Thursday, October 12, 2017

70 Is Not My Golf Score! -- 3 -- October 12, 2017

On the ocean blue

I only remember three things about my trip early in 1953 from the port of Piraeus, in Athens, Greece to Pier 21 in Halifax, Nova Scotia, Canada.
The first was the stop that our ocean liner Nea Ellas’ (or Hellas’) made at the beautiful port of Lisbon, Portugal. I do not know if we disembarked, but I do remember standing on the deck of our boat watching some more lucrative passengers throwing coins to the little boats far below. Each boat contained one or two people in swimsuits, mostly male. The idea was to throw the coins near the boats but not on or in them, so that the locals could dive into the water and retrieve them. Most exciting to watch for a five-year old. I remember thinking how fortunate these divers were. They were having fun swimming and diving and getting money for it as well.
It wasn’t until much later in my own life that I surmised the life circumstances of most of them. I realized that poverty and perhaps a lack of opportunity to gain an education were likely major factors in their selection of such a livelihood. But what bothered me in retrospect was the fact I and others were being entertained or amused by their lot in life, or at least their performances. In a recent search on the Internet, I was relieved to see that there was no information on this activity in Lisbon that I could find and one can only hope that the practice stopped long ago.
Perhaps subconsciously this experience helped form some of my philosophy, regrettably held to this day, concerning how I treat the poor, or in today’s terms, the homeless, the squeegee kids, or the souls that just hold up a sign and walk towards your car when you are stopped at a red light. I must admit that I have little time for those that just sit cross-legged on the sidewalk and hold out a paper cup to be filled with money. Or those that soak your windshield with dirty water only to squeeze it ‘clean’ later, and demand you pay them for their unsolicited and unwanted service. And, in some cases, heaven help you (or your car) if you don’t. No, they are not all like that – the smart ones are very polite and take a hit like any wise businessperson. It’s just that one doesn’t know what kind one is facing from inside the car. Many a good automobile finish has been marred in the process. Ah, where are the police when you need them?
More recently, I have lightened up. I now sometimes intentionally carry coins with me strictly for helping others – not because they are poor, but because I am blessed. And I realize that I have been blessed to be a blessing. I still have a long way to go. But I am realizing that my job is not to judge whether someone deserves the help or whether he/she is doing all they can to help themselves – but rather to realize that one or two bad choices in my own life and I’d be right there, sitting beside them. But I admit I need to become even more willing to be involved in the lives of those less fortunate than I, one way or another.
The second memory (reinforced mostly through repeated retelling by my mother and others) from my first trip across the Atlantic was about getting lost on the ocean liner. Early in the voyage, my mother had discovered that her one and only child, a son, just five years old, was nowhere to be found. Panic struck. She madly dashed here, there, and everywhere without success. Petrified greatly by the fear of me having gone overboard and by now having been eaten by a shark which apparently passengers had been warned about, all she was capable of was wailing and screams. But if that possibility didn’t have her pulling her hair at the same time, realizing she had to face my father in Canada without me sure did. Within minutes, several crew members were involved in the search and an announcement over the ship’s public address system was quickly made, asking everyone to help. Soon a notification came down from the captain himself. Yours truly had managed to work his way up some flights of stairs and somehow found himself way up on the bridge itself – yes, where the captain and his delegates steer the ship. The rest of the voyage was spent mostly in our cabin and mother did eventually recover.
I am sure it was that experience that has caused me to be always super aware of the exact location of children under my care, be they mine own, or those of others, when I’m responsible for them. Perhaps it is this kind of demonstrated diligence that has allowed all our adult children to feel comfortable in letting me travel with their children, even at a young age. They know I am more concerned about what “could” happen than take chances believing “it won’t happen”. I’ve seen and read about too many split-second mishaps and a child is lost forever. You don’t take your eyes off a young child for one second at the beach. You don’t leave a young child in a car on a scorcher day for one second to go into the store. You don’t let a young child walk home from school alone through the hydro fields in the fall when the clocks haven’t been turned back yet. And you can add your own horror stories. Lives change in an instant. Yet so many are so careless with the little ones they have been blessed with. There are enough other natural causes totally beyond our control which result in the loss of a child that we should be making every effort to ensure the cause is never our lack of attentiveness.
I can’t remember how long the trip from Athens to Halifax took, but rumour has it that we were at sea, as they say, for close to two weeks. Those Greeks must have been trying to save on fuel, because anything I can find in my research says it should have taken a lot less in 1953. Still, we were thankful to see Pier 21.
Now this I remember distinctly. As we got off the boat, we entered a covered gangway which seemed to go on for some length (to be surpassed only by the distance one must walk to get to customs and then to one’s bags when getting off an Air Canada late night flight from the U.S., in Toronto’s Terminal 1). As we walked down this covered corridor, we could see in front of us a widening of the gangway into a much bigger and open space, but still high off the ground. There we were met by a male friend my father had asked to facilitate our arrival and see us safely on our way to Toronto. He escorted us to the railway station and made sure our bags and we got on the right train, in the right car, and seating in the right seats. But not without first treating us to a great spaghetti meal, my first meal in Canada, in one of the restaurants in this great hall area at the end of the wide corridor.
Can you imagine a 35-year old woman who spoke no English whatsoever and with a five-year-old energetic (but now very obedient) little boy landing in a strange land, facing customs and immigration, and having to continue her journey by train for yet another three days or so? (Today that same ride takes 27 hours.) Thank God for that man.
Clearly his involvement with my mother and I must have impressed me greatly and later influenced much of my career as I got involved in being a counselor, a mediator, a mentor, and a consultant. Nobody can make it through this life alone. Everybody needs a hand sometime. Everybody needs a little guidance, a little support, a little physical help, and a lot of encouragement. Some of us were put on this earth to provide some or all of that to those that cross our paths or call on us for help. Early in my life, and through the example of my parents with their constant demonstration of Greek hospitality (philoxenia – the love of strangers) in our home, I learned never to turn anyone away that came to me with a desire to change his/her circumstances, providing they were willing to work hard at it themselves. For example, as a counsellor I studied the Fritz Perls approach to the therapy which involved dealing with reality here and now and not seeking to find childhood experiences that we can blame our behavior on. Those I counseled had to do their homework, no excuses.
I still have a certain amount of negativity towards those that simply want a handout. I’ll help someone offering to sell me a pencil or matches, but not one who feels I need to shell out money just because I have it and they don’t. That position, however, does not sit well with me, when I try to square it up against the teachings of what I believe is expected of me as a Christian.  Some progress in this regard has come, although late in life and even now, I must admit, it still is not optimal.
Clearly this cross-Atlantic trip, my first, had a significant impact on my life. But then special events in one’s early life always have a significant impact on that person. What are the lessons here, even in that last simple statement?

One comes to mind right now. We make a great mistake when we think that “Ah, the kids are still young and they won’t be hurt by our separation or divorce”. As a marriage mentor and a separation mediator for some time, I assure you the kids will be hurt. Some of them will carry that scar for their entire life. Worse still, the behavior we will model for them due to our own desire to please ourselves, may well be repeated by them, continuing the brutal cycle of broken homes and broken lives. [Don’t get me wrong – I would never advise anyone to remain in a marriage that consists of repeated physical, verbal, or mental abuse; repeated infidelity; or a life of crime. But today, divorce has become an option of choice, pursued often so easily.]
[Want to be notified when the next instalment is posted? Just subscribe to the right -- it's free. And please share this with your friends. Feel free to comment. -- Ken]

It would be great if you would share your thoughts or questions on this blog in the comments section below or on social media.

No comments:

Post a Comment

Thanks for your comment.