Niagara Moments Magazine For The Arts

 A short commentary.  The world seems to be perpetually getting itself into a mess. Not that it hasn’t always been that way, but in contrast, the incessant reporting of conflict delivered hourly into our living rooms gives you the uneasy feeling that the world is about to implode. The air waves are flooded with Politicians, Dictators, Terrorists, and Despots of all stripes. The descriptions about the efforts of these characters to turn the World upside down get more graphic by the minute. You have to dig deep to brush away the mayhem, hopefully to find out how “ordinary folk” are bearing up. I love to think, talk, and write about “ordinary folk” because they are, I believe the essence of our basic existence, and like a good many other Octogenarians I have lots of stories about them embedded in my memory, ready to be extracted.

A true story about an old man I once knew. My maternal grandfather and his family were coal miners and they lived in a small mining community within walking distance of the mine. It consisted of a quadrangle of terraced houses that surrounded a cobblestone yard with a hand operated water pump in the center. I would often visit my grandfather with my father and younger brother, and this old fellow would always be sitting in a rocking chair in one of the corners of the quadrangle. I never saw him get out of his chair. His name was Sheepo. No one knew where the name originated, it was just Sheepo. He was completely and utterly feared by almost everyone below the age of about fifteen. He never spoke a word, but on every occasion that you had to pass by, his eyes would burn into your very soul. Those ten seconds or so were torturous moments, expecting that penetrating gaze to be accompanied by a verbal assault. It never happened. As a young man when I visited my grandfather for the last time before going to war, I was told that Sheepo wanted to see me. A long experienced shiver went down my spine at the thought of engaging with this formidable old gentleman. What happened was pretty profound, but first I must take a temporary break from the story.

Words and phrases have arisen over my lifetime that were non existent during my early years. They carry with them connotations which seem to have grown in significance, enough to add complication to peoples everyday lives.

The Generation gap.  The use of this one surfaced and quickly gained momentum. My own interpretation of the phrase falls into the “excuse” category. If a teenager is rebelling and the parents can’t seem to get around the problem, well, guess what! It’s that generation gap. So now the problem has been isolated. Nothing is solved, but it feels better when the conflict starts, and they have that excuse phrase to fall back on. As an old man, I have seen decades of teenage rebellion, it’s built into the human physic. The only thing that stopped my own rebellion was the fact that as a teen I went to war, which, dare I say it, was an ideal environment to vent any adverse thoughts about the older generation. What about today’s teens? Well, due to the development of a materialistic world that they have been brought up in, they are far better equipped than we were to raise the conflict level to a far greater height, much to the chagrin of their parents.

Syndrome.  This word appeared during the latter period of my life. Its application in the larger community leaves me with doubts and confusion as to where things will end. When I was growing up, and looking at things on an intellectual level it could be said without equivocation that in those days we were pretty dumb. However, we seemed to survive without getting one of those syndromes. In fact, had we been told that we had one, we would have considered it either a compliment, or a life threatening disease. As a medical term the word seems to have permeated into everyday society similar to Arthritis, but in comparison my mind works overtime trying to decipher the multitudes of Syndromes and their effects. The term seems to manifest itself when it is associated with the younger generation. When extraordinary behavior surfaces in some youngsters, their parents seem poised to drag the poor little sods off to the doctors to be diagnosed. It doesn’t end there, because some specialist for that particular Syndrome is lurking in the undergrowth ready to launch into the fray and much to the delight of the pharmaceutical companies prescribe the necessary pills to quell the symptoms on an ongoing basis. Harking back to my previous subject I have often wondered that in some cases it might be pertinent for the doctor to prescribe the following instead of pills. “Don’t worry Mrs. Smith it’s only “The Generation Gap”. Do I sound pretty cynical? Yes, but only about the abuse of the term. To put things into a more practical perspective, I need to add some counter balance. I have a Downs Syndrome granddaughter. She is a wonderful and vibrant young lady. Right up until I was approaching my middle age they were afflicted with the terrible label “Mongols”. Ignorance about this particular Syndrome brought shame on their parents and they were kept hidden from society. I mean that literally, and much to my distress I have known parents that once their Downs child had reached what they would deem to be a suitable age they would leave the child locked up in the house all day while they went to their respective places of employment. I am therefore eternally grateful to Mr. Downs for shedding the necessary light, and extracting this particular Syndrome from it’s place in the middle ages, especially when I see Downs people of all ages enjoying life in our communities.

Respect.  During my growing up period in the 1920’s and 30’s old folks were for the most part held in reverence. If you dare breach that concept, with the likes of insulting behavior etc: you were quietly taken to one side and threatened with some form of physical reprisal. Living in a small community your misdemeanor quickly got around and you were looked upon with some distain akin to a piece of smelly cheese. You had to suffer the consequences until things returned to normal by natural means. In today’s world we now have something called “time out” or being “grounded”. In other words a place to go to watch TV on your own. It is practically impossible for an old man to wrap his mind around the fact that it is now a method of punishment. Looking back to my own growing up years the youngsters would have milked that one for all it was worth. In a previous article I also rounded things off with an old man’s story and concluded with what could be called an off the cuff remark. When you get older, time is of the essence, so it becomes necessary to cut to the chase, say it as it is, and ignore this new world of political correctness. To this end I am hoping that the Editor of Niagara Moments will have some compassion and not edit out my final remarks. His thoughts hopefully may follow along these lines. ‘The poor old chap is probably slipping into dementia”…….. So be it! To continue my story there was Sheepo still sitting in his rocking chair which was as old as he was. When I gingerly approached wondering what to expect, he leaned slightly forward and looked up at me. The usual soul penetrating gaze was absent, and it was strange to hear his voice for the first time. “They tell me you are off to war young man.” “Yes Mr. Sheepo.” “And you’ll be going round the world on them ships?” “Yes Mr. Sheepo.” “ And seeing lots of them young women?” “Yes Mr. Sheepo.” “Well, never let your “Balls” overbalance your head.” “No Mr. Sheepo.” He fell silent and that was it. Even at my early time of life it was obvious what he meant, and when I visited the many ports around the world his voice would resonate in my brain. I would repeat to myself “thanks Mr. Sheepo” especially when I witnessed the problems my colleagues got into, and could have used his advice. He died whilst I was at sea, but I still feel that penetrating gaze to this very day. Once again I wish you all good health and prosperity. Will Bonner Email:willbonner@cogeco.ca Website: www.niagaragallery.ca/willbonnerintro.htm Impressions of an Octogenarian. By Will Bonner A short commentary The world seems to be perpetually getting itself into a mess. Not that it hasn’t always been that way, but in contrast, the incessant reporting of conflict delivered hourly into our living rooms gives you the uneasy feeling that the world is about to implode. The air waves are flooded with Politicians, Dictators, Terrorists, and Despots of all stripes. The descriptions about the efforts of these characters to turn the World upside down get more graphic by the minute. You have to dig deep to brush away the mayhem, hopefully to find out how “ordinary folk” are bearing up. I love to think, talk, and write about “ordinary folk” because they are, I believe the essence of our basic existence, and like a good many other Octogenarians I have lots of stories about them embedded in my memory, ready to be extracted. A true story about an old man I once knew. My maternal grandfather and his family were coal miners and they lived in a small mining community within walking distance of the mine. It consisted of a quadrangle of terraced houses that surrounded a cobblestone yard with a hand operated water pump in the center. I would often visit my grandfather with my father and younger brother, and this old fellow would always be sitting in a rocking chair in one of the corners of the quadrangle. I never saw him get out of his chair. His name was Sheepo. No one knew where the name originated, it was just Sheepo. He was completely and utterly feared by almost everyone below the age of about fifteen. He never spoke a word, but on every occasion that you had to pass by, his eyes would burn into your very soul. Those ten seconds or so were torturous moments, expecting that penetrating gaze to be accompanied by a verbal assault. It never happened. As a young man when I visited my grandfather for the last time before going to war, I was told that Sheepo wanted to see me. A long experienced shiver went down my spine at the thought of engaging with this formidable old gentleman. What happened was pretty profound, but first I must take a temporary break from the story. Words and phrases have arisen over my lifetime that were non existent during my early years. They carry with them connotations which seem to have grown in significance, enough to add complication to peoples everyday lives. The Generation gap. The use of this one surfaced and quickly gained momentum. My own interpretation of the phrase falls into the “excuse” category. If a teenager is rebelling and the parents can’t seem to get around the problem, well, guess what! It’s that generation gap. So now the problem has been isolated. Nothing is solved, but it feels better when the conflict starts, and they have that excuse phrase to fall back on. As an old man, I have seen decades of teenage rebellion, it’s built into the human physic. The only thing that stopped my own rebellion was the fact that as a teen I went to war, which, dare I say it, was an ideal environment to vent any adverse thoughts about the older generation. What about today’s teens? Well, due to the development of a materialistic world that they have been brought up in, they are far better equipped than we were to raise the conflict level to a far greater height, much to the chagrin of their parents. Syndrome. This word appeared during the latter period of my life. Its application in the larger community leaves me with doubts and confusion as to where things will end. When I was growing up, and looking at things on an intellectual level it could be said without equivocation that in those days we were pretty dumb. However, we seemed to survive without getting one of those syndromes. In fact, had we been told that we had one, we would have considered it either a compliment, or a life threatening disease. As a medical term the word seems to have permeated into everyday society similar to Arthritis, but in comparison my mind works overtime trying to decipher the multitudes of Syndromes and their effects. The term seems to manifest itself when it is associated with the younger generation. When extraordinary behavior surfaces in some youngsters, their parents seem poised to drag the poor little sods off to the doctors to be diagnosed. It doesn’t end there, because some specialist for that particular Syndrome is lurking in the undergrowth ready to launch into the fray and much to the delight of the pharmaceutical companies prescribe the necessary pills to quell the symptoms on an ongoing basis. Harking back to my previous subject I have often wondered that in some cases it might be pertinent for the doctor to prescribe the following instead of pills. “Don’t worry Mrs. Smith it’s only “The Generation Gap”. Do I sound pretty cynical? Yes, but only about the abuse of the term. To put things into a more practical perspective, I need to add some counter balance. I have a Downs Syndrome granddaughter. She is a wonderful and vibrant young lady. Right up until I was approaching my middle age they were afflicted with the terrible label “Mongols”. Ignorance about this particular Syndrome brought shame on their parents and they were kept hidden from society. I mean that literally, and much to my distress I have known parents that once their Downs child had reached what they would deem to be a suitable age they would leave the child locked up in the house all day while they went to their respective places of employment. I am therefore eternally grateful to Mr. Downs for shedding the necessary light, and extracting this particular Syndrome from it’s place in the middle ages, especially when I see Downs people of all ages enjoying life in our communities. Respect. During my growing up period in the 1920’s and 30’s old folks were for the most part held in reverence. If you dare breach that concept, with the likes of insulting behavior etc: you were quietly taken to one side and threatened with some form of physical reprisal. Living in a small community your misdemeanor quickly got around and you were looked upon with some distain akin to a piece of smelly cheese. You had to suffer the consequences until things returned to normal by natural means. In today’s world we now have something called “time out” or being “grounded”. In other words a place to go to watch TV on your own. It is practically impossible for an old man to wrap his mind around the fact that it is now a method of punishment. Looking back to my own growing up years the youngsters would have milked that one for all it was worth. In a previous article I also rounded things off with an old man’s story and concluded with what could be called an off the cuff remark. When you get older, time is of the essence, so it becomes necessary to cut to the chase, say it as it is, and ignore this new world of political correctness. To this end I am hoping that the Editor of Niagara Moments will have some compassion and not edit out my final remarks. His thoughts hopefully may follow along these lines. ‘The poor old chap is probably slipping into dementia”…….. So be it! To continue my story there was Sheepo still sitting in his rocking chair which was as old as he was. When I gingerly approached wondering what to expect, he leaned slightly forward and looked up at me. The usual soul penetrating gaze was absent, and it was strange to hear his voice for the first time. “They tell me you are off to war young man.” “Yes Mr. Sheepo.” “And you’ll be going round the world on them ships?” “Yes Mr. Sheepo.” “ And seeing lots of them young women?” “Yes Mr. Sheepo.” “Well, never let your “Balls” overbalance your head.” “No Mr. Sheepo.” He fell silent and that was it. Even at my early time of life it was obvious what he meant, and when I visited the many ports around the world his voice would resonate in my brain. I would repeat to myself “thanks Mr. Sheepo” especially when I witnessed the problems my colleagues got into, and could have used his advice. He died whilst I was at sea, but I still feel that penetrating gaze to this very day. Once again I wish you all good health and prosperity.

Email:  willbonner@cogeco.ca           Website:   www.niagaragallery.ca/willbonnerintro.htm