Puck god…

I’ve been on the angry side of things this week…

But I try to save profanity,

for special occasions…

My parents didn’t give a thought,

to surrounding my sister and I,

with people,

we could look up to…

My father’s youngest brother,

also known as my uncle,

was the first person to roll me a joint,

when I was fourteen,

or so…

And he takes pride in the fact,

that he taught my children,

how to pick their nose…

They prefer tissue…

Several years ago,

at a family gathering,

my uncle said,

out loud,

What is it about your children???

They’re so different,

than these other ones…

With awareness of how my sister and cousin,

might be feeling,

about this insensitive,

public comparison,

I said,

It must be that they come,

from a broken home…

Or because I don’t talk down to them…

Last February,

in a doctoral level seminar,

one of my classmates was quite fired up,

about the racism she has experienced,

and witnessed,

as a Sikh,

in her Fraser Valley community…

And rightly so…

She talked,

as I listened,

about how Indo-Canadian students do not see themselves,

reflected in their schools…

And then in the next round of discussion,

she made a comment,

about those poor children,

of single mothers,

in East Vancouver…

I,

somehow,

completely missed the segue,

but wasted no time in putting,

my business card,

right down,

on that table…

She tried to talk her way out of the corner,

she’d backed herself into,

and discovered,

her wheels were stuck…

A few weeks ago on the soccer field,

a casual conversation about a Christmas trip to Hawaii,

morphed into slurring THE Chinese…

And in the next breath,

this man told me how he IS,

a Christian…

I said,

I thought you were Italian…

Didn’t you grow up Catholic???

He said,

I did…

But then when I was twenty-one I had this huge epiphany,

about the hypocrisy of the Catholic church,

and dedicated my life to Jesus…

I’ve self-published a spiritual book of teachings…

I’ll bring you a copy next game…

I shut the conversation down,

and then was compelled to re-open,

it a few minutes later,

with a teaching of my own…

In 2007 my children’s paternal grandfather,

flew the three us of down to Los Angeles,

for a Spring holiday…

I believed his intention was to re-connect,

with his grandchildren…

But on our way to The Pond,

for Game One,

of the Stanley Cup Finals,

I got cornered with pressure…

The details aren’t important,

but the message became clear,

that due to Grampa’s recent return,

to the Catholic church,

after a more than forty year lapse,

he thought I should bring my children up,

through the same door…

I was raised Catholic,

in a meaningless,

guilt ridden,

trying to look good kind of way…

While my father nodded off in the pew beside me,

I found core values inside myself…

And as I looked at my former father-in-law,

driving down the highway in a Porsche SUV,

I hit him with a message right where it counts,

and a light went off…

He said,

I just got it…

All the things you’ve been telling me…

I need to go to a church to find God,

but your house of God is inside of you…

And that is what you teach your children…

Not by talking,

but by living it…

I didn’t offer anything more than a polite smile,

because I didn’t have the keys in my hand…

And as I looked out the passenger side window,

to see some young men,

pushing a white pick-up truck,

down the middle of the freeway,

Grampa yelled out,

Don’t make eye contact!!!

Those are Mexicans…

They live by a different set of rules than you and I…

They’re dangerous,

and violent people…

As he sped past,

I wondered about the Mexican labourers on whose sweat,

this born again Catholic,

has built his fortunes…

THOSE Mexicans,

who tend the course,

where he enjoys,

his golf…

By the time I got back across the 49th parallel,

onto Canadian soil,

I had a wicked case of laryngitis,

from choking back THOSE words,

inside MY HOUSE,

of GOD…