Regifting in its Finest Form

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By Jason Menard

Some people frown on regifting, but many others of us have, at one time or another, taken something that was given to us and passed it on to someone whom we felt would appreciate the gift more. So if we’re willing to do this for cutlery, paintings, or other less-than-ideal resents, why are we so stingy when it comes to something that matters — something like organ donation?

For the thousands of people currently waiting for an organ transplant, a regift of your organs could be the greatest present they’ll ever receive. It’s potentially the gift of hope, the gift of a future, and the gift of life. Frowning on regifting? Not me. Not when it comes to organ donation.

Since I’ve been old enough to make the decision on my own, I’ve always committed to posthumous organ donation. When I pull out my health card, there’s that black strip along the back reading “donor.” The entire process was so insignificant that I don’t even remember doing it — but the long-term ramifications for someone else could be life-altering.

At least, that’s my hope.

First off, I hope to use my organs for a long, long time. But if something happens to me and I’m shuffled off this mortal coil a little earlier than I expected, then I certainly hope that what’s inside of me can be of use to someone else. And don’t think this is a matter of trying to live on through the lives of others. Simply put, I won’t be needing those organs, so it’s kind of selfish of me to keep them to myself — or reduce them to a pile of ashes once I’m gone.

I can also completely respect those who for cultural or religious reasons decide not to participate in organ donation. That is their choice, their lives, and I respect their right to live it the way they do — just as I hope they respect my choice. I’d like to think that if I’m wrong and I do need my organs wherever death takes me, then whomever is there to greet me will be more than willing to comp me a new set, understanding that I gave them away to help others. Most religions feature a forgiving deity so I’m hoping compassion and caring for others would count.

And if the one who greets me at the afterlife ends up being a stickler for original parts, then I guess I’ll have to live (or die, as the case would be) with that — comforted by the fact that at least I went out on a positive note.

It’s the people who just don’t get around to it until it’s too late that I have a problem with. Sure, nobody likes to dwell upon their own mortality. Nor are too many people fond of being cut open and picked apart like the tubby guy on the Operation board game. But one moment of compassion, one stroke of a pen checking off the right box can make such a difference to those who truly need it.

Assumed consent is a flawed solution for this problem. It leaves too much room for error and too much opportunity for an unintentional disrespecting of someone’s religious beliefs. And while live donation is an option, I’m afraid I’m a little too selfish for such a selfless act. After all, if I give away a kidney and mine fails, I’d be a little miffed. And I don’t know if I’d be able to handle knowing that I sold an organ that my own child or parents may need in the future. If I’m to be condemned for showing preferential treatment for my family, then I guess I’ll have to hang on that crime.

Nor do I like the idea of forcing someone to fill out the form as a prerequisite to obtaining an essential piece of documentation, whether it be a health card or a driver’s license. This, after all, is still a country where people are free to make their own choices at their own leisure.

For me, the decision to donate my organs is a no-brainer (pun fully intended). But I can appreciate that others may have to ruminate over the issue. We all process death differently and we all have different motivations guiding us towards our eventual decision. Unfortunately some people take far too long to make up their mind.

So what’s the solution? Sadly, there is no one perfect answer. Greater education and greater access to organ donation forms are the two ways to bring people around. Why not leave self-addressed stamped forms at various government institutions so people can fill one out on the fly and mail it off! And think of the sheer humour in someone filling out a form allowing for the harvesting of their liver while their in line at the liquor control board!

Why not have fun with the whole thing? Why not put a stack of organ donation forms at a men’s urinal with a message stating, “Enjoying using your kidneys? So would hundreds of others waiting for a transplant. Fill out this form today!” Information doesn’t have to be preachy to be effective!

In the end, the more people know, the more likely they are to make an informed choice. The easier we make it for them to donate, the more likely they will. Human nature is to resist things that are forced upon us — but human nature is also to give!

And hopefully people will get the message sooner, rather than later. Because as welcome as these regifts would be for those awaiting an organ transplant, for many of them time is running out. Whichever way you choose, just choose and let your family know.

2007© Menard Communications – Jason Menard All Rights Reserved

The Only Opinion that Matters Can’t Be Heard

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By Jason Menard

How far is too far? How much is too much? And what right to we have to make decisions for other people – both living and yet-to-be conceived?

Those are the questions that are constantly laid out before us and questions for which there appears to be no globally acceptable right answer. And even when we feel comfortable with our own decisions as to what’s the right answer in our lives, life continues to throw us new curveballs – just to keep us on our toes, and less certain that we’ve figured things out.

The latest head – and soul – scratcher is the story coming out of Montreal of the mother who has frozen her eggs so that her daughter, who is undergoing a procedure that may affect her fertility, could give birth in the future. In the end, the daughter would be giving birth to her biological half-sister, yet expected to raise her as a mother.

Is it right? Is it wrong? Is it for us to decide?

Morality is such a fine line to tread when it comes to making decisions. My wife goes outside in a tank top and shorts, and I’m fine with it. People from other cultures may look down on that because she’s exposing too much skin. That’s they’re choice and they’re entitled to their beliefs, just as I am to mine. Gay marriage? I’m fine with it – after all, I figure it just strengthens the depth of my bond to my wife when I’m involved in an institution that celebrates love in all its myriad forms. But, if your God tells you it’s wrong, who am I to say no? Everyone’s entitled to their beliefs as long as you’re respectful of others’ rights to do the same.

But when it comes to the unborn that’s a different story. We’re not talking about people who have the ability to make a decision for themselves – we’re talking about future humans who have yet to be conceived. And, in the case of the Montreal family, you’re talking about a decision that will have ramifications for the rest of the child’s life.

I believe in pro-choice, in that the woman has the ultimate right to decide. However, abortion is about terminating a pregnancy – preventing, for whatever reason, a child from coming into an environment where it is not wanted. That is a horrible decision for anyone to have to make, and it’s not aided at all by those who look down upon the women who have struggled to choose this option. As a 33-year-old male, I figure I’m the last person who should have an opinion on abortion – although I seem to be in the minority with that view judging by the plethora of middle-aged white men and past-the-age-of-childbearing women who take to picketing hospitals that administer abortions. It’s always easy to condemn something that will never impact your lives. Personally, I’d rather leave that moral debate to those who are impacted by it.

But this case in Montreal troubles me. This isn’t about ending a life – we’re talking about creating a life and submitting the person to a life of challenges and questions. This is a decision that will only have a minimal impact on mom and daughter (or, in this case future grandmother and mother), but will resonate within the resulting child for years. While the decision of the mother to freeze her eggs for her daughter’s use is an altruistic one that seems to have been made with the best of intentions – the desire to allow her daughter the joys of experiencing childbirth – the problem is that common sense seems to have been left out of the equation.

There are several other options available to women who are unable to conceive naturally. Research and science have developed a number of procedures, treatments, and techniques that have given hope to a generation of women who previously would have been written off as “barren.” As well, there are far too many children waiting to be adopted into a loving, caring family. Who knows what technology will emerge in the next 20 years?

Has anyone thought of how the unborn child will feel when they grow up, eventually finding out that grandma actually is her biological mother? Has anyone thought of how this child will deal with the impact of the scrutiny that will eventually find him or her as the child’s story comes out? Will there be resentment? Anger? Confusion?

Maybe it will all work out for the best. Hopefully, if the mother’s eggs are used in the daughter, the resulting child will be born into a loving, caring family where it is wanted. But is it right for us to make those decisions as to how our children will be born?

Again, this is a decision that’s best left to the family, as they’ll have to deal with the repercussions. But, hopefully, at least one opinion will carry more weight than all others – the opinion of the unborn child. Because, after all, that’s the only one that matters!

2007© Menard Communications – Jason Menard All Rights Reserved

A Matter of Perspective

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By Jason Menard

One of the great things about life with my wife is the difference in our backgrounds – and our relationship has helped me to broaden my perspective on life. Oddly enough, I was reminded of this by the news that a new reality series focused on the creation of a new Menudo was in the offering.

That’s right. Menudo. Trust me, this will all make sense.

My wife is the daughter of a former diplomat. As such, much of her youth was spent living abroad: Algeria , Niger , Brazil , and Mexico . She spent a number of years in Mexico City , living at the embassy, but able to immerse herself in the language and the culture – a culture that included the Puerto Rican boy band Menudo.

For young pre-teen and early teen girls in that area of the world Menudo and similar band Timbiriche were music idols. Unfortunately, for young pre-teen and early teens in this neck of the woods Menudo’s impact was felt in a significantly different manner.

This first came to light when we were going through our collection of vinyl albums. Sifting through a stack of appropriately named dust jackets, I came across my wife’s collection of old albums. Our reactions were quite different — her eyes misted over with youthful memories; my eyes were wide with shock.

Now, it was at this time that I realized that I take my youthful influences for granted. Popular culture references that, to me, are common are, in fact, restricted only to a certain sub-section of people who lived during a specific time in that specific area. I had always, to a certain extent, assumed that because my wife and I are both Canadians and of the same age, we’d share many common experiences – much in the same way that I could easily relate with other friends and acquaintances that I had met. I couldn’t have been more wrong.

I believe my, “I can’t believe you actually own this,” was met with an icy cold stare in return. Once that look thawed, it was followed by her asking how it was I knew of Menudo, growing up in the Great White North.

And here’s where our perspectives differed greatly. To many Canadian kids of a certain age, our exposure to Menudo was limited to breaks between Saturday morning cartoons. After getting fit with Mary Lou Retton, we’d then be subjected to perfectly coiffed, pastel-wearing young boys galavanting about in highly choreographed routines. To us, Menudo was nothing more than a cheesy, kid-friendly, boy-band precursor. But to my wife and her friends in Mexico they were so much more.

A band that was a source of mockery for us was an object of reverence for them. While we viewed them as disposable filler to be endured until Spider-Man and his Amazing Friends came on, in fact they were filling concert halls throughout the Latin world. We cried tears of laughter, they cried tears of idolatry.

Since that moment, the tables have been turned time and time again between our youthful experiences. Movies, music, and films that I view as iconic touchstones of my youth and carry the full weight of being cherished memories pass over my wife’s head as if they were light as a feather. Pop culture references, key literary experiences, and other character-defining moments are met with a quizzical look and quiet acceptance.

And, very quickly, it reinforced the notion that while two people, both of whom were born three months apart and only a few kilometers apart in Montreal, may arrive at the same destination, our perspectives can be drastically different based upon the route we’ve taken to arrive where we are. No version is right, no version is better – and the sharing of these journeys have allowed us to grow as individuals because we’re able to see beyond our own entrenched views and be more appreciative of the diversity and complexity of life.

But in the end, if we end up watching the Menudo reality show, we’ll probably still do so for two separate reasons. And while she’s recapturing fond memories of youth, I’ll probably be doing my best to stifle any grins and chuckles. After all, I’ve learned to respect her perspective – even if the view is slightly different than my own.

2007© Menard Communications – Jason Menard All Rights Reserved

Lessons Learned

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By Jason Menard

You know what’s the best thing about university? It’s the opportunity to learn and explore exciting new worlds and experiences. And what’s the worst? The fact that everyone around you thinks they’re right and has all the answers.

Despite the cacophony of people all-too-ready to pounce on them, Ian Van Den Hurk, the editor-in-chief of The Gazette, and his staff have learned the greatest lesson of all from their spoof edition – the lesson that people make mistakes and it’s OK.

Now, if only others would be as tolerant and forgiving as they expect The Gazette staff to be. But when it comes to savaging the wounded, it seems that whatever slings and arrows that are nearby are fair game – even if they’re not based in truth.

I know, I’ve been there. Ten years ago, I sat in Van Den Hurk’s chair as editor in chief of the daily student newspaper of the University of Western Ontario . I had the honour of working with a dedicated, passionate group of people who were committed to excellence. Most importantly, they were committed to sacrificing their lives for the cause of serving the student body at large. We were a diverse group of men and women, working together knowing that we were fighting against various interest groups that only had one agenda to push – their own.

In a university environment, you’re immersed in a world of passionate people, who are learning new things and gaining new experiences every day. They are exposed to new causes and embrace them with the passion and vigour of youth – unfortunately, that’s not always tempered with experience and knowledge, and that enthusiasm without wisdom can be the fuel that fans the flames of anger. Passion often overwhelms perspective when dealing with various interest groups.

One of the arrows recently lobbed at Van Den Hurk and his staff is that The Gazette has long been a bastion for sexist comment, which is ludicrous. Over my four-year time at The Gazette I had the distinct pleasure of working for and with an unparalleled group of women, many of whom have gone on to positions of influence in the media and business world. They brought a passion and dedication to the publication of the news, but also were able to shape and refine our perspective. These were some of the strongest women I’ve met and they are the type of people of whom I would proud to have as role models for my daughter and my son!

In my exit column, I wrote how much I valued the contribution that everyone made at the paper and stated that the ignorant critics would always remain so. That opinion still holds because it’s not that people don’t want to understand – it’s that they choose not to.

Looking back on my days as EIC, I was vilified for choosing to run a Cultural Diversity issue in February. The decision was motivated by our desire to be more inclusive with the various groups around the campus, but due to financial and advertising restrictions, the only month we could afford to do this edition was February – the time of our Black History Month issue. We were vilified as racists, despite running a month’s worth of articles focusing on black history, because we chose to forgo a dedicated issue in lieu of embracing all cultures. Despite the positive feedback we got from the campus at large, a select few groups chose to focus solely on their own interests – to the point where we were told the African-Canadian co-ordinator of the month’s worth of coverage wasn’t “black enough.”

From that experience and others during that year, I learned a valuable lesson about respect and tolerance. I learned that in a position of influence you have to be even more sensitive to cultures than you think you are – but, in the end, you have to do what you feel is right.

But the key point is that I learned – and isn’t that what higher education’s about? Don’t forget that Van Den Hurk and the rest of his staff are students, juggling a passion for journalism with educational, familial, and social commitments. Many have to hold down second jobs because the pay they receive is a pittance – but they do it for the love of the craft. They’re passionate, dedicated people who only want to do the best, but sometimes make a mistake. And now, in rectifying that mistake, they have the opportunity to grow as writers, as editors, and — most importantly — as people.

In retrospect, the article lampooning Take Back the Night and women’s issues should have been vetted a little more closely. It should have been handled with the utmost in delicacy understanding the passions that the issue can inflame. But the topic is not taboo – no cow is too sacred for satire. How one puts that satire into effect is the key, and it’s a lesson that the staff of The Gazette are certain to have learned.

In this rush for everyone to mount their moral high horses, common sense is getting trampled underfoot. If there was truly no malice – and I can’t fathom, knowing the caliber of women that join the ranks of The Gazette, that there would be – and the staff is genuinely remorseful for the impact of their work, then we should afford them the opportunity to learn from their mistakes. For those who are preaching tolerance from their respective pulpits, perhaps it’s time for them to lead by example.

In the end, the writers at The Gazette will be better, more well-rounded people for going through this experience – and isn’t that what higher education is about?

2007© Menard Communications – Jason Menard All Rights Reserved

London School Path Could Lead to Death

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By Jason Menard

Violence in schools, unfortunately, is nothing new. What people should really be concerned about is how it’s only going to get worse due to the inertia of school officials.

On Wednesday, in Toronto, one student snapped. In retaliation to a prank gone wrong, a student allegedly overreacted and returned firecracker fire with a more lethal blow from a bullet. Those types of incidents are tough to avoid because one way or another that student would have snapped.

It’s not the extreme violence that we should concern ourselves with. It’s the rising tolerance of day-to-day aggression that our school system has come to accept – and, in some cases with its policies, encourage.

The school in London, ON, at which my seventh-grade son attends has a hands-off policy. Unfortunately, it’s a hands-off for the victim, not the victimizers. For students who are being bullied they’re trapped on both sides by fear – fear of the bullies, and fear of the school system punishing them for defending themselves.

Students who are prone to bullying are generally those who are more likely to abide by the rules – and fear the ramifications of disobeying them. Students who bully take pride in flaunting the lackadaisical approach of school administrators, knowing that any punishment certainly won’t match the crime. What’s worse, lying and deception is encouraged – and, in some cases, rewarded.

I turn to a recent example for illustrative purposes. During the course of one day, a student accidentally kicked a basketball into the chest of another boy. That was the extent of the transgression. However, the boy who was hit by the ball then stewed in his own juices, formulating a plan, and building his anger. At the end of the day, this boy walked out into the schoolyard, asked who the ball-kicker was, and – without warning or provocation – assaulted him.

Assault. Violent, malevolent, viscious.

Without giving the unsuspecting boy a chance to defend himself – or even be aware of the fact that a blow was coming – the child who had the ball accidentally kicked into him pounced upon the other boy, punching him repeatedly in the eye, at best oblivious to (or, at worse, completely aware of) the fact that the victim was wearing glasses.

In the end, the victimized boy was taken to the hospital and was told that he was lucky that nothing was broken. He suffered lacerations to the face and back, severe swelling and bruising around the eye, and an unhealthy dose of psychological trauma.

The assailant? One day suspension and a slap on the wrist. How? Because he lied. He told school officials and police officers that it was a mutual fight. Although he suffered some wounds due to defensive injuries, the fact of the matter was this was an assault. The police, in turn, were unable to progress any further.

One day off school. That’s it. That’s supposed to be a deterrent to kids in the future?

What’s worse, a crowd of students stood around watching the assault. No one stepped forward to break it up, or even to help. And then we wonder why school violence is rising?

Bullies will continue to bully until there are serious ramifications to their actions. And those who are bullied will continue to not fight back because they’re actually worried about the “no-touch” policies in place. So we have to get tough now unless we want the next school shooting to take place in The Forest City.

First, longer suspensions for fight instigators. Yes, there will always be schoolyard dust-ups as youth trying to carve their space and identities in this world come into conflict. But there are clear aggressors in most cases and they should be dealt with harshly. One day, three days is not enough. Make it hurt – and make it impact parents who refuse to understand the severity. One month out of school? That’s going to impact parents and child alike and will set the wheels in motion for change.

Punish those who stand around and do nothing. If a fight breaks out, the natural reaction should be to break it up. Two combatants can’t do anything against 30 or 40 kids. So if people decide to turn schoolyard fights into a spectator sport, then they should be sent to the sidelines – detention or suspension. By encouraging interventionist behaviour, schools will be able to prevent these fights from escalating into something worse.

Abolish the “no-touch” policies. They’re great in theory, but horrible in practice. I’ve heard several good kids say they are afraid to fight back because they’re going to get suspended. Where’s the common sense in that? Defending one’s self is a right, but through their policies, schools are taking it away from those who need it most. The meek, the studious, the bullied aren’t going to go against the rules, so why should they be hamstrung against aggressors who ignore the rules outright?

Bullying is real. Bullying is getting worse. And it’s only a matter of time until one of our own children lies dead from a bullet. As parents and teachers, we have the ability to affect change, but hiding behind established procedures and policies only serves to hurt those that need it most. School should be a safe refuge for all and the only way we can do that is to get tough on those who prey on the weak.

I refuse to accept that my son’s after-school activities could include a trip to the morgue. But if we keep on following the path we’ve defined, that’s where some unlucky parent will find themselves. And at that point, the community will rise up and the cries to get tough will be shouted from the rooftops!

But why do we have to wait? One dead child is one too many. Toronto and other communities have shown us where school violence can lead, so why must we follow that path? Let’s blaze a new trail – one along which students can feel safe about travelling.

2007© Menard Communications – Jason Menard All Rights Reserved