Local Content Locally Owned Locally Produced

June 2012 Free BrantAdvocate.com

Local Content Locally Owned Locally Produced

June 2012 Free BrantAdvocate.com

Freddy

by Lisa Vanevery Page 6

How Gen X Might Save the World

by Dave Carrol Page 4

Introducing Woodland Cultural Centre

by Ivan Last Name Page 6

WE MUST COME TO TERMS WITH THIS AS A COMMUNITY. YOUR ACTIONS HAVE SET US BACK IN GETTING THERE, BUT WE WILL CONTINUE; WE MUST.
Creating Bridges
by Michael Hemsworth Page 9

Losing & Learning: A Year in the Life of a Failed Politician

by Marc Laferriere Page 5

by Steph Paige Page 10

Supporting Local

~ An open letter to the arsonist. by Rob Adlam, Page 5.

Cover photo by Tia Robinson www.tiarobinsonphotography.com

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June 2012

Showing Emotion: A Journalists Conflict

On the morning of May 15th, I sat in front of my computer anxiously following the news updates from the sentencing hearing for Michael Rafferty. It seemed that, after 37 months and 6 days, the Tori Stafford case was finally coming to a close. The victims impact statements were read, the judge read the sentence, and then, it was over case closed. A few hours after the sentencing was announced, I was at my desk having a conversation with a close friend, Advocate faculty member Bekah Pitts. We discussed the case during our afternoon break and talked about the incredible impact it has had on so many peoples lives. During that conversation, she looked at me and asked (Im paraphrasing because I dont remember the exact words): What about the journalists? Were they all straight up and professional or did some of them show some emotion? After years in the media industry, I sometimes forget that the thought of a news journalist usually is one of a motionless, emotionless figure with a monotone voice spewing out a news report with a view of some relatable scape behind them. The last thing shown by the reporter, in most circumstances, is raw emotion. So when the question came about emotion shown by reporters, it was as if I suddenly found myself back in Woodstock in April and May of 2009. I was a reporter working at CKOT radio in Tillsonburg. The day after Tori went missing, Good Friday, I came in to the office for an extra shift and found myself staring at news reports about a missing Woodstock girl. It didnt take long before community events were being planned, rumours were being spread, and I found myself sifting through a sea of speculation. I have vivid memories of my first real coverage of Victorias disappearance. It was in the evening of Easter Sunday. There was a huge candlelight vigil being held in the Foodland/Zellers parking lot in downtown Woodstock. When I arrived, thousands of people from the community slightly overshadowed the throng of local, provincial, and national media who were there covering the event. I stepped away from the awkward battle of cameras and reporters fighting for the right shot of each family member. It was like a mob scene, and like every other emotionless media scrum you witness on the nightly news. Long after the national media had parted ways I continued to pace, waiting for the right time to finally get my story. I finally approached Rodney Stafford, told him who I was and asked for an interview. I remember looking at him and telling him that I was really hoping to avoid talking to him, but that my boss would be pretty pissed if I didnt talk to him. He was gracious, he understood, and we had a discussion. Driving home that night, I felt emotionally overwhelmed as I began to process just what kind of a story I was covering. I could feel myself tearing up as I tried to grasp the devastation of having your daughter kidnapped. I dont have kids, but I have a niece that was the same age as Tori. Picturing what it would be like to have her go missing was tough to consider. But to have it actually happen, I couldnt imagine. I remember feeling stupid that I couldnt keep my emotions in check. After all, it wasnt happening to me.

By Andrew Macklin Twitter: @AMacklin

feelings of incredible sadness off long enough to return to the emotionless reporter that needed to file the story. While I cant speak for every reporter to ever file a story about Tori Stafford, I can tell you that I what I saw was a difficult struggle as reporters fought off their emotions in order to do their jobs. At every event I attended during those few months that I covered the case, I watched as reporters battled to keep their emotions in check. Some took some time to bury their face in their hands before driving away, others gave themselves extra time to walk away from the scene to collect their composure. But many, if not all, had to find a way to work through the emotional turmoil of a case that tore them apart. Never think that reporters dont feel the emotions of the stories they cover. Telling the stories of pain, suffering, and death are incredibly difficult, just as they are difficult to hear, watch, and read. I admire those who can, day in and day out, present the stories of the tragedies in our community. As for Tori Stafford: those who covered the stories, who talked to the family, who sat in the courtroom, and who reported on the events will never forget the image of an eight-year-old girl taken from us far too soon. I pray that her family can finally begin the healing process.

I have a niece that was the same age as Tori. Picturing what it would be like to have her go missing was tough to consider.
A few weeks later, I had a similar incident following the memorial service held for Tori. I felt like I had to be there, because I had become emotionally engaged in the search for Tori. But I also felt terrible for being there, as just a few minutes after exiting the church I was sitting in the parking lot, filing a live-on-location news report on the memorial. The emotional me had to fight the

You dont get much more basic than bread. Those among you whos digestive systems can still process gluten will undoubtedly take bread for granted. From grilled cheese sandwiches to french toast to a simple dinner roll bread is everywhere. For those of us whos bodies can no longer process gluten its the basic simplicity of bread we miss the most. Its the foundation of so many of lifes comfort foods. After more than six years and countless trials weve discovered a formula that produces a loaf of bread that tastes every bit as good as any loaf of multigrain bread on the market but is completely free of gluten and doesnt need to be refrigerated or frozen. Thats right, you dont have to freeze our bread. Leave it on the counter or put it in a bread box. Just like real bread.

June 2012

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Page 3

Freddy: Painting, Healing & Surviving

By L.M. VanEvery
I died when I was six. It was 1951 and Freddy was taking one of his first car rides out of his community of Curve Lake near Peterborough. The government people were driving him to Brantford, the site of the Mohawk Institute Residential School. For the next ten years, Freddy would fight to survive, stealing food from other students, sneaking out of the school at night to pick through garbage at the city dump so he could eat and enduring years of sexual abuse. He never saw his parents again as long as he was at the residential school. Freddy describes his first hour at the school as nothing short of horrible. His hair was cut and he was beaten for speaking his traditional Ojibway language. This was the day Freddy became residential school number 39 and his identity became numerical. Freddys shoes were numbered.39. His clothes were all numbered39. Freddy was the 39th kid standing in line for food. Everything was 39 for Freddy for the next ten years. It took Freddy one year to learn English. The more English he learned, the more Ojibway he forgot. He remembers hating the law by the time he turned seven or eight. Freddy began to notice some of the boys being summoned from their beds late at night. He figured they hadnt completed their chores from that day and needed to finish them. About two years into Freddys nightmare, his turn came. The next day, he told the principal thinking his abuser would be stopped. Freddy was made to stand in a corner for over half an hour and then taken to the playroom in the basement, stripped naked and tied to a chair. He was beaten by the principal and his abuser. Describing the whip they used in visual detail, Freddy recalls this beating like it happened five minutes ago. It was three inches wide with horse studs on the sides. Freddys hatred and anger continued to grow inside his eight year old body. Occasionally Freddy would see his sister at the school. She was four years older. Hed wave to her but if he got caught, he knew the consequences. Sometimes shed leave him a sandwich in the tall grass so he could eat.

Occasionally Freddy would see his sister at the school. She was four years older. Hed wave to her but if he got caught, he knew the consequences.
Freddy never went home on weekends or holidays like some students did. Soon, he forgot his parents names. He learned how not to care about the things around him. Freddy learned how to survive in a criminal way. In 1961, Freddy was sixteen years old and was allowed to leave the Mush Hole. The government people drove him back to his community and dropped him off outside of his house. This old woman came out on the step with a bottle of whiskey in her hand. Oh theres my little baby. Freddys family was having a party that day. The alcohol was flowing. Freddy thought they were celebrating his homecoming. This was the first time he drank alcohol. It would take Freddy on a ride of destruction and incarceration for the next 25 years of his life. If Freddy didnt have a problem, hed make a problem. Freddy left his community again not long after returning. Too much had changed. He had changed. Too much was gone out of him. In 1986, Freddy landed in a hospital with a head injury after falling down a flight of stairs, unable to see, calling out for help. He received the help he desired in a profoundly spiritual way. Freddy likened it to a miracle. His sight was restored and his craving for alcohol was taken away. Freddy immediately knew what he needed to do to heal and he knew he was given the gift to do it. Today, Freddy paints. He takes the pain and anger that grew in him every day for ten years in residential school and he buries it in each canvas. Through his art, Freddy heals his soul. When people tell Freddy to get over it and to forget it, he doesnt understand. How can you forget that? Its like it happened yesterday. Im 67 and I still cry at night. If their good Lord came and sat right here and asked me to forgive them, Id tell him to move on. Even though Freddy cant forget or forgive yet, he paints and he heals and he doesnt drink. Maybe thats all we can ask of him right now.
Writers Note: I met Freddy at a Truth and Reconciliation conference sponsored by the Truth and Reconciliation Commission (TRC). The TRC are halfway through their five-year mandate of travelling the country acknowledging residential school experiences, impacts and consequences.

BRANTFORDS BEST GARDEN PARTY GOURMET FOOD WINE & BEER TASTING LIVE MUSIC ART EXHIBITS SILENT AUCTION
TICKETS ON SALE AT GLENHYRST ART GALLERY, GLENHYRST.CA, AND ROYAL BANK BRANCHES IN BRANTFORD TWITTER: @TASTEGLENHYRST

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June 2012

Being Deaf in a Hearing World

This is a story about a deaf man and how he obtained what everyone in the hearing world has. He owned his own home, and a farm. He owned two vehicles, a car and a van, both in good working order. He worked as a piano tuner when in his thirties, even though he was completely deaf. He had his own successful carpentry business in his later years, and taught Sign Language at a local community college to hearing people in what was supposed to be his retirement years. Norman Sero proved that indeed, deaf does not equal dumb. The deaf community is offended by the label, deaf and dumb. It gives the impression that deaf individuals are less intelligent than those who hear normally. Norman was my father-in-law, and he didnt believe that. He believed that all deaf people had the potential to be what they wanted to be. In many instances, he was able to help children who were deaf. In the past, parents have been known to keep them literally in cages, thinking that they were defective, ashamed to let the world at large see them. In one instance, a young girl was tied to the front porch of her home by a rope, around her waist. She was a young teen at the time. Dad went to the parents after talking to the girl, showing her signs and pointing to things to see if she comprehended. The parents were more than happy to give their daughter to him to teach. He started her education, and then sent her to The School for the Deaf in Milton, Ontario. That young lady grew up to become a seamstress, making her own wedding gown and eventually running her own sewing business. If not for dad, that girl would not have had a normal life. At the age of 76, dad decided that it might be good to teach American Sign Language to hearing people so that the deaf community would be better served in banks, stores, and doctors offices. He and I devised a curriculum whereby he could teach these classes. It was difficult to put together a curriculum, but finally we settled on a chapter-to-chapter form using a textbook that was then available to us.

By Lynne Joseph

was level one. By the time the students had gone through three levels, and the accompanying text, they were able to have conversations in sign. At this point, they were then taught the finesse of A.S.L or American Sign Language. This is actually a shorthand version of Signed English. Dad told jokes. He created group assignments. He wanted to make the classes fun. It was important to him that they learn properly. Sign Language is a whole body language: facial expression, body language, and signing all go together to tell a complete story. I often went with him when he was shopping, especially for farm equipment. He always got his point across. For those especially obtuse, I could always translate. Dad worked with his elderly friends. It was an inspiration watching him organize and delegate. One Canada Day parade, dad and the members of the Board of the Brantford Association of the Deaf created a float depicting Deaf Awareness. Everyone brought food, with the wives setting up a picnic and turning the job into a party. We were positioned in the first third of the parade. We walked along, handing out cards with the Sign Alphabet on it. We gave candy to the children along the route. Tearing down afterward was almost as much fun as building the float had been. Working all day in the fresh air, then teaching two nights a week, began to wear on him eventually. A resting period was necessary each day. From 12 until 1 p.m. he would nap in the big lawn chair in the still unfinished house. He actually signed to himself in his sleep. It was interesting to watch. Even with all of this work, he also ran The Ontario Camp of the Deaf, on Lake Rousseau

in Perry Sound, Ontario, which he founded in the early fifties. The camp was exclusively for deaf children and their families. He did all the repairs, and building. Each spring, with the help of volunteers, my husband and myself included, he opened the camp up and closed it down again in the fall. Counseling deaf families was the toughest job of all. It is difficult to communicate to a father that his deaf son was protesting because he wanted to be like the other kids his age. Often, I would have to be the go between. I remember once when dad and I visited a family of deaf people. The parents fostered 13 deaf children and teens. We went into the house and the noise was unbelievable. Everyone had their own TV and they were all turned up to the max. Dad and I had to advise the mom as she had been given a deaf/blind child to care for which was my expertise. I found it difficult to concentrate in the chaos but it didnt bother him at all. Many of the deaf community are elderly people. They have their own culture. They want to keep the young people close. The young people want to fit into the world at large. The conflict is ongoing. Norman Sero was a great mentor. He passed away in August 1991. He proved his life was successful and worthwhile. He proved that deaf does not equal dumb. I still miss him.

At the age of 76, dad decided that it might be good to teach American Sign Language
I attended his first class and watched him at work. He wrote on the blackboard. My name is Norman Sero. I am your teacher, and I am deaf. Everyone looked surprised but it didnt take them long to warm up to him. He began with an icebreaker where everyone had to relate a sentence to a partner but could not speak, use any sign language they might already have nor could they write it down. It proved his point. He started the students out by teaching them the alphabet in sign. This was very important, as it is the base for the language. The students then progressed into simple, useful signs for things such as coffee, tea, milk, bathroom etc. They continued on to more complex signs. At the end of eight weeks, the students could communicate on a basic level and had learned 300 signs. That

Why Hosting OFSSA is a Big Deal

Earlier this spring, we approached Advocate Editor-in-Chief Andrew Macklin about having an article written about the Ontario Federation of School Athletic Associations AAAA Boys Soccer championships in Brantford. Andrew told us that it would be tough to include a story about another sports tournament that, unless you have a direct tie to the players or coaches involved, you would have no reason to care about it. From an organizers standpoint, thats a tough pill to swallow. Our team has worked tirelessly to prepare to host the tournament, but to even earn the right to host the provincial championship. Brantford has never hosted this tournament, so there is no established track record of previous success. And the tournament features schools with student populations of 1400+. With a growing soccer community that is producing an increasing number of high caliber teams and athletes, we wanted to bring this tournament to Brantford to showcase the best of the best in high school soccer. As coaches we put in our bid for this tournament three years ago, and last year were granted the right to host the 2012 tournament. Let organizational work begin! The tournament has a potentially huge impact on our soccer community as our athletes have a chance to see the true scope of player development through our education system. There are several thousand players, coaches, and parents that are actively involved in the Brantford and Brant soccer communities. This tournament gives our soccer players the chance to see high quality players in action without leaving the community. Some of those players will go on to star for Canadian and American college and university programs, and graduate to teams like the Brantford Galaxy of the Canadian Soccer League. We want to show our athletes what they can shoot for as they continue to develop their athletic careers. The tournament will also be a great benefit to the local business community. 16 teams players, coaches, and parents will bring around 500 new customers to our local businesses. That means thousands of extra dollars for local businesses that would not see those revenues if the tournament was not brought to the community. Some of those businesses have already stepped up to help provide sponsorship of some of our events to help offset the cost of many of the activities that we are providing as part of the Brantford tournament experience. One of the mandates of OFSAA is to have active teacher and student participation in the hosting of each provincial championship. Several members of our staff when asked to be part of the committee asked how they could help, and since day one have been involved with all aspects of organizing this tournament. We are also excited for the opportunity to get some of our own students involved with this tournament. 40 students from Mr. Lynchs leadership class will help to run the game day operations, banquet, and have been involved extensively in pre-tournament planning. Hands-on experiences that can help these students know the intricacies of planning and hosting large events, a skill that is now valuable in many industries. Also, Mr. Mercante and Mrs. Svecs Hospitality classes will be preparing and serving the meal for all players, coaches, and guests at the tournament banquet being hosted by St. Johns. Once again, students getting experience with a skill that could be valuable to their own professional development. And he may not be a soccer dad, but no banquet experience for kids in our community would be complete without the attendance of Walter Gretzky, who has graciously offered to spend that evening with us.

By Carmine Romano

young soccer players get to see the stars of tomorrow in action, showing them what they can achieve as they continue to play the game. Our businesses develop relationships with new customers who are visiting this community, possibly for the first time. And our students develop their skill set as they get hands-on experience helping to run an event of this size. We hope to see you June 7-9 at John Wright and Lions Park soccer fields in Brantford when the best high school boys soccer teams come to Brantford. For more information on the tournament, visit www.ofsaa.on.ca.

"16 teams - players, coaches, and parents will bring around 500 new customers to our local businesses."
Lastly, one of the best parts of offering this caliber of sporting event in the community is that the games are free of charge. There is no cost to see any of the 16 teams in action at any time. However, we are hoping to give a little something back as part of our championship on Saturday. That day, we will be asking for your help in supporting our local food bank, accepting cash and food donations at the gate. So why should you, someone who isnt involved with soccer, care about this tournament. Its because of the development opportunities that an experience like this provides for so many in our community. Our

OFSSA 2012 SOCCER ORGANIZING COMMITTEE PETER POMPONIO- CO CHAIR CARMINE ROMANO- CO CHAIR PATSY WICHA MATT LYNCH MIKE BIJMAN MIKE ZOMER JIM TURNBULL ROSS ENSLEV STEVE PENNER GINA TARANTELLO ELA STYPA-JONESBRANTFORD TOURISM PAT SCHEWCHUK- TCO

Sarah always thought that one day she would foster. But she had many questions. Who were these children; what sorts of issues would they have; would her parenting skills be good enough; how would her own children feel about having another child in the family; and when the day came, how would they say goodbye to this child? One day she stopped wondering and called Homes for Kids. Six months later, she met her first foster child. The girls home had been adrift with alcoholism. She had been neglected and emotionally abused. She was sad, scared. She needed someone to trust; someone to believe in. That was nine years ago. Over the years, some children have been with Sarah for months, some for years. Some were returned to their parents or grandparents, and a few moved on to adoptive families. Sarah may not see the children grow up, but she says, Fostering is about planting seeds and giving a child hope for a better tomorrow. Even though a child may only be with them for a matter of months, she knows they can make a difference to last a lifetime.

Please call today.1-877-587-KIDS (5437)

It could be the most important call you ever make. carrie.davidson@casbrant.ca or visit www.homesforkids.com

June 2012

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Page 5

Letter to an Arsonist
Dear Arsonist, You must forgive me from referring to you using this term, I dont care for it either, but as no one knows your name, you will have to be identified by what you did, rather than who you really are. I will, however, introduce myself. My name is Rob, and I have a long connection to the Cockshutt building at 66 Mohawk St. But not just that building alone, I have a passion for Brantfords heritage and, in particular, the amazing undervalued story of its industrial heritage. I come by this interest honestly enough. Im the fifth generation of my family to work in Brantfords industries, which would build this city. So you see, this is more than just a passing interest. This is my own familys personal journey, as it is with multiplied thousands of others. Generally, I consider myself to be an o p e n - minded and accepting person. In a disagreement, I prefer to hear the other person out. But, in this case, I have to make an exception. Your reasoning for setting this fire is unacceptable. Not only did you risk your own life in carrying out this crime, but also the lives of firefighters, police, and residents of the neighbourhood. There will never be an excuse for that. What you did succeed in doing was to violently remove from the community a piece of our shared heritage and collective memories and experiences. Before you scoff at that statement, please allow me the opportunity to unpack this idea further by shedding some light on where we have come from as a community. Hopefully these are things that you were never told before, or you hadnt considered prior to that morning of March 30th. Consider these impressive claims: The Birmingham of Canada The Sheffield of the West A Workers Paradise. These are but some of the descriptive labels used to identify Brantford. They speak to its immense contribution to the development of the nation and Canada's emergence as a major exporter. Beginning in the 1840's, Brantford would rise to prominence, in the span of roughly three generations,

By Robert Adlam Twitter: @CIHC_Brantford

to take its place as Canada's third largest manufacturing centre. The agricultural implements produced in Brantford's factories would change how food was grown and harvested around the world. Large numbers of immigrants seeking new opportunities, not available in their native homelands, would establish themselves by finding employment in factories. These newly arrived populations would have an enormous impact on the formation of Canadian society and culture. These events, taking place in Brantford, would also help set the stage for the emergence of the working class as a new segment of Canadian society, distinct from the rural population, who would change the social, economic, and political landscape of the nation. In light of these statements, consider the following points: By 1908, there were over 60 major industries operating in Brantford. Brantford was the city where the working man could own his own home, due to the availability of employment and good wages being paid. It has been reported that there was no other city in Canada of comparable size where so many citizens owned their own homes. By 1914, Brantford was the third largest centre for the manufacture of exported goods in all of Canada after Toronto and Montreal, thanks in large part to the industries that once operated on Greenwich and Mohawk Streets. More specifically, by targeting the Cockshutt building, the community will lose a significant landmark from our cultural fabric, made famous because: It was the workplace of a sitting Lieutenant Governor of Ontario (1921-1927) Colonel, The Honourable Henry Cockshutt. It was designed by the same engineering company to build such famous US landmarks as the original Yankee and Tiger Stadiums, Fenway Park, and Comisky Park.

From this factory, railcars were loaded with the plows and implements that opened the Canadian West. I do apologize for going on at length here but, as you can see, the story is an impressive one. It is for that very reason that we should reconsider how we treat our heritage. It is a gift passed down to us by those who have gone on before us. It should be leveraged as an economic driver. The very industries that once brought the community fame can do so again by celebrating and promoting their heritage of innovation and achievement with the rest of the world.

"What you did succeed in doing was to violently remove from the community a piece of our shared heritage."
All stories, as impressive as they may be, must come to an end. We are all painfully aware of the hardships endured by the community when White Farm Equipment and Massey Ferguson closed down their operations. The memory is indeed a painful one. It isnt a healthy solution

to deal with the pain by eliminating all physical remnants of the memory. Certainly, like me, you will have watched news coverage of various political regime changes. Whether it was the masses attacking statues of Hussein in Iraq, hammering away at the Berlin Wall, or statues of Lenin in areas of the former U.S.S.R., I cant help but draw certain parallels with this situation here. Attacking the physical representation of the person or movement that wronged you is a dead end. It may very well have the initial rush of satisfaction or revenge, but the morning after comes the realization that you vented on a thing; a cold, impersonal, unfeeling thing. The statue or building wasnt the source of your trouble; it was the situation that it had a relationship to. Unless a population decides to take its destiny in its own hands and rebuild and move on DESPITE its past circumstances, nothing will ever change. Even if every monument is eradicated from the landscape, you cant kill a thought or memory. We must come to terms with this as a community. Your actions have set us back in getting there, but we will continue; we must. Please consider these things. Rob

Were Sorry
Last month I wrote my first Advocate article - it was called We're on a Mission from God. Since I've never been one to beat around the bush, I figured for my plunge into the Advocate world I might as well just tell the story of how my family and I ended up in Brantford - on what we believe, is literally a "Mission from God" (which made the title very appropriate I thought). The article instigated a number of great conversations that I thoroughly enjoyed. These conversations confirmed some perceptions that I had known for some time, but as a Christian and a Pastor of a local church, had wished would just go away. But, as you know, things don't just go away. So, a few days ago, I googled "christians are"

By Brian Beattie Twitter: @FHBrantford

Here's the top 10 responses from the search: 1 - hypocrites 2 - crazy 3 - ignorant 4 - like manure 5 - annoying 6 - delusional 7 - brainwashed 8 - arrogant 9 hate-filled hypocrites 10 - not perfect Therefore, although I do not think I specifically have the right to speak on behalf of all of Christendom, I will risk it anyways and simply say -- "WE'RE SORRY"! (and thank God for #10).

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BRANTFORD AREA AGENTS

With the generous support of The Sanderson Centre

SANDERSON CENTRE NOVEMBER 1 2012, 8 PM $30 & $45

IN SUPPORT OF THE FREEDOM HOUSE KINDNESS PROJECTS
Lighthouse took Canada and the world by storm in the 70s with their unique blend of rock, jazz and classical inuences that deed all conventions. They received four successive Group of the Year Junos and have nine gold and platinum albums with international hits such as One Fine Morning, Sunny Days, Hats Off to the Stranger, 1849 and Pretty Lady. Lighthouse played major festivals like the Isle of Wight, Newport and Monterey in the company of Jimi Hendrix, The Who, The Doors, Bob Dylan, Janis Joplin and Miles Davis.

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June 2012

Why the Advocate?

By Lucas Duguid, Twitter: @octopusred
I wrote an editorial in the October edition titled: Why the Advocate? If you ask Andrew, Marc or myself what motivates us the answers may differ on the surface but the basic thread remains common. Community. A stalwart and unwavering commitment to our home. As part of my editorial I included an advocacy piece. This is an opportunity for our contributers to lend their voice in support of a cause, an event, the efforts of others or in my case an organization. I am an advocate for Woodland Cultural Centre. From my editorial... "I've had the pleasure of working with, and getting to know, the people who work at Woodland. They are a remarkably diverse and fascinating group of very hard working and dedicated people. I've had the privilege of participating in numerous guided walk-throughs of the museum and the residential school. No other region in Canada has a facility with such enormous sums of living indigenous history and culture, and it's right here in our own backyard. I encourage each of you to visit the museum, make a donation and take the tour. Most importantly, I encourage you to listen. Really listen and absorb what Woodland is about. You won't learn it all in one visit. I've been through six times in the last 18 months and I'm still only now just scratching the surface of what Woodland Cultural Centre has to offer." It's no secret that Woodland, formerly the Mohawk Institute, has a past that can easily be described as horrific. Just over a year ago my Aunt Lorrie, the Education Extensions Officer at Woodland, took me through the residential school. When we reached the library she said to me, "You see that big table over there? Go underneath, lay on your back and look up." I wasn't prepared for what I saw. I don't have the words to describe what it felt like the first time I saw beneath the table. On behalf of the Advocate I would like to offer my sincerest thanks to Janis Monture and the remarkable team at Woodland Cultural Centre for trusting us with this content. We are honoured.

June 2012

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Page 7

Sewing Table
Written by, L.M VanEvery, Twitter: @LMVJournalist, Lorrie Gallant, Twitter: @LorrieGallant
What are we suppose to sew today? Were supposed to mend the table cloths and then start a new quilt. I love making quilts because its the only thing here that reminds me of home. Look at this little piece of material with the strawberries on it. It reminds me of the wild strawberries we use to pick every June. I can smell them now. Shh. Were not supposed to talk about home. Hurry Blanche, finish your writing underneath the table before someone sees us. How did the writings underneath the sewing table go unnoticed by the residential school authorities? Names, numbers, dates and hidden messages tell the story of the children who sat around this table and were made to work during their years at the Mush Hole. For these children whose identities were ripped from them when they entered the doors of the Mush Hole, the messages they scribbled underneath this table represent their desperate attempt to say, I matter. I was here.

The sewing table was located in the girls side of the Mohawk Institute, and currently resides in the library of the Woodland Cultural Centre. Scribbled underneath the table are the names and numbers given to the students by the institution. A forgotten remnant and of the young children who lived here.
~ Ivan Bomberry, Cultural Interpreter.

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June 2012

Losing & Learning: A Year in the Life of a Failed Candidate

By Marc Laferriere Twitter: @MarcLaferriere

One of my favourite film moments is from the last Rocky Balboa movie. Near the end of the movie a weathered, nearly beaten, punch drunk Rocky gets knocked down during the fight by his opponent who, according to every boxing analyst, outmatches him. Rockys down but not out. He thinks about something he had told his son in an earlier scene, What is it you said to the kid? It ain't about how hard you hit, it's about how you can get hit and keep moving forward. How much you can take and keep moving forward. And with that the old fighter gets up for one last round. He doesnt win the fight; the last Rocky movie ends with Rocky, a loser. But when everyone had counted him out as the longest of long shots, he exceeded everyones expectations and ends the fight on his feet, head held high and swinging. There is something incredibly satisfying about that. Now me, Im no Rocky. Im just a poor kid from Eagle Place. I have never boxed in my life but, from my recent past, I know what it is like to fight your heart out and lose in a very public way. You dont often hear the story a year later about the guy who losses an election but I think it is about time to share it. During the May 2nd, 2011 election I stood as the NDP federal candidate for Brant. We gained over 7000 local votes from the election results of 2008 for a final tally of over 16,000. To put that in perspective our current MPP for Brant, Dave Levac, who is now Speaker of the House also received about the same number of votes. Quite an accomplishment when 2 years prior to the election, at the beginning of my campaign, many In the know, mostly from other parities,

told me Id be lucky to get 5000 votes in total no matter what myself or our local team did. Itd be a miracle for a 28 year old candidate to beat a former MP and the current MP. Im sorry to tell you this but an NDP candidate will never be in contention in Brant again. The Derek Blackburn days are done. Im a strategic voter so I have to vote Liberal this time. Marc, youre crazy. I heard it all and they might have even been right about the last one but something else happens when you are a candidate in an election. Yes, you hear lots of negatives from the arm chair analysts about your prospects and how you have to do what the other candidates from the other parties have always done to make any electoral headway, etc. Then something amazing happens and you start hearing about things that matter. You begin to hear directly about issues from the people of the riding. At the doorsteps and at community events, you find out about the struggles and triumphs of local people. Its the best part about being a political candidate. Its one of the reasons I helped to start this publication. There are so many stories in this community that so rarely get heard. Its been incredibly rewarding to help create a platform, in the Brant Advocate, for people to share the important and sometimes heartwarming stories that make up our community.

In politics, far too often the person who loses slinks away to lick their wounds. Public failure can be embarrassing. But I think I have the right outlook about it. Simply put: you dont win every fight and you cant expect to. In the effort to make positive change you will fail, but you must be able to dust yourself off and keep moving forward.

"I lost a big fight in the last election, head held high and swinging. I didn't go slink away to lick my wounds. Instead I kept working."
Ive been lucky to have mentors like former Brant MP Derek Blackburn who lost a few elections before winning his next seven. Most people forget that when Jack Layton ran to be the MP for Rosedale in 1993 he placed fourth. He ran again in 1997 and lost again by a wide margin before finally becoming an MP in 2004 on his third try, despite years of success as a municipal politician. After the 2011 federal election, I made a promise to this community to keep working. I thanked the voters and my great team of volunteers, took three days off after nearly two years of running then got right back at it.

I jumped right back into my work as a social worker in the community, I started a successful small business and joined many volunteer boards that do great work to make the area better. I started meeting with others who wanted to create change and helped them use levers other than politics to do so. Ive continued to organize events and volunteers around progressive local movements: some political, some non-partisan. In the fall I will begin teaching at a local college and I could not be more excited to give back in that way. Failing publicly hasnt deterred me from being active in the community and trying to help in the ways that I can. Ive been active in politics since I was 14 years old when I advocated successfully for changes to the local transit system. Since that time Ive won some and I have lost some. Its ok to lose as long as you learn. This poor kid from Eagle Place has learned a lot. Most importantly, that it is imperative to dust yourself off and keep doing what you think is important. Rockys right: sometimes it is about how much you can take and keep moving forward. Like Rocky, I lost a big fight in the last election, head held high and swinging. I didnt go slink away to lick my wounds. Instead, I kept working. You can say Ive been training hard for the rematch and who knows, like any budding pugilist, I might get the opportunity to go another few rounds in the future.

Whats in a Name: St. Amant versus St. Amand

When I ran as the Progressive Conservative candidate for Brant during the past provincial election, the most common question I was asked was Are you related to Lloyd St. Amand, the former Liberal Member for Brant? My response was usually No, Lloyd spells his name with a D and I spell my name with a T. I suppose if our names were Smith, few people would have cared, but given the fact that our names are somewhat unique in the Brant area, I can understand the confusion. At times I was confused myself. During a visit to the Polish Hall during the International Villages, my Campaign Manager decided that I should be introduced. If only he knew how much I hated doing that, but it is part of the political process. He saw the NDP candidate in the audience, so he approached the Master of Ceremonies about introducing us. First she introduced the NDP candidate. Then it was my turn. She introduced me as Lloyd St. Amand, the PC candidate for Brant. I stood and waved. When I returned to our table, two elderly Polish gentlemen were sitting there. One immediately asked me if I was St. Amant, the politician. I said I was and he said I was the wrong colour and he would not be voting for me. I was wearing a red shirt, so I never knew whether he was talking about me or about Lloyd. In some instances, people saw a conspiracy in the fact that our names were similar. One lady in Paris said that it was clearly a Conservative plot to confuse the voters and I should be ashamed of myself for being a part of it. I dont think I got her vote. Other people thanked me having helped them previously, which was a testament to Lloyds service to the community. A few stated that my looks had really changed over the years. An elderly lady, who had invited me to tea, reminded me of the time I had helped her husband with a legal matter and that she was really pleased that I would take the time to visit her. You can imagine how awkward it was trying to explain to her that she had me confused with Lloyd. Then she asked me why I came? My only response was that her invitation was to Mr. St. Amant and that I had been unaware of the nature of the invitation. Throughout all of this, it was interesting to note that nobody had asked me if Lloyd was related to me. It was always Are you related to him? The reality is that I cannot honestly answer that question. In French, the d and t at the end of a name is meaningless. I have relatives in Quebec who spell their name with a d. The St. Amant or St. Amand is a location name derived from any of the various places dedicated to St. Amantius or St. Amand. When settlers or soldiers moved to New France, they often added the dit to their names. As a result, you will often see families with the primary names of names Andr, Charrier, Huchereau, Lepage, and Robert, among others, using the locational name of St. Amant. Our family name, for example, Andr dit St. Amant, can be traced back to 1534. In France, my ancestors were the Andr family from the NotreDame de Taillebourg Parish, located in the Charente-Maritime Region. When Louis Andr arrived in New France as part of the Prigny Regiment around 1730, he added the dit St. Amant to his name. Interestingly, on some documents it is spelled with a t and on others with a d. In my youth, I was completely unaware of all the family ancestry until my father died in the mid1980s. Growing up I was always called St. Amant, or occasionally, Sani-Flush because our family was in the plumbing business. When my father passed away, we began processing his will and insurance, but could find no records of a Lawrence St. Amant. When we found his baptismal certificate from 1923, he was listed as Lawrence Andr dit St. Amant. I asked one of my remaining aunts about this and she said that the family name was Andr dit St. Amant, but my Grandfather stopped using the Andr dit because the extended name was too long for his plumbing sign. Given the choice of using Andr or St. Amant, he chose St. Amant. In English, it

By Michael St. Amant Twitter: @MichaelStAmant

means Saintly Lover. Being farmers, each generation of the Andr dit St. Amant family moved a little further West in search of land. The farms could not support the large families that seemed to be a consistent theme in our family history. Along the way to Penetanguishene, where my family settled in the 1880s, groups settled in the Vaudreuil, Cornwall, Ottawa and Kingston areas. Others moved east towards the Maritimes. Most were farmers, but there were voyageurs, doctors, lawyers, poets, and plumbers. A group settled in the United States, following the lumber industry. Some have maintained the Andr name while others have evolved into St. Amant or St. Amand. It is not inconceivable that Lloyd and I could be related. I suspect that with a little work, the question could be easily answered. In some respects, it might be fun to find out. In others, it takes away the mystery and a topic of conversation that was for the most part, a good way to break the ice when I was canvassing. Despite the fact that people were curious, I do not believe that they really cared. For my part, if we are related, I think that would be great. Lloyd has made an important contribution to the community both as a Member of Parliament and as Chairman of the United Way. There is nothing better than being able to point to a relative with such notable accomplishments!

EXCAVATION BOBCAT SERVICES HAULAGE

June 2012

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A Growing LGBTQ Movement in Brantford

On the evening of March 28th, a screening of the film We Were Here took place in Brantford at the Laurier Research & Academic Centre. With a central focus on the AIDS crisis in San Francisco during the late 70s/early 80s, the film follows the stories of three men and one woman who were active within the community at the time and what their individual experiences were like. The event was sponsored by The AIDS Network and hosted by The Bridge in collaboration with the Laurier Rainbow Alliance. The Bridge is a relatively new addition to the Brantford/Brant support system for the LGBTQ community and works with other community partners to advocate for equality. Their mission statement expands on this: The Bridge seeks to identify and address inequities experienced by our diverse sexual and gender identified community and to promote acceptance and inclusion in an effort to eliminate stigma, bullying and discrimination.

By Michael Hemsworth Twitter: @wlu_rainbow

"The Bridge seeks to identify and address inequities experienced by our diverse sexual and gender identified community."
The evening consisted of the screening of We Were Here followed by a panel discussion where comments, reactions and current issues were addressed to promote discussion around both the film as well as HIV/AIDS health and prevention here in Brantford. The panel was headed by guest speakers Ernie Taylor of The AIDS Network, community activist Mike Hamilton and Ruth Cameron of Rainbow Health Ontario. As one of the organizers, I was happy to see so many people of all sexual orientations come to the event, share their experiences and

engage in a meaningful conversation that night. With an impressive list of events behind them consisting of the Pride flag raising last July (as well as the flag raising again this year) and participation in various marches here in the community that strive for civil action, The Bridge strives to make the Brantford community a more diverse landmark in the southern Ontario queer circuit and improve the quality of life for the entire city. Before last July, Brantford stood as the last city in the southwestern Ontario stretch to not have a Pride flag raising ceremony each year during Pride week. However, dedicated members of The Bridge and the community worked tirelessly to organize an event that would draw one of the larger crowds for any flag raising in Brantford history. The Bridge is part of an ever-growing movement in this city that has set sights on making sure that voices dont go unheard. In the near future, a safe space is hoped to be set up where citizens can go to share with each other stories, triumphs, and struggles or to be connected with valuable resources that promote healthy lifestyles.

As the news swells with stories concerning harassment and suicide within the LGBTQ community, it is a powerful sight to see groups like The Bridge being organized here in Brantford to put an end to the silence that can cause so much disdain within this quaint community. When any individual within a community lacks the ability to be heard it places them in a vulnerable position as those without public acknowledgement can feel a sense of exclusion in the place they call home. The Bridge, as its name references, strides to make the connection between the queer community and the community at-large so that everyone can benefit from a renewed sense of membership within Grand River country. Although there have been and will continue to be struggles, it is important to remember that the term queer community is simply an umbrella term. In actuality, they are your brothers, sisters, friends and family who look to continue being themselves in what is truly one of southern Ontarios finest areas.

Its Okay to be Gay

Pride is in the air. What pride, you ask? The gay kind. Yes, gay pride. And Im guilty of having it. If youve been to a pride parade, youd know there is usually a lot of bare skin, brazen statements, and free expression of sexuality. But thats not what it is all about. To me, having gay pride means you are proud of who you are as a homosexual person. It means you have embraced the part of yourself that society has looked upon as a disgrace or taboo. Youve accepted the part of yourself that your family might hate or your friends might not understand. Youve learned to love yourself. And yes, I, too, have become comfortable in my own skin. I can say without any fear that I am happy and proud to be a gay man. But that wasnt always the case. I believe people are born homosexual, or heterosexual, or bisexual, or asexual, or whichever-sexual you think you are. However, everyone discovers their sexuality at different rates. Its never clear-cut at first. There are no flashing neon signs in your head that scream, Youre gay! Youre gay! Ive been asked countless times, How did you know you were gay? And my usual answer is: Well, how did you know you were straight? You discover it. For eighteen years of my life I was never told that I could find my happily-ever-after within the same-sex. I was led to believe that girls were the only way to that path. It didnt help that being raised a Baptist influenced this belief. The more I think about it, the more I realize there are many subtle pressures from peers, family especially extended family members and friends to have an interest in someone. Have you not noticed how often you are asked, Do you have a girlfriend/boyfriend yet? Are you crushing on someone? Those kinds of questions encourage you to develop crushes, however feeble, in order to satisfy these interrogators. So I attended school like any other student and developed my crushes on the girls I liked as friends.

by Markus McDaniel

I could list off all the girls I crushed on, but I wont. Why? Because I dont believe any of them were ever truly a crush. Why? The thought of kissing any of them repulsed me. I just wanted to be their friend, thats all. And frankly, I never thought about a girl in a sexual manner. It just didnt happen. And that rather scared me. What was wrong with me? Why couldnt I talk about girls like the other guys my age did? I tried not to worry so much about it, tried to shrug it off. Until I developed my first guy crush. How could this even happen when I was a Bible-abiding Christian, you ask? Well, it happened.

be proud of, an honest lifeWait, an honest life? Who was I kidding?! I secretly enjoyed watching gay porn! Yup, I confess. That doesnt mean I wanted to become a gay guy. I didnt want that title. As a Christian, I knew what the religious members of our society thought about gays. The people in my youth group either balked or mocked the idea of homosexuals. The pastors would preach that all gay people would surely go to hell. And I only assumed that my parents and family would think the same way. I didnt want to be alone. So the battle in my head ensued for a long time. My desire to appease the people around me and live the godly life I should live versus the way I secretly feel about this guy and how Im discovering my intense attraction to men over women. For anyone who has experienced, or is experiencing, a conflicting madness similar to this, let me tell you how much easier it becomes when you confide in someone to talk things over. Youre able to vocalize the racing thoughts that have been driving you crazy, reveal your fears, and hear a different perspective from your own. I call this sharing process: normalizing the situation. Once you confide in that first person, you feel such a weight lifted from your spirit. Even more so when they are so supportive of you and want the best for you. After I was able to normalize my situation, I was closer to knowing what was best for me. My same-sex attraction was real, not a phase. This self-discovery opened my eyes to so much, and made me feel like I had been living such a sheltered and nave life (granted, I had been). I needed to live my life for me. It was my happiness on the line. I wasnt about to sacrifice my feelings to please the other people around me. With my blinders off, I made my next move. I came out of the closet to my closest friends and planned on how I was going to tell my parents. I know some people wait until they have a significant other before telling their families, but I couldnt. I knew shit might hit the fan and I needed to deal with it before I dragged a potential boyfriend through such a mess.

Telling your parents that you are gay can be one of the hardest things you can do. Theyve raised you, they have dreams for you, and they love you. You are their precious baby. Thats why being rejected by them can be so dreadfully horrible. So naturally, the biggest fear I had was this rejection. But I got lucky. Sure, my moms initial reaction was religiously laden and not to my liking, but over the past five years, things have improved tremendously between us. Time really does heal. My dad and step-mom took the news in stride and we now talk freely about my boyfriend. I have him over often and my parents treat him with kindness and respect. As for my younger brother, hes been the coolest broski through the whole thing. Suffice it to say, I stopped attending church. I didnt need to go to a place where I felt I was being judged by hypocrites. I also didnt need any help getting fixed from my sinful lifestyle, but that talk is for another time. Nor did I find myself alone when I came out. Granted, coming out shut a lot of doors for me, but it also opened twice as many more. With the help of some amazingly supportive friends, Ive been able to reach the point of where I am today. A proud homosexual. If theres any advice I can give to someone struggling with their sexual identity, I urge you to talk someone you trust about it. You need to talk it out and normalize the situation. And my advice for someone who suspects their friend is homosexual or bisexual, do not confront them about it as they may not be comfortable with themselves yet. Instead, make sure you casually let them know you are there for them and let it be known that you support LGBT people. As for the rest of you, my advice is to continue to have an open mind about peoples backgrounds and sexuality. I do have a blog where I share more of my thoughts on different topics. Among all the randomness, there are some posts that are gay-specific, so feel free to browse at www.schnippits.wordpress.com. Keep your chin up and be proud of who you are!

"I knew gay people existed, obviously, but not in a million years did I think I could possibly be one of them."
I met him at work, we became fast friends, and we hung out regularly outside of work. I cant explain what occurred, but something inside of me was strongly attracted to him. To his personality, to the way he smiled, to the way he made the hairs on my arm tingle with this newfound electricity. None of the girls I had crushed on previously made me feel the way he made me feel. Around that same time, I was being prodded to ask my good gal pal on a date. Except, I didnt have any desire to. Puzzled, I pondered to myself, Why did I look forward to seeing this guy so much more than I did my gal pal? I knew gay people existed, obviously, but not in a million years did I think I could possibly be one of them. They chose to be gayright? I was told it was a sinful choice. Right?! Wrong! I was a baptized Christian, and I needed to marry a woman in order to be happy, right? Wrong! I needed to live a life that others would

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Page 10

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June 2012

Supporting Local
Twenty seven, I am learning, is both an incredible yet extremely odd age, as I struggle to reconcile everything I know with everything I want to do. While Im much more aware of the importance of small business and local events to a community, I still find myself sitting and writing this in the Chapters Starbucks in Ancaster. Granted, this may have more to do with my impeccable timing and proactiveness (sarcasm), but it is still reflective of what I encounter on a daily basis. I write for a publication whose goal is to: explore what motivates, celebrates, educates, entertains, and excites the people in this community. Hopefully Ive contributed to this, but six articles in, I find myself questioning what community means to me, or rather, my part within it. Identifying, finding my place, my role, and how I can contribute, is an ongoing struggle. While I grew up in Brantford, I moved to Waterloo for university and grounded myself there for almost six, going on seven years. The years where I defined who I am as a person and really learned about myself, it was not in this place. While Ive been back in Brantford more than a year, I constantly struggle with the feeling that since I am not a small business owner and have no children or significant other, my role in the community feels fairly inconsequential.

By Steph Paige Twitter: @steph__paige

At my core, I am simply a consumer in our community. I work out of town, leaving early and getting in late at night, which combined

for social events, to the point I now ask myself what could keep us here, to ensure were supporting the community we live in. Were at the awkward age where the festivals which come to town are often family-oriented or for teenagers. That said, I feel as though Im now seeing a glimmer of hope for a blooming Brantfordian culture. When I take a look back through the past year to see what I stayed in town for, there were events like the Brantford Comedy Festival, the Pauly Shore live comedy show, Tweetstock, and most recently, the Grandelicious Food and Wine Show, which not only kept me in town, but brought people from other towns to Brantford. These kinds of events are crucial to defining our community as an exciting place to be and bringing people to town. I am old enough to remember, just vaguely, the time when Brantfords downtown was still booming with business and the negative connotations associated with it didnt exist, at least not that I knew of. Therefore, it especially excites me now as I witness the evolution of the downtown beginning to come full circle. Brantford is finally growing its own culture so people such as myself, of which I am sure there are many, will opt to stay in town rather than go elsewhere.

Grandelicious Photo Courtesy of Paul Smith, Photohouse Studios.

with the social life of a single girl, I often feel the only way I have to give back is through donations and supporting local business and events. My friends and I mostly go out of town

As I look towards the rest of the year ahead, the events planned in town are already exciting me. Hockeyfest, Brantford Barks, and the continuance of the Comedy Festival, it makes my mind reel at all the further possibilities, the things I currently leave town for but one day soon may not need to. A Total Womans Show, for example, which every year I go to in Toronto or Kitchener/Waterloo, or a multi-cultural street festival which highlights the beauty of all the cultures that make up our community, which Waterloo does so wonderfully. Furthermore, while we have some wonderful quaint cafes on the Grand River in Paris, Ive always wondered why we havent capitalized on the Grand River here in Brantford. There are so many wonderful opportunities, and it feels like the time has come to take advantage of them. With the combination of opportunity, the audience, and having ambitious entrepreneurial types in town to finally make a concept a reality, Brantford is finally growing beyond simply a manufacturing town, in which people leave but rarely come to, in my experience. The impact of staying in town has both economic and social effects which are starting to snowball, and while perhaps only a consumer who takes part, its something I am proud to be contributing to as we all grow both ourselves, and the community, together.

How Gen X Might Save the World

By Dave Carrol Twitter: @DaveCarrol

Generation X is a generation that can sneakily trump Boomer narcissism and Millennial entitlement." Jeff Gordinier Ive always joked that there isn't anything Generation X hates more... than everything. We were the generation that ruined it for everyone or so we were told by The Boomers, desperate to affix a giant visible black mark on the group who were rebelling against their big, loud booming. I'm a Gen Xer... and Im not ashamed to embrace it. In fact, theres a chance that the very markings that caused many to hastily characterize us as a personified blight of generation... might just save us all from ourselves. If I get one more Facebook invitation to YET ANOTHER pyramid scheme... Im going to my dark place to begin rocking back and forth in the fetal position. As much as Ive embraced social media, its also a nauseatingly fertile, ponzibreeding-ground as it toxically combines with Gen Y and Boomer "Go Getter-ness." You only get to have a few messages in life people will listen to. Surely magic beans and Diet Shake evangelism isnt the hill youre looking to die on? Surely. Thankfully Gen Xers are still there to poo poo on the pile of we aint buyin. And someone needs to NOT buy it all, because it all aint worth buyin. Just because someone is pos-

itive about something, does not make it GOOD. A few years ago, Jeff Gordinier wrote a book called "X Saves the World. How Generation X got the shaft but can still keep everything from sucking." He was commissioned (by a Boomer) to write a Where Are They Now piece about the failure of Generation X to accomplish as much as his boomer buddies and how the rabid positivity of Generation Y/Millennials were showing Gen X up... thus proving MY existence to be just as doomed and WRONG as I was always told I was. Charming. His conclusion was substantially different. Gordinier found a generation of people doing the quiet, responsible work that needs doing in North America. Generation X STILL really doesnt much care about limelight and are sick of the kitschy mythology of The Boomers and the sometimes shameless greed and entitlement of the Millennials/Yers. There is an excellent book, with a very telling title, called "Not Everyone Gets a Trophy: How to Manage Generation Y." Gen X didnt want the trophy anyway. We still dont. Gen X (now aged 49-34ish) are people who according to Gordinier have "internalized our in betweenness with middle child sensibility" between Y and The Boom. Gen X is still detached, skeptical and questioning, but are now more concerned with improving the REAL world of real life for real people. We're FAR less interested in the mass acquisition at any cost.

X'er rebellion to the Macro Boomers ended up with the rediscovery of a way to make a difference without having to hold a parade about it. I make no mistake that it DID start with us as jaded teens rebelling against our previous generation. But so what? That's EVERY generation. What has happened is that we grew up and stepped up... because that's what happens to grown-ups.

"Being able to eschew some financial facades scratches a very middleaged Gen X itch in us. Rebels... I know."
We're equipped. We're wary enough to see through delusional "movements": we're old enough to feel a connection to the past (and yet we're unsentimental enough not to get all gooey about it); we're young enough to be wired; we're snotty enough not to settle for crap; we're resourceful enough to turn crap into gold; we're quiet enough to endure our labors on the margins Jeff Gordinier Ive been thinking lately about my 14 years of marriage. We've never had a ton of money and don't buy much in the way of luxury because

we've rarely (if ever) both worked at a serious income earning job at the same time. It hasnt been that way complete by design but weve both have had things we care about doing that doesn't always pay us money to do. I've had the chance to innovate, create from ground floor and explore in media and ministry while my wife has been able to fulfill her dream being at home with our kids while they are young. Not because a Normal Rockwell idyllic magazine cover told us to but because it's quietly very important to her. And frankly, these days, being able to eschew some financial facades scratches a very middle-aged Gen X itch in us. Rebels... I know. The idea of playing the game still makes me squirm as much as it did during high school, because there actually there is no game. Ive realized how comfortable I now am being a Gen X'er who doesnt care... about everything. We care intensely about the things that are important, but not EVERYTHING is grandiose. Ive had it with feeling guilty about my generation. We never believed it anyway. In fact, if were aging well as human beings, we SHOULD find ourselves caring less about the things that dont matter much and more about those that do. I get it that Gen X isn't saving the world, but it's far from the deep dark chasm that many predicted it to be. We never thought we were. When we were younger, we all just wanted to be older, so we could go about our business of caring in our own way. And its easier to breathe from here.

Li ghti ngB l i nd s Wa l l p a p erD ra p ery Pa i nt 4 0 5 S t. Pa ul Av enue, B ra ntford .

June 2012

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Speaking Street
Brantfords streets are a beautiful place. Sometimes bad things happen, but even at four in the morning in the heart of downtown, theres not much to fear. Ive only found myself afraid a few times on the streets, even as a teen living in a low-income neighbourhood in Toronto. I often used to say that any street conflict can be avoided by simply smiling and offering the other person a beer. What Ive learned since I began to embrace the street community is that people are people. We like when people show us respect. We have standards for what we like and dont like, what we deserve and dont deserve. The street community is no different. If youve strolled through downtown Brantford, youve undoubtedly spotted the types of folks who probably dont have their own place, who might re-light discarded cigarette butts, and who frequent free meal programs. You might see them wearing the same thing every day, with an unsurprising scent to go with it. Okay, so its bleak when you describe these folks by their looks. However, its important to remember that theyre not so different from the

by Becca Vandekemp

guys who drive their SUVs home from work to their suburban homes to eat a quick bite of supper before shipping one of their three kids off to soccer. Theyre not that different from the university students or the nurses at Brantford General Hospital or the cooks behind the counter at the pizza shop. People in the street community have stories, too. Some are rather unexceptional. An old street friend of mine used to be a forest ranger, brother to eight siblings, and son to a loving mother. Meanwhile, another friend of mine was exposed to cocaine and heroin by his parents before he even reached puberty. That same guy had countless bones in his body broken trying to defend his younger brother and his mom from his fathers alcohol-induced rages. People: broken, average, sane, and even friendly, but scarred by experience nonetheless. Its easy to underestimate the people who we usually give nothing more than a short glance. However, the guy on the bench might have a life story that is nearly identical to yours, save for a series of unfortunate events in his recent past.

The agitated pregnant teen standing with her hands on her hips and a cigarette between her fingers might have a history that could break your heart in two. In the street community, some things are different, but many are the same as in any other community. Theres nothing very spectacular about humans save for our vulnerability for being forever changed by our circumstances and decisions. Were forever forgetting the lessons weve learned, and subjected to the consequences of other peoples failures. Whether you sleep under a bridge on a donated sleeping bag or under your duvet on a king-sized mattress, human you are. For a while I thought about explaining street jargon, family dynamics and 8-balls, maybe listing off the prices and various qualities of crack, but thats not where the most valuable insight I have to offer lies. Its in starting the conversation with the assumption that the person whom you are engaging is not so different from you. Remember that youre the one who probably seems stuck up. Accept

the moderately different communication style and the unexpected mannerisms that might surface during your conversation. This isnt new information to many people who are reading this, but it is my intent to simply send out a reminder that there is no such thing as a lesser human being. Street people arent scary. Spend a few moments in conversation with a few, in genuine conversation, and see for yourself that its true. Show respect and receive respect. Ask about the binge-drinking if you notice it. Dont be surprised if alcoholism is someones alternative to chemotherapy so they can cope with the physical pain of cancer. Respect breeds respect; kindness breeds kindness; and hope breeds hope. Hope is a force that needs to take a stronger hold in our community. Bridging the gaps between the members of our community and recognizing our shared humanity is one of the biggest steps we can take in developing those things. Were not as different as we think we are. When it comes to speaking street, all you need to do is speak human.

Paris. Quaint. Quiet. Peaceful. Beautiful. Home.

Paris has gone through a massive transformation over the past however many years and it has become a town that rivals Port Hope, Ontario in my opinion; which was ranked as one of the "prettiest" towns in Canada. Paris has a lot to offer and living there for the first few years of my life and then again as an adult, I am reminded of it every day. I remember as a kid walking to the Palm's Restaurant where my mom and Aunt Carole worked to visit them with my Nanny. I remember that my two year old legs could handle the walk because we lived in a beautiful home on Grand River Street North. I remember being in Dr. Tom Verth's Dental Office, nervous but having the beautiful flowing Grand to keep me calm even when he was drilling and filling. It only made sense that as an adult with a young child, we would move our family back to Paris. My daughter and I used to go for Tuesday morning walks down to the Paris Bakery, stop by Tough's to grab some craft stuff and stop in at the Brown Dog for an Apple Fritter. We would go down to the park, walk along the trails and head our way back home. The best part of Paris was that there was this sense of community. If you walk around your neighbourhood, people acknowledge you. We made so many friends just by walking the trails, hanging at Lion's Park which was hugely improved in 2010 through the Let them Be Kids program, and going down to Bean Park where there is access to the beautiful Grand.

By Sarah Renwick Twitter: @RenwickS

I had this amazing neighbour who lived across the street from me named Frank, a Veteran, who passed away in early 2011. His family was aware of his friendship with me and gave me one of his glass duck figurines. It was an amazing feeling of community for me and something I'll remember as a token of our friendship and a reminder to be a good neighbour. We have since moved from Paris due to our careers, however go back there for breakfast and walks every so often because with a community thriving so much in our County, how could we not?

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