A Book By Any Other Name…

There is, and always will be, opposition to change.

Vaudeville performers walked off the job to protest silent films. They took a stand against change. Silent film actors quivered at the mere mention of the talkie. They feared change and rightly so. It must have been a very uncomfortable feeling, like the rug was slowly being pulled out from under their feet; they saw it, they felt it, but they couldn’t stop it.

That is the essence of change, it is not only inevitable but impossible to prevent. Change, on a grand, some might say global, scale, is brought on in many cases by technological advances. Theatre – radio – film – television, a natural progression where the next technological breakthrough certainly had an impact on the last, but it did not destroy it. We have radio despite television. We have theatre despite film. In a way, they complement each other by allowing a ravenous audience more choices.

Technology is once again the culprit in bringing on change in a media that has seen little over hundreds of years.

Where once books had to be stored in huge libraries, thanks to advancements, that same library can fit on a single computer hard-drive. Not everyone is convinced this change is for the good. It’s truly a bibliophile’s nightmare since the tactility and sensory experience of reading is removed. Now one turns pages at the cold push of a button on computer keyboards ranging from one that sits atop a desk, to one that rests in the palm of your hand. The smell of ink and paper gone, the feel and sound of paper turning, sliding through your fingers as your eyes land on something soft on the vision but always a possible sensory overload.

Sheldon Comics

It’s difficult to accept change when really, there is no need for it. The onslaught of electronic media is brought on not by necessity but by the simple fact that we need to use the technology in some way. Is there anything wrong with that? Is it so bad that we can have all the books we love, at our fingertips, in one device that fits into a pocket or a small briefcase? Is it not the voice on the radio that carries the message and not the radio itself? It would stand to reason that the words are more important than the book.

Why do we fight change so vehemently when the change is for the better?

I’m an e-book author and I read e-books. Does that mean I want traditional books to disappear? Of course not. Who among readers doesn’t love to sit in a cozy spot on a cold or wet night, book open on their lap, immersed in the pleasure of reading? No electronic gadget stands a chance of replacing something so dear and precious. Can a child’s book on a computer screen compare to the touch of a book open on the floor, its bright colours mirrored in the wondrous eyes that read it? No. When you want to upgrade a radio, you buy the newest version of a radio – and it’s still a radio. The same goes for televisions. I’ve gone through a dozen in my lifetime, but all were televisions. The same cannot be said for a traditional book.

So, why not fight e-books with all our page-turning, cozy-cornered, wide-eyed reading wonder of energy? Simply because traditional books and e-books complement each other like radio and television, theatre and film. Choices are the byproduct of change. As readers, we now have the ability to choose which format our reading pleasure will take given our circumstances at the time. When would you choose a Kindle or E-reader over a paperback or hardback? During a morning commute on any mode of public transit. While traveling it would be an ideal space saver in any suitcase. These are just a few examples.

Where then would one relax with a book, enjoying it’s simplicity and tradition? At home, the coffee shop, the beach…

When it comes to books, traditional or electronic, there’s room for both.

Life, Mom and A Lucky Son

My mom, Alice O’Neill, turns 73 today.

It’s a wonderful milestone to celebrate, but it’s made all the more special by her incredible strength, unwavering perseverance and the best love-of-life attitude I’ve ever encountered.

No one has to tell our family that ‘life ain’t fair’ or ‘life is cruel’. Not only do we have the senses to soak up the world’s ills going on around us, we’ve had enough ills of our own as proof. Having said that, my mom refuses to succumb to the negative. I truly believe that her positive outlook is one of the reasons she beat breast cancer and is beating down lung cancer.

Her three year fight is well documented – there’s a paper trail of reports, findings, medication lists, CAT scans and x-rays. The files may be thick with medical facts and figures but it is not, nor will I ever let it be, her legacy.

I’ve passed people in the street and thought each has a story to tell. Average, everyday people can dazzle you with facts about their lives, facts they feel are of little importance when held up against the heroics splashed across global headlines. Heroism isn’t just committing an act of remarkable bravery, heroes are also people who show great courage and strength of character. To me, there is no better hero than my mom.

Comedians have joked about the huge football player, blood gushing from a cut on his nose, dirt and mud all over his face, looking into the television camera and saying to a national audience, “Hi mom.” I’m a hundred pounds, a foot and a truckload of talent short of being a pro football player, but I know why these seemingly tougher-than-hell men seize the opportunity to acknowledge their mothers.

Here’s a few examples to illustrate. I got hit in a hockey game in high school and suffered a mild concussion. No, I didn’t go to the hospital. Trust me, one just knows (the slurring is usually a good sign). So, a teammate took me home and told my parents what happened. I was a lifeguard through high school and knew that a deep sleep was not a good idea in the case of a head injury. So, I stayed awake for as long as I could then mom took the first shift, waking me up at about two in the morning.

“Son,” she said after gently rubbing my shoulder. “Can you tell me your name, love?”

She’s Scottish, so, everyone is ‘love’. I don’t remember anything. Other than her gentle massage on my shoulder and her laying her hand lightly on my forehead.

At five a.m., it was dad’s turn. He grabbed my shoulder and shook me roughly awake. “Hey, what’s your name?”

I swore at him.

“You’re fine,” he said.

And I went back to sleep.

Does this mean that mom coddled me, not a chance. She just always knew the right thing to say and she added that special mother’s touch to everything. I was the only soloist in my school’s grade six concert. I’d practiced hard and was in regular fights for the first few weeks leading up to the concert. Apparently, in the estimation of some six graders, singing is not the most manly thing one can do.

The big night arrived and I took my cue, carrying my chair out to centre stage, where a guitar (I’d pretend to play) was handed to me by a girl who then sat at my feet to enjoy my song, Red River Valley. As the song progressed, more girls in their cute cowgirl outfits, would run on stage and plop down at my feet. I got to the last verse but started to sing the third verse over again. I caught my error and switched, rather abruptly to the last verse. The audience laughed. It was like I could pick up each person’s distinctive reaction. I just kept going and finished my song.

I carried my chair off stage where the stage hand, a grade eight student who thought my error was so funny that he just had to laugh at me, got hit in the head with the chair. It was an accident, I swear.

After the show was over my dad punched me in the arm and smiled. He was telling me to get over it, not to worry about it, to move on. Mom hugged me and said, “You were amazing. And, the way you kept going like a professional singer was very impressive.”

She took, what was the worst mistake I’d ever made, and turned it into a positive. I can’t tell you how that made me feel. It was, well, wonderful.

There came a point in my life where a distinct fork appeared. I’m not talking about what university to attend or what job to take. I guess it was tracks that appeared; I could follow the right side or the wrong side. My parents sat me down one day, out the blue, and together, they let me know that if something were to happen to me they would be there for me, but if I were to be arrested, I was on my own. Their exact words, “Get caught, and you’re on your own.”

I’ve never asked mom why they chose that strategy and probably never will. All I know is that there was a time, when things began to escalate, that I heard this voice in my head saying, “You’re on your own.” It was the deciding factor on what side of the tracks I took. Basically, I think they called my bluff. Either that or I knew I’d never make bail on my own.

Regardless, I think I’ve turned out okay. It was not by accident, I assure you. I carry lessons learned from mom’s teachings. There were subtle examples of how one should act and what one should do. Those required no words, she showed me. Anyone in trouble, in need, mom would help. She gave even when giving hurt. Sometimes it was a kind word, a hug, a shoulder to lean on. And sometimes she gave money when there was too little to give. It didn’t matter, it always worked out. “Whatever you give,” she says, “you’ll get that back and more.”

Alice & Andy O’Neill
January 17, 1959

My father once said to my mom, “Alice, I love you so much that I would die for you.”

Mom’s response didn’t exactly thrill my dad. “That’s nice of you.”

“What? You wouldn’t do the same for me?”

“No,” my mom replied. “Life is too precious. It’s all we have. I won’t give it up, not even for you.”

Though some may disagree with that sentiment, it has stuck with me, because truly, when you think about it, your life is all you own. It is not something to take lightly, and thanks to mom, I’ve tried my best to treat it well.

When I’ve needed her, she’s been there, to help, console, celebrate or just kick me in the ass. My life has been better because I was blessed with a great mom. Happy birthday, mom. I love you to bits.

Now, dear readers, go hug your moms.