WYKAAO Blog
Members' Corner

(Through Rose-Coloured Glasses)

I don’t like banquets, charity balls or any fund raising functions. Don’t get me wrong, I am no Uncle Scrooge. I am happy just to donate and simply get my tax receipt. But sitting around a table, with a group of strangers, trying to start up a conversation politely, just to kill time; before the first dish arrives, that’s a chore.

“How are you today?”

“I am Mike. Nice to meet you.”

“Today’s weather ………..”

“Going on holiday?”

These lasted at most 15 minutes, and then silence.

We wreck our brain trying to restart the conversation.

But weekend gathering with friends, that is a different kettle of fish. We don’t have to try hard to find a topic for conversation, it just flows easily. We are birds of the same feather after all.

During our university days, when together, we talked about courses to take, professors and assignments, boyfriends and girlfriends, or simply seeping a beer, watched a hockey game together.

In our final year, we talked about job prospect, job interviews or graduate school, and might be, a wedding date.

After graduation, that year, we were overwhelmed with weddings. During receptions, we talked about our new jobs, family planning and who was going to be the next victim.

The next year, all the wives came to the gatherings with big tummies. We stared at each other and laughed. Natrually the conversation fell on the due date, maternity experience and preparation. Childbirth classes, breathing technique, natural birth, mid-wife or obstetrician, on and on we kept talking.

Next year’s gatherings were noisy indeed, with so many babies crying like an orchestra. Obviously converstation was centered on how to raise a healthy child, what to feed a baby, their growth and milestones. “Johnny starts crawling already.” “Mary already knows how to say dada.” We compared notes. We were all proud parents. And these lasted for the next 5 years.

As the kids grew, our conversation was switched to the merit of private vs public schools, French Immersion or Montessori; and then later, concentrated on which piano teacher was best, was private tutoring necessary, and which saturday Chinese school. Eventually, which university, what faculties and courses to take. Decision, decision, work of the parents would never end.

Recent gatherings, we were talking about, which eye doctor is best for cataract or surgeon for colonoscopy, what to do for arthritis, high blood pressure and high cholesterol, what to eat and what not. “Are you retiring yet?” “going on a cruise, or China tour?” “Symptoms of PMS?”

Pretty soon, we will be talking about our good old days, our dwindling retirement funds, the nursing home and the funeral pre-plan.

Amen.

(Through Rose-Coloured Glasses)

This winter Olympic sparked euphoria and Canadian patriotism across the whole country, to the envy of all politicians. If this nationalism can be kept up, a majority government will definitely be in sight.

How to pass this flame of patriotic nationalism on and circulates across the country and keeping it alights, till the next election? That is the dream of all politicians.

Now prorogation has ended, parliament reopened its door; the throne speech was given and a new budget was announced, even threw in a gender-neutral national anthem for distraction, but the euphoria is dying fast. What a politician to do? How to rekindle that nationalistic spirit?

With a jolt, the politician realized someone was standing before him.

“I am the Ghost of the Olympic Spirit, Sir. I am here to show you the way.”

The large TV screen was on. “Let’s go back three weeks. Here is the opening ceremony, with athletes entering the stadium. Notice those countries with only one or two athletes, that is the real Olympic spirit. Participation first, winning second.”

“No no no, we do want to win. We want a majority.”

Puffed. In a jiffy, the Ghost of the Olympic Spirit was replaced by the Ghost of Owning the Podium.

“Canadians are too modest, Sir. We went into the Game with fighting spirit, with only one aim in mind, no matter what, just win, win, and win.”

“Now you are talking.”

The TV was showing our first week dismal results, we did not own the podium, and for what were awarded, they mainly belonged to the woman athletes.

“Oh no, we only want cracks in the glass ceiling, not big holes.”

Puffed, out went the Ghost of Owning the Podium, and in his place, appeared the Ghost of Humility.

“Sir, here is Joannie Rochette, our bronze medalist, skating in memory of her mom.”

”Will this translate into votes?”

“Here is another story, Brain Mckeever, the legally blind cross-country skier, who made history by qualifying for the Olympic.”

“We have squeezed all possible publicity out of him already, and in the end, he was benched and forgotten. He has no chance of winning anyway.”

Puffed, the Ghost of Humility exited angrily, and in her place, the Ghost of Gold Rush.

“Sir, I am glad to report we do own the podium, the top of the podium, to be exact. We now hold the record of the country that got the most gold medals. Our last gold was the one that triggered the euphoria of nationalism across the country, from coast to coast to coast. We own the hockey podium.”

“Yes, that’s exactly what we want. To keep the patriotic flame alight, we need to ‘Own the Hockey (Male) Podium’, the government has to form our own all Canadian NHL team to do just that.”

A quiet voice spoke from the corner, “why don’t we just draft Sidney Crosby for PM, should be cheaper and more effective.”

The politician woke up with a cold sweat.