Category Archives: Lifestyle (MC Archive)

Lifestyle-related columns that appeared on Jason Menard’s previous Web site, Menard Communications.

The Mystery of the One-Way Highway

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By Jason Menard

If the government of Quebec is looking for a way to save a few bucks, perhaps they could scrimp a little on repairs of Highway 20 west of Montreal because it’s a little-known fact that this stretch of highway only goes one way.

Well, to be honest, it’s a little known fact only to Montrealers. To those of us estranged from our beloved city to locales westward, it’s an all-too-real phenomenon.

OK, it can be a little scary crossing those bridges and heading to the mainland. And, sure, the barren expanse around St. Zotique is almost post-nuclear in its Spartaness. But a little perserverence goes a long way. Maybe it’s a fear similar to what seafarers felt in Christopher Columbus’ day, but I can assure you that you won’t fall off the edge of the Earth – well, maybe off the edge culturally, but certainly not literally. In fact, many successful forays have been made into the Heart of Darkness – also known as Ontario – and several Quebecers have lived to tell the tale.

Sure, family members have been forced to visit us because we have that all important magnet creating an irresistible force drawing them to us – grandchildren. However, when it comes to friends and extended family — that’s a different story.

When we make our frequent pilgrimages back to our home town of Montreal, all of our friends come out of the woodwork, welcoming us with open arms, and peppering us with the same question, “When are you coming back?” Yet, despite this outward expression of concern and affection, a return visit to our domain is never forthcoming.

Lest you think that this is an isolated situation and that we’re the proverbial black sheep of the family, let me assure you that this is a phenomenon shared by many of us now residing in the land of the trillium but with fleur-de-lys growing in our hearts. From my parents, to co-workers, to acquaintances with French roots, it’s too much of a coincidence to believe that we’re all social pariahs condemned to banishment from our birthplace. Since examples of this phenomenon are shared across family lines, then there must be a deeper aversion at foot.

Why is there such an apprehension of crossing this particular border? In fact, the Ottawa-Gatineau border is well traveled, with people from both sides making ventures into a different province and returns to their homes without any long-term emotional scarring. Perhaps it’s Montrealers’ fear of the unknown, prompted by the fact that so many of their friends have disappeared down the 401 never to return. Of course, this migration is usually prompted by the threat or existence of a referendum, but that’s another story.

As our license plates state, Ontario is truly yours to discover. There is more to us than the scourge of Toronto – many of us non-Hog-Town residents hate that city as much as you. We are here, immersed in our Anglo enclaves waiting for your arrival. In fact, a trip to visit relatives in Ontario is no more exotic than a visit to certain parts of the West Island, so don’t fear broadening your horizons.

We have many of the same programs, we have many of the same interests, we use the same currency, and hold the same passport. We even all get SRC, so the comforts of home are all around you! Sure, Montreal has more to offer than most other cities on this planet, and travelling to Ontario locales doesn’t have the same cachet as staying in town – but what Montreal doesn’t have at this moment is us, and friendship and family knows no geographic boundaries.

I can assure you that there is no hidden danger that comes when the 20 turns into the 401. We are not forced to return to our Ontario homes because of the fact that our first-born are being held as collateral by some Orwellian government organization designed to tether us to our shallow Ontario bonds when the lure of our deeper Quebec roots come calling. We come and go as we please – and so should you.

As a Quebecer stuck in Ontario, I beseech you to come visit us! We’ve gone to all extents to make your trip as comfortable as possible. In fact, you’ll notice that we’ve taken the steps to make all the highway markers bilingual – well, at least until you pass Cornwall, and then by that time you’ve made too much of an investment of time to turn back.

Come visit us. Regale us with stories from the old country. And don’t be afraid of the unknown because, despite all appearances and experiences to the contrary, the highway does go both ways.

2005 © Menard Communications – Jason Menard All Rights Reserved

The Unkindest Cut?

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By Jason Menard

Nov. 14, 2005 — With all due respect to the band Europe, I’ve officially entered into my own Final Countdown – and I don’t know if I’ve got the cojones to go through with it. Or, more accurately, I don’t know if my cojones will let me go through with it.

Approximately four years ago, in a fit of empathy (or lunacy) for my wife having given birth to our second child Juliana, I decided to show my devotion to her following a difficult pregnancy and birth by announcing that, when the time came, I would go under the knife and have a vasectomy.

And while I had hoped there would be some debate, some discussion, or gentle commiseration from my wife upon this announcement, it was greeted instead with a savage enthusiasm akin to watching a shark pounce upon a bleeding victim!

“You’re damn right you will!” Or something to that effect (I reserve the right to take liberties with the statements made at that time, due to the fact that my wife had just given birth and I was kind of woozy.) “After what I’ve gone through giving birth to two kids, I think it’s your turn!” Instead of a gentle acceptance, the ol’ calendar was whipped out and a date was circled, underlined in triplicate, and festooned with little gold stars.

Nov. 13, 2006 – just over five years after my little girl’s birth the boys would be saying goodbye.

So now, the final countdown starts. And, like many other men before me – and currently in my position – we go down this lonely street alone, or accompanied by womenfolk who anticipate the procedure with glee, blissfully unsympathetic to the steps we’re taking.

The arguments are many, persuasive, and wholeheartedly biased towards us men-folk going under the knife. Yet, despite the common sense aspect of the procedure, there is a much deeper-rooted psychological barrier that exists between men and women when the subject of vasectomy comes up.

As a social activity, get a group of couples – if they’ve had kids, all the better – and pose the question of who should have the ultimate birth control procedure. Like a cabal of contraceptive witches, the women will pounce on the topic, demanding men take their share of the responsibility and wholeheartedly enjoying the idea of a man’s testicular region subjected to surgical intervention. Oh, they’ll crack jokes, make snip-snip sounds, and laugh uproariously.

The guys? We’re sitting slightly hunched down with our legs crossed. All the while knowing better than to speak up in the contrary, lest our significant others decide to take the issue of circumcision into their own hands, so to speak.

Ask any man and we know we’ve got it easy in this life. We don’t give birth, we don’t deal with menopause, and we live our lives relatively pain-free. While our wives suffer in order to bring life into this world, most of our injuries result from playing football with the guys or stubbing our toe searching for the remote. It’s hardly a fair swap.

But what’s lost in this debate is that we’re all little boys at heart. Growing up and well into our manhood – if not throughout our entire life, our testicles play a big part in defining who we are. So what does it say when, through a little snip of a doctor’s scalpel, they now become as ornamental as the male nipple – existing on the body, but without any real purpose.

It’s hard (no pun intended) not to feel emasculated when you’ve effectively been neutered. And despite the fact that as we grow we understand what’s between your ears matters more that what’s between your legs when it comes to being a man, the fact remains that there’s a certain sense of loss and disenfranchisement from all that we’ve held dear (again, no pun intended.)

It is the stallion that garners the most respect and notice, not the gelding. A bull is full of vigour and toughness – a steer is no more than tomorrow’s steak. So can we not be forgiven for feeling that a part of our youth and manliness may be sacrificed by going under the knife?

In the end, while I know that undergoing this procedure won’t result in the unkindest cut of all, let’s just say there is a vas deferens between what I know I should do and what I really want to do.

2005 © Menard Communications – Jason Menard All Rights Reserved

Waiting for Dawn

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By Jason Menard

The old adage states that it’s always darkest before the dawn, but when life has the feel of a recurring nightmare, is it any wonder that one can wonder when the sun will shine again.

In relative terms, my wife and I have a pretty good life. And, in the good Ontario Calvinist fashion to which we’ve been exposed, we can put up a good front on the outside, refusing to share our troubles and, in doing so, keeping others at bay.

However, internally, enough is enough. It’s hard to maintain a positive attitude throughout overwhelming negativity. Can one really be expected to keep turning the other cheek when no matter which way you look you get slapped? In this life, you can never expect a hand up or a hand out from anyone – but at least you can hope that the hands will be off your throat once in a while.

Recently my wife was in another car accident. Again, another accident that was not her fault, was unavoidable, but leaves lasting damage. But more than the physical aches and pains, it’s the emotional damage that is more devastating. It’s the weight of yet another negative experience that threatens to crush our will.

Until you’ve experienced a serious car accident, you can never understand the full ramifications of an event of this nature until you’ve experienced it first-hand. It’s not the impact that hurts the most – it’s the aftershocks, and they can reverberate much longer. That’s what we’ve found from our own experience, starting two years ago and continuing to this day.

Over two years ago we were in a severe head-on collision. Ironically, while the accident totalled our car, it set the wheels in motion for a continual test of faith, attitude, and commitment. As a result of the accident, both my wife and I have suffered continual pain. Despite treatment, medication, and therapy, my wife’s arm is still in severe pain and only seems to be getting worse. My shoulder is still damaged and I have my good days and bad days.

This initial accident has changed our lives immeasurably, in almost every aspect of our existence. From social to financial to emotional, a split-second impact has had lasting repercussions. It’s a physical embodiment of the old adage states that dropping a small pebble in the ocean will eventually cause a ripple effect that will carry waves across the world.

The initial accident has given us years of a unique perspective on the world, allowing it to unfold before us and display its true colours. It has allowed us a new perspective on friends and family – the former, in many cases, we had overestimated, and the latter we had previously grossly underappreciated. And it has exposed us to the best and worst of human nature. From expressed and unexpressed doubts and looks of bewilderment, to offers of support and callous dismissals, to hearty displays of support and gentle commiseration, we have seen the best and worst of life.

Yet, throughout all of these trials, the one fact that has stood out above all the rest is that at the end of the day, we have each other.

No matter how well prepared you are to deal with the after-effects of guilt, what you can’t prepare for are the lasting effects of guilt. No one can understand the eroding force that guilt can have on your life – slowly and steadily wearing away your resolve – until you’ve had reason to experience it first-hand. For example, my wife continues to feel guilty for being a burden – her words – on me as she’s unable to participate in the household chores, work and bring in income, or be the wife she wants to be. Yet her guilt persists despite the fact that I appreciate what she is able to bring to me. My doing a few extra dishes, assuming the housekeeping chores, and cooking the family meals are small prices to pay for the joys that she brings by being in my life.

Of course, it’s also a small price to pay on the guilt that I feel. Although I’ve been told ad nauseum by officers, doctors, and my wife that the initial accident was not my fault, it’s hard to not feel some culpability when the woman you love is continually in pain for an accident in which I was behind the wheel. I know I am innocent of any culpability, but yet one still can play the old what if game. Guilt doesn’t have to be rational. I know the full weight of that initial accident lies on the shoulders of the other driver but, as a husband who loves his wife, I can’t help but want to do everything in my power to make her life easier, more comfortable, and more enjoyable so that she can eventually get better. Those vows say for better or for worse, in sickness and in health – they’re not empty words.

Since that initial accident, our lives have been beset with a number of challenges. Guilt gets in the way of moving on simply because you want to help the other so much. Pain has restricted our lives; it has prevented us from doing what we need to live our dreams. The accident has added a variety of stressors to our lives, whether they are legal, financial, or emotional.

Yet, in the end, through all the darkness there has been some light. As we’ve been forced to turn inwards and turn to each other for support, we’ve developed a greater appreciation for what we have. We are blessed with two children, a roof over our head, and food on the table. And we are blessed to know that, no matter what, we’re in this together and supportive of each other unconditionally. Any of our previous skirmishes and arguments now seem petty. We have grown up immeasurably and are looking forward to a brighter future together.

Yet, still it’s hard not to feel that we’re being punished for something – as if these continuing trials are some sort of Karmic retribution for past transgressions. Is this some sort of punishment for the sins of our past? Are we not to be judged on the person we are now? In my youth, I was much more cynical, much more callous, and much more flippant. I was egocentric and certainly not as sensitive to others’ feelings and needs. But I was also young and was learning my way through life — protecting myself and my development from others by putting up a façade.

Since the birth of my children I have mellowed. I’m not so angry at what I perceive are the world’s wrongs. I am more understanding and more compassionate towards others. I have learned what it means to live and to love. Mistakes were made, but they’ve been acknowledged and learned from. So when do we get to move on?

Life doesn’t always go as planned. And, obviously, whatever doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. But no matter what cliché you use, the fact is that it’s hard to be a good person when you see others who don’t treat life with the same respect succeeding. My wife and I truly try to be good people, positive roll models for our children, and – in good Cub Scout fashion – leave the world a better place than what we found it. But it’s so hard to be positive when negativity seems to hang over you like a cloud.

So now we come to another accident: another jarring impact that stops life for a time. But where will those ripples lead us? We will spend our time fighting the current and trying to keep our head above water, or is it now time for us to coast on the waves to a better, more positive, experience?

Either way, no matter where life takes us, we’re going to continue to be positive, going to continue to look for the good in life, and continue to appreciate the fact that no matter what happens we have each other to support. Life owes us nothing more and has already given us so much by allowing us to find each other.

And if that realization is the first rays of sun filtering through the darkness, then I say it’s time to bring on the morning – we’re ready to tackle the day and make the best out of life!

2005 © Menard Communications – Jason Menard All Rights Reserved

Going Out on Your Own Terms

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By Jason Menard

Nov. 3, 2005 — Let’s hear it for Gary Hames for choosing to go out on his own terms.

Hames, a Londoner who was recently diagnosed with terminal lung and lymph cancer, chose to hold his wake before he actually shuffles off this mortal coil. A celebration of life while still living – and an opportunity to appreciate the friends and family around him.

Too often we wait too long to say what we feel. Whether it’s an “I love you” to a parent or telling a friend how special they are, we often wait until the person is no longer with us to say how we feel. Hames wasn’t going to give people that opportunity.

Normally, when attending wakes, we’re placed in that uncomfortable position of having to view the deceased in an open casket. To take a few moments to say our goodbyes with our words falling on deaf ears. We make idle talk with each other, commenting on how natural the deceased looks – only because death is a natural part of life.

In my own family, my wife is at her grandmother’s bedside along with her sister and mother, doing their all to ensure that her final moments are filled with the peace and serenity that comes from knowing that she’s surrounded by those that love her. Despite her inability to respond, they spend their time reminiscing, talking of great-grandchildren, and sharing memories of a life well lived.

And saying good-bye.

It’s a hard thing to do. To see a loved one pass on, knowing that despite all the platitudes and condolences, in the end you’re left with a void where once a vibrant person stood. The process of aging and watching health fail doesn’t make it any easier. There is no preparation and there is no way of being ready. We may say outwardly that we know it’s for the best, attempting to assuage our grief with the knowledge that our loved ones’ pain is ending. But deep inside we’re selfish and we’re never truly ready to let go.

It is when presented with death that we best learn to celebrate life. We learn to appreciate the very gifts of which we’ve taken for granted for too long. All the petty squabbles, the frustrations of the past, and the hurt feelings seem so minor when faced with the finality of death. It is at the end of a life when we truly see and feel the good in everyone – but that realization comes far too late.

Which is why Hames should be lauded. We all have an expiration date, Hames is just more aware of approximately when his will come. And instead of waiting for people to celebrate his life after his passing, he took the bull by the horns and decided to join in the party before it was too late.

I often joke with my wife about what I want to happen after my death. I don’t like the concept of an open-casket visitation, because I want people to remember how I was when I walked this earth – not how I look once I leave. So, to lighten the mood I make jokes about having an animatronic corpse – so that I can sit up in my casket and greet people as they walk in. I’ve even suggested making people come by in a certain order so that I can have a pre-recorded videotaped greeting for each person – that’s one way to get the last word.

And despite my attempts at levity, my semi-serious suggestions of taxidermy – although dad as a coat rack may warp the great-grandkids – in the end all I really want is what Hames decided to have: the comfort and knowledge that there are people in this world who care for him and feel that his was a life worth celebrating.

No matter how tough we pretend to be, or how much of a loner we want to imagine ourselves, the fact of the matter is that we all want to know that we’re loved and that we’ve mattered. We want to know that our existence has made a difference in people’s lives.

And it’s a knowledge that needs to come before it’s too late.

2005 © Menard Communications – Jason Menard All Rights Reserved

Investing in a Dream

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By Jason Menard

Where else can you buy a dream for only $2? Over the past couple of weeks, the nation has been caught up in lottery fever – and, while the chances of any of us actually winning are slim, nationwide response to the exorbitant jackpot shows just how powerful the lure of a dream is.

Have you ever noticed that while we’re all fond of saying that there are only two types of people in life, we end up coming up with a myriad of different criteria to finish that statement? Well, here’s another one to add to the list – there are only two types of people in life, those who play the lottery and those who don’t.

Oh, sure there are subsections of each – such as the rabid fan who has the personalized pouch, an array of lucky numbers, and has subscribed to the advanced order program. And then there’s the self-denier who denounces those who play the lottery, but will indulge in the odd scratch ticket. Of course, there are the cynics who refuse to play the lottery and look down upon those that do.

However, my personal experience is that a large number of people are like me, occasional players who buy a ticket once in a while, when the lure of a potential payout is too much to resist. And apparently I dream big. I only play the lottery when the stakes get higher – like over $10 million.

It’s a fool’s wager, of course. The odds of winning are so astronomical that I’d be better off standing in my back yard waiting to get struck by lightning. The lure is too much to resist – not that I honestly believe I have any chance of winning, despite the placating “Well, somebody has to win…” sales pitch that lottery commissions love to trot out. But what draws me to throw a Toonie on the table is the investment in a dream.

That one little slip of paper with a few random, or not-so-random, numbers is your ticket to indulging in a fantasy for a couple of days. During the run-up to a big lottery drawing, we’re all winners in our minds. We happily while away some time fantasizing about how we’ll spend our soon-to-be-had riches: start by paying off debts, make a few big purchases, and invest some for the long haul.

For those few days, we’re able to dream about how a big windfall would help not only ourselves and our families, but all those close to us. We make deals with each other: “If I win, I’ll give you $1 million,” or “I’m going to buy all of our friends a car.” And, of course, there’s the dizzying array of worthy causes to which you can donate that get discussed. This is done partly out of caring, but also out of karmic negotiation – as if promising to give away a portion of future winnings increases our chances of divine or cosmic intervention when those numbered balls drop.

I remember, after adding a lottery ticket to a fuel purchase (and, let me tell you, that $2 magically disappears in the cost of filling up a tank), my wife and I passed a significant amount of time on the highway discussing trips we would take with the family and how we would distribute the money – leading to the ever-popular, “How much do we actually like that person game” when your friendship with people gets tested by a dollar value when the amounts to give away are broken down. By the end, we had planned a few trips around the world (scheduled around our kids’ school requirements, of course), purchased a new home, car, and a summer cottage, and had put aside money for our friends and family. That $2 bought enjoyment, laughter, and dreaming with my wife.

In the end, except for the exceptionally lucky few, it all comes to nothing. We walk away with maybe a free ticket won for our efforts, but more likely we’re simply adding another slip of paper to the recycling box.

But what can’t be thrown away so easily is the dream – and that’s what makes buying a lottery ticket so enjoyable. Cynics and critics will look down upon lottery players as throwing away their money or wasting their time – but the fact of the matter is that, for a minimal investment, lottery players are buying a dream. They’re engaging in some healthy escapism based on fantasy, which is no different than losing yourself in a movie, a sporting event, or a night at the theatre – only the stage that this fantasy gets played out on is in the theatre of your mind.

Two bucks to enjoy a dream for a few days – that’s an investment I’ll make every time. And win or lose, I come out ahead.

2005 © Menard Communications – Jason Menard All Rights Reserved