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.]
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