The kids aren't just okay...so why don't we listen?

The kids aren't just okay...so why don't we listen?

My arms hurt from pounding in election signs. My head rattles all night long with questions such as "could you do more?" I awaken from my sleep, counting signs, counting marks.

Because I am on the election trail. Something I've done now for 25 years (though never this intensely). The one thing I've ever done that I believe makes a real difference to the community in which I live.

And, hey! I'm the old guy with time...and a truck; and a thirty-something candidate that just, well, blows this old guy out of the water. Every day. For the last six weeks, and, hopefully, for many more years. This young, brilliant teacher who quit his job to use dance, music and theatre to help at-risk kids find their way. This guy who would rather become an entrepreneur than toil away into oblivion as an English/French teacher...even though he held a job that most of his fellow graduates would die for (and, to his credit, Drew Moore would probably berate me for ending a sentence in a preposition).

And every day, one of the smartest--and as Jason Townsend calls himself--most unemployed post-graduate thirty-somethings ever, shows up at my house and we go out and work for Drew. We erect signs, we repair and replace them. Sometimes we remove them...though not too often, and usually due to a mistake. And Jason impresses me almost as much as Drew.

Here I am at 60, working with people half my age who still believe in our political system; who still believe in social justice; who still believe that politics is not just a cynical system of marketing your candidate, but the foundation of this wonderful place and time in which we live (note, Drew, no dangling preposition).

And I am so tired...and so impressed by Jason, Drew, young Abad Khan in Fairview and my dear friend Tanis Crosby--another 30-something candidate in the adjacent riding. You kids...Wow! You are so inspiring!

Tomorrow, the election results may show that our generation has failed. Polling shows we may get results that are anathema to everything we have fought for (but not that I have wrongly dangled another preposition). But there are so many bright lights that shine through this, no matter the results.

The kids are not just okay. They are our future. And though we may reject them, this old guy is so invigorated by this new, very smart generation.

Just the Sign Guy

“This election sign business is turning you back into an A-type person,” says my partner of 35 years.

“Jeez, Paul,” says my best friend, “it's just like you’re working again. You’d almost become likeable.”

Yes. I retired four years ago because even I had begun to dislike the professional “me”. While I felt whole because I had a philosophy justified by my work for a public sector union, and I could measure my personal impact on society through my pursuit of that philosophy by just doing my job, I had become so focused, so humourless and so blind to those around me that, in reality, it no longer mattered. So I took the retirement pill at the earliest opportunity, fought those demons and changed my life focus. Over time, I returned to being a nice guy.

Until two weeks ago.

Sitting at a party constituency association meeting, the chair asked “who is going to do campaign signs?” and I slowly and thoughtfully raised my hand.  I raised my hand for Alexa McDonough who fought for my family provincially and federally—who my children call “Aunt Alexa” and who, though heir to the mantle of Canadian greats like Tommy Douglas and J. S. Woodsworth, still hugs each of us when we meet—I raised my hand for my dear late friends Eileen, who taught me to “always go back to your principles” and Mary Jane, who taught me more about election campaign mechanics than any average citizen ever needs to know…

I raised my hand because politics does matter. It matters because there are so many unbelievers who have given up. And if you give up, you only enable the glory seekers and carpet baggers who, realizing an economic opportunity, rush in to fill the void.

The job I took on was practical. I’m the guy who pounds signs into your front lawn. 

I hate it and love it. I fear the door knocking; the nasty old ladies who call for a sign twice and then berate you for pounding it into their lawns; the feuding couple in which one partner orders a sign, the other cancels, the ordering partner calls you back and then you’re sent out to remove it again. But this is how life is lived. The dedicated people called “politicians”, who disrupt their lives to run for a higher calling, represent each and every one of us. And regardless of how the news media spins it, I have met very few politicians from any party who are not the most dedicated, caring and concerned men and women. Although I no longer want the terror of guiding the strategy that goes into the structure of a political campaign, I realize that in retirement, I still have a responsibility and duty to make our society a better place. And that is why I have put everything on hold for a month. That’s why I get up every morning, nail signs together and then pound them into strangers’ front lawns. It may seem like a small gesture, but that’s about the best thing I can do for this country that has given me so much.

It seems like such a small act of thanks for the benefits of living in this glorious corner of an awful world.

But hey, what do I know? I’m just the sign guy.