I was too tight-fisted to call the vet.

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Several times during the winter, that naughty girl had ripped up the carpet. When I took down the beaded curtain and the door was back in its place, she started ripping up carpet in front of it.

In April 2003, she stopped eating and all my home made remedies didn't work. When I went with her to the vet, I was told that Esther had been ingesting the rug and the vet managed to dislodge a lump that was blocking her intestine.

Esther ate well for a few weeks and then stopped again

I was extremely fed up at being broke and having to pay bills that I tried to cure her at home. By early May, nothing had worked?not even rubbing her belly or giving her canned pumpkin through a syringe.

After breakfast one morning, I went down to the radio room to check on her. When I tried opening the door, something seemed to be blocking it. I pushed it hard, thinking that a bundle of junk mail had fallen over.

To my horror, it was Esther's body that jammed the door.

She lay next to a puddle of pumpkin that had risen in her throat .I mentally kicked myself because I should have taken her to the vet again, but I'd been too cheap.

I resolved then and there not to adopt any more pets of any kind, until I was in a better financial position and had a reliable way to get medical help for them.

Then I wept.

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When a Man Loves a Rabbit contains many more fascinating stories of life with house bunnies. These range from the tragic to the hilarious. Click here to read more about this book and to order it. You may also e-mail me directly if the comment form doesn't work.

ANOTHER Unforgettable SUPERVISOR.

2011-05-03T16:32:00.002-06:00

In my previous post, I mentioned a supervisor at Jericho Hill School for the Deaf and Blind who made me wait in her car for an hour and all for wearing the wrong sort of shoes. Among the apathetic or downright hostile personnel at that institution, a few actually cared about us boys.

From Deliverance From Jericho (Six Years in a Blind School), I present this story of how one man took the time to encourage me, even though I didn't appreciate it at the time. In this excerpt, I returned to the institution after going home for Easter. This man helped me face another ten-week exile from my family in Fort Saskatchewan, Alberta.

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A new weekday supervisor appeared at the dorm. I liked him immediately. Mr. Duberry was a relatively young, dark-haired gentleman from England. His accent made it hard at first for us to understand what he said. This led to more of the same humorous confusion of terms as we had with Mrs. Fletcher. One example was when I showed him a plastic ball which I painted with model paint. He kept pronouncing the word "bowl" which caused me to wonder how bowls related to my handiwork.

Mr. Duberry treated us equitably and took an interest in our personal growth. I must admit he did annoy me with his lectures at times. When I complained about the school and how I wished I was home, he would invariably say, "There are worse places for a lad to be than here. Make something of yourself and look on the bright side of life. Use your initiative and take advantage of your opportunities. You have your whole life ahead of you."

I remained silent and stared at the floor when he made statements like those. His advice changed nothing in my world. This man was free to go wherever he pleased whereas I had no choice but to attend Jericho.

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In July of 1968, Mr Duberry wrote my parents. In his letter, he urged them to remove me from that school because it was destroying my character. I also received an anonymous document condemning abuses of power at Jericho. I suspect it was written by this decent gentleman. Since he was replaced by a mean-spirited supervisor in September, I suspect that the administration fired him for not protesting their dishonesty.

Deliverance from Jericho contains many more vignettes of what life was like in that government-run institution. These range from poignant experiences of homesickness to hilarious incidents of mischief. Click here to read more about this book and to order it. You may also e-mail me directly if the comment form doesn't work.

ONE MISTAKE WAS ONE TOO MANY FOR ONE SUPERVISOR.

2011-04-29T01:35:00.000-06:00

Have you ever been left alone in a car when you were young? It's one of the worst things a parent or guardian can do to children. Apart from the danger of paedophiles, confining them to the car without supervision is a form of psychological abuse.

In my Deliverance From Jericho (Six Years in a Blind School) memoir, I wrote of the times when adults, who ought to have known better, left me alone in a vehicle while they enjoyed themselves. In this excerpt, I was punished by a mean supervisor at Jericho Hill School for the Deaf and Blind because I put on the wrong kind of shoes.

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I upset Mrs. Parker often and this Easter was no exception. One rainy afternoon, she drove us to Stanley Park. As I stepped out of the car, she noticed I wore the wrong type of shoes. "I told you to put on your rubbers. Can't you do anything right?" I sat in the back seat, feeling wretched.

"Since you're so stupid and dense, you'll have to sit in this car and wait for the rest of us," Mrs. Parker ordered.

"Can I listen to the radio?" I timidly asked.

"No you can't. You sure have nerve asking that after you've inconvenienced all of us with your thoughtlessness. You sit there in the back seat. We'll be back in an hour."

It seemed much longer than sixty minutes as I waited while the rest of the dorm enjoyed their walk. I had nothing else to do but let my imagination entertain me. As Dad often left me in his Volkswagen while he went into the bar, this punishment was similar. I felt livid. Adults seemed incredibly selfish and mean-spirited. They possessed absolute power over us and yet some abused it for their own ends.

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Deliverance from Jericho contains many more vignettes of what life was like in that government-run institution. These range from poignant experiences of homesickness to hilarious incidents of mischief. Click here to read more about this book and to order it. You may also e-mail me directly if the comment form doesn't work.

HAPPY EASTER, BUT NOT FOR SOME.

2011-04-26T11:32:00.001-06:00

Easter is normally an exciting time of year for children. They eagerly look forward to all the chocolate and candy goodies that the Easter Bunny, a.k.a. mom or dad, brings to them. The weather in northern latitudes also improves dramatically, allowing them to play outside without bundling up like Arctic explorers. Then there's the days spent away from the routine of school. This period varies from one region to another.

In Deliverance From Jericho (Six Years in a Blind School), I wrote about how I not only was sent five-hundred miles from home to a residential school but I had to stay in the dorm over the Easter holidays three times. As this excerpt shows, I felt deeply hurt that one Alberta boy's parents sent him a plane ticket so he could go home while mine didn't.

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I faced another lonely Easter away from home with even more sadness in my heart than the previous year. I felt particularly grieved that Brian's parents paid for his plane ticket, allowing him to be with his loved ones. "Why couldn't Mom and Dad buy me a plane ticket home?" I kept asking myself.

My morale sank even lower when Mrs. Parker drove us to the airport one midnight to see Brian off. We all waved and said good-bye as our fortunate friend boarded the jet, each of us silently envying him. As our supervisor drove us back to Jericho, we discussed Brian's privilege of having an Easter vacation at home.

"Farmers must be rich since Brian's parents can have him sent home for Easter," I grumped. Mrs. Parker overheard and jumped on that remark. "You should be ashamed of yourself. Farmers aren't rich; Brian's parents love him. Don't you realize how much airplane tickets cost." Though she was right regarding farmers, I felt wounded due to her insensitive rebuke.

As we cruised through the dark rain-drenched streets, I pondered why my parents refused to buy me a ticket as well so I could leave for a few weeks. Did they not care at all about me?

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Deliverance from Jericho contains many more vignettes of what life was like in that government-run institution. These range from poignant experiences of homesickness to hilarious incidents of mischief. Click here to read more about this book and to order it. You may also e-mail me directly if the comment form doesn't work.

RABBITS AT PLAY

2011-04-22T01:38:00.000-06:00

Did you know that rabbits love to play? This is a fact that many people, who never have lived with a bunny in their house, find surprising. Even so, these animals enjoy themselves in their own inimitable way.

As dogs and cats become frisky on occasions, rabbits will suddenly dash around the room for the sheer joy of running. In my When a Man Loves a Rabbit (Learning and Living With Bunnies) memoir, I wrote of the time my rabbit, Gideon, discovered the joys of racing at top speed in the hallway of the house I rented at the time. I was often distracted from my writing in the mornings by the sound of his exuberant charging back and forth. Watching his obvious pleasure in his new game gave me immense enjoyment too.

Other rabbits also demonstrated their sense of fun throughout the years. Neutrino, named after a song by Klaatu, loved to push toys out of a cardboard tube used by builders to make concrete pillars. I suppose it seemed like a burrow to him. The odds and ends I shoved back into it was like dirt that caved in. We spent many happy moments playing this game.

Cardboard bunny houses are one of the most entertaining toys for both them and their humans. Every rabbit I've had enjoyed them. All I did was to cut an entrance in each end of a box and place it on the floor. My bunnies chewed on their houses, hopped on top of them, and even napped inside them. When I placed an old phone book inside, the rabbits spent many happy hours shredding the pages.

My rabbit-loving friends and I also placed hay in toilet paper tubes to encourage them to eat more of this beneficial food. Like children, bunnies would rather eat treats than something that helps their digestion. The coarse fibres in hay also prevents their teeth from growing too long. In addition, placing hay inside the tubes made it fun for them to eat. My rabbits often tossed them around while they dined.

In my When a Man Loves a Rabbit book, I also wrote about a fun toy I made for my long-eared friends. Here's how it came about.

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During the summer, I invented a cool bunny toy. My PC had
ruined a fair number of CD-R disks and I was idly examining
one when an idea struck me. I found a toilet paper tube,
flattened it and turned it into a spindle. Then I shoved it through the centre of the disk. The toy rolled back and forth and made a
satisfactory noise, from a rabbit's viewpoint.

All three of my lads loved the new plaything and my house
was filled with the distinctive sound of their game. The only
problem with my new invention was that the aluminum coating
on the disk started to peel. I scraped it off, so that the rabbits
wouldn't ingest it and that solved the problem.

When I told the folks on PetBunny about my new invention,
people liked the idea so much that they started making them for
their bunnies.

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When a Man Loves a Rabbit contains many more fascinating stories of life with house bunnies. These range from the tragic to the hilarious. Click here to read more about this book and to order it. You may also e-mail me directly if the comment form doesn't work.

LEARN FROM MY FAMILY'S TRAGEDY.

2011-04-19T02:49:00.001-06:00

Is it better to make the same mistakes as others or to learn from their misfortunes? The answer is obvious. Like millions of families, we bought a young bunny at Easter without knowing how to look after her. As has happened in many other households, our rabbit ended up in a backyard hutch and died a few months later due to our neglect. This need not have happened. These pets can live up to ten years with proper care and loving attention, things which we never provided our trusting bunny.

I wrote When a Man Loves a Rabbit (Learning and Living With Bunnies) in the hope that novice rabbit owners would read and be forewarned regarding impulse purchases of living creatures. Here's an excerpt from it that describes the easily-avoidable tragedy of buying live animals on a whim.

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On a snowy day in April 1968, my mom and I visited the downtown Edmonton Eaton's department store and we spotted some blond-coloured rabbits in a raised pen.

On a whim, Mom decided to buy one to surprise my sister Diane. Because of the rabbit's wiggly nose, we named her Samantha, after the character in the Bewitched television show.

Diane and I enjoyed our new pet. We loved stroking her soft golden fur and her silky ears. Both of us giggled when Samantha tickled our faces with her whiskers and licked our fingers.

Unfortunately, we weren't as gentle as we could have been with her. We thought it was hilarious when Samantha kicked her legs spasmodically when placed on her back in somebody's lap. We often improperly carried that poor bunny and were entirely too noisy around her.

As I was attending Jericho Hill School for the Deaf and Blind in Vancouver, I was only able to be with Samantha over the Easter holidays. Sent home at the end of June, I discovered that she was kept in a large wooden hutch in the backyard. When I asked Mom why, she said that the mess the rabbit made had become too much for her to bear.

I visited Samantha the first evening of my summer vacation and when I knelt and looked in on her, she hopped from the main part of her cage to her private quarters. I opened the door on the side and she glared at me with large brown eyes?as if I were intruding.
I felt rejected by her.

Besides, it was boring watching a bunny through the wire.

I soon lost interest and the poor animal ended up alone most of the time as we went about our daily activities.

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When a Man Loves a Rabbit contains many more fascinating stories of life with house bunnies. These range from the tragic to the hilarious. Click here to read more about this book and to order it. You may also e-mail me directly if the comment form doesn't work.

PROTECT YOUR HOME FROM YOUR HOUSE RABBIT.

2011-04-15T01:32:00.000-06:00

Did you know that you can keep bunnies in your house in the same way that dogs and cats are kept? These animals can be litter trained and they enjoy hanging out with their humans. In Fact, it's cruel to leave these sociable creatures alone in backyard cages where they receive little attention. With certain precautions, and depending on the animal's personality, rabbits can enjoy the freedom of their caretaker's homes.

In my When a Man Loves a Rabbit (Learning and Living With Bunnies) memoir, I explained how I learned, both from friends and from experience, how to coexist with my long-eared companions. Here's a summery of just a few facts that I learned.

Rabbits love to chew on electrical cords. Protect them by either hiding them behind heavy furniture that fits close to the wall or put them inside cord wrap plastic tubes that automotive and electrical stores sell. I've found that this helps keep bunnies safe from being shocked in most cases. Some persistent rabbits may manage to chew through the plastic wrap tubes. Covering them with aluminum tape helps to prevent this. In extreme cases, cords can be slipped through an old garden hose. If the plug on the end is too big to go through, slit the hose down its side and insert the cord. Then tape it up with aluminum tape. This product can be found at hardware stores.

Rabbits sometimes chew or dig up carpets, particularly against walls. I solved the problem by filling empty four litre jugs with water and lining the walls with them. Not only did this help deter my bunnies but I had a ready supply of water with which I could flush the toilet or use to wash my face during power failures. As I have a well, I can't use it during blackouts.

Some rabbits insist on chewing up furniture and door posts. I've found that squirting vinegar or smearing hand soap on the chewed-on area usually deterred them. Placing a barrier made from wire grids, sometimes called Neat Idea Cubes, has helped in extreme cases. These square, metal grids, measuring fourteen inches per side, are also handy for making barriers to block off areas where I didn't want bunnies to be.

I've also had rabbits chew holes in my blankets and clothing. Removing them from the bunny's reach or barring them from my bedroom has worked, as has holding down their heads for a few seconds when they try to nibble what I'm wearing. violent punishment doesn't work with rabbits as they assume that they're being attacked. It results in them fearing their punisher rather than being deterred from doing their naughty activities. Distracting them with safe things to chew and dig is a more effective approach.

When a Man Loves a Rabbit contains many more fascinating stories of life with house bunnies. These range from the tragic to the hilarious. Click here to read more about this book and to order it. You may also e-mail me directly if the comment form doesn't work.

ANIMAL SHELTER WARNED THE PUBLIC OF BUYING BUNNIES ON A WHIM

2011-04-12T02:24:00.000-06:00

In spite of many warnings on the news, parents still buy bunnies for their begging children around easter. Even so, some progress is being made by those of us who have long advocated for proper rabbit care.

In April of 2000, an Edmonton TV station interviewed me regarding this perennial problem. The reporters also went to the city's animal shelter and interviewed the caretakers about the abandoned bunnies they receive each year. I uploaded the clip to YouTube and you can watch it at this link.

I also wrote about the day I was interviewed in my When a Man Loves a Rabbit (Learning and Living With Bunnies) memoir. This is how the interview went.

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One day, I got a call from A-Channel, a television station in Edmonton that was eager for a novel story angle. For the past couple of Easters, I'd been campaigning about the harm in buying rabbits for children. Most of my letters to various radio stations, newspapers, and TV stations had been ignored, until A- Channel called.

A camera crew, consisting of reporter Stacey Brotzel and a man who videotaped my bunnies, arrived at my house the next afternoon. Stacey was surprised when Gideon hopped into his litter box and started eating hay. I'm certain that she had never seen a rabbit use a litter box.

"Look at that!" she exclaimed.

She asked the cameraman, whose name I can't recall, to get a shot of my bunny boy. I felt embarrassed when the poor man tried to step over the cardboard barrier, but didn't quite make it. Fortunately, no damage was done to him or to the camera he carried on his shoulder.

Stacey and the cameraman must have used at least a half hour of tape as they shot Buns doing cute things in his cage and Gideon being his princely self. While they filmed, I straightened the cardboard sheet out and propped it back in the doorway.

When the footage aired during the six o'clock news, there were only thirty seconds of my bunnies and me. There was also a short segment on how the SPCA staff wanted the public to think first before adopting rabbits. A guest doctor explained that when rabbits hit puberty and the novelty wore off, many were returned or dumped outside by disappointed owners.

It didn't take long before the next news story was on and our short TV appearance was over. But thanks to an advertising video which the IGA grocery chain sent to home owners in my area, I was able to record the broadcast and once again watch all those sweet rabbits at the shelter. I was delighted that I had received useful junk mail in my letter box for a change.

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When a Man Loves a Rabbit contains many more fascinating stories of life with house bunnies. These range from the tragic to the hilarious. Click here to read more about this book and to order it. You may also e-mail me directly if the comment form doesn't work.

STOP! DON'T BUY THAT BUNNY FOR EASTER!

2011-04-08T01:09:00.000-06:00

"We had one, but it died."

These are, perhaps, the saddest words I've ever heard.

Too many parents buy rabbits, especially at Easter, thinking that a bunny will be a good pet for their children. After a few months, the novelty wears off and the poor animal becomes neglected.

Many once-beloved bunnies end up in a backyard hutch where they succumb to disease or heatstroke, or die of fright from predators. Others are dumped in parks or similar open spaces where they become dinner for various carnivores. Those animals who survive the trials of weather, disease and infighting among their own species, cause property owners a lot of grief because rabbits breed rapidly, eat people's prized garden plants and dig up yards.

But these heartbreaking scenarios need never happen.

Many good internet links exist specifically to help people properly care for their bunnies, ensuring that the creatures live long, happy lives. For example, the House Rabbit Society web site has ample resources to help novices with their bunny companions. The alt.pets.rabbits newsgroup is also a good place for information and the group's dedicated bunny-loving folks are more than
happy to share their tips with whoever asks. Then there is the PetBunny e-mail list where no sincere inquiry is considered stupid by its members.

Along with electronic resources, there are books on rabbit care. A book titled House Rabbit Handbook by Marinell Harriman is probably the best on the subject, and well worth reading. I too have made mistakes and been led astray by what popular opinion has said regarding rabbit care. I wrote When a Man Loves a Rabbit (Learning and Living With Bunnies) to counteract the lies and misinformation that is so prevalent in
today's society.

Through recounting my experiences, I hope that readers will learn from my mistakes, as well as my discoveries. If the trend of animal welfare awareness continues, bunnies may eventually be treated as adequately as dogs and cats are today.

When a Man Loves a Rabbit contains many more fascinating stories of life with house bunnies. These range from the tragic to the hilarious. Click here to read more about this book and to order it. You may also e-mail me directly if the comment form doesn't work.

IS ALL CHURCH ATTENDANCE BENEFICIAL?

2011-04-05T05:03:00.000-06:00

"How come I have to go to church?" That was the question I perennially asked the supervisors when I was young. In Jericho Hill School for the Deaf and Blind, we were given no choice but to go to the worship Service that they assigned us to. Consequently, I felt no desire to spend Sunday mornings in the basement of Saint Helen's Anglican Church. Apart from the Bible stories and crafts, the whole affair seemed a waste of time.

A few years after giving my life to Christ in 1969, I joined a pseudo-Christian cult. Captivated by the minister's self-proclaimed gift of prophecy, I wanted to learn every secret he had to share with us. I now realize that those teachings were blatant lies and that I would have been better off staying away from that house church.

In my upcoming How I Was Razed memoir, I wrote of the time when one member's ambivalent attitude toward the Wednesday evening meetings offended me.

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Though I had temporarily stopped handing out tracts, I remained zealous about attending meetings. Because Jay and Linda's landlord sold the house so a developer could build a walk-up apartment building on the lot, we moved to a house located a few blocks from Thee Church. This was a wonderful boon since I could walk to Sister R's house instead of relying upon my minders for rides. Though I still slept on couch cushions on the floor of a basement bedroom, and the house was infested with bed bugs, being near the sole church with the "complete truth of God" made the sacrifice worthwhile to me.

Being convinced of this, the lack of enthusiasm for Brother H's teaching shown by certain members outraged me. "Aren't you coming to the meeting?" I asked Jay one sunlit Wednesday evening.

"No. You go with out me. I want to watch T.V."

I glared at him and thought, "We live only three blocks away, the weather is beautiful, Brother H is an anointed teacher, and all he can do is sit and watch his precious brand-new black-and-white T.V.?" I stormed out of the front door and strode toward Sister R's house, fuming all the way there. "Please do something about Jay, Lord," I prayed as I walked, "He told me how I should always attend church and now he's watching T.V. Please show him how it's so important to learn from Brother H."

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How I Was Razed is the testimony of the way I was mislead by a cult church, how I turned my back on God after I felt he perennially failed to heal my eyes, and how he graciously brought me to my senses.

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