Tag Archives: family

What Was Actually Stolen

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By Jason Menard

Just when you want to hope for the best in this world, someone comes around and makes you question whether good truly exists.

Earlier this week, my wife was robbed outside our home. The thief physically only walked away with a portable Nintendo DS Lite system. But emotionally the toll he took was far greater. To the man who robbed my wife this week, here’s a list of what you stole.

You stole confidence. That woman you robbed was outside her home late at night for two reasons: pain and suffering. Due to the continued effects of a traffic accident almost four years ago, my wife experiences crippling pain that’s barely dulled by significant amounts of medication. As such, sleep comes fleetingly, and discomfort is the norm. Combine that with medicinal side-effects including a feeling of internal heating that’s disproportionate to the actual temperature, and that explains why she – like hundreds of other nights – was sitting alone outside her own home. Yet still, despite being racked with pain, she fought back – unsuccessfully. But in that one brief exchange, she showed more humanity than you will ever know.

You stole security. A home is supposed to be one’s sanctuary, but by committing such a vile act just outside of our home, you’ve robbed a number of people of that sense of security that is one’s right. My wife, my children, and I now are more wary of stepping out our doors. The night that was once so welcome is now merely foreboding.

You stole pride. A woman struggling with an injury that already causes her to question her value now must deal with the fact that you placed her in a situation that rendered her helpless. A man, who slept through the whole ordeal – familiar with his wife’s nocturnal wanderings and no longer fazed by them – feels less of a husband due to his inability to protect his family.

You stole sanctuary. Your act was not just physical. It was emotional. While the robbery only took 10 seconds of your life, it was replayed in my wife’s mind all night and will continue to haunt her anytime she sees someone in a dark, hooded coat sweater. I, sitting at work, no longer can feel as assured that my family is secure – the questions will always linger.

You stole innocence: And this may be a good thing, in the long run. It can be argued that no one should put themselves in a position of risk – but one’s home should be exempt from that. Your act changed that. No place is safe anymore, save for our own vigilance. And vigilant we will be.

In the end, my wife did nothing wrong. In merely trying to live her life and cope with the side effects of another person’s mistake, she became the victim of someone else’s malice. You spoke no words, but your actions speak volumes. You disappeared into the night, but remain ever present in our thoughts and minds. To you, my family meant nothing. And you, who once meant nothing to us, are now an unwelcome part of our lives.

That system you stole was worth $150 at most. In the end, was it worth it? You’ve mortgaged your soul for a cheap toy. But the cost to us is immeasurable. What we’ve lost physically is nothing. What we’ve lost in terms of hope for the world, trust in our fellow man, and belief in the future is priceless.

That’s a debt you could never repay – even if you were so inclined. But for one to be so morally bankrupt as to take advantage of an injured person, then the concept of honouring one’s debt is not one that comes to mind. But who knows, maybe you’ll read this and the faint beating of that cold heart will start pounding through your callous exterior. Perhaps knowing your victims had faces, names, and feelings will stop you from believing that your actions have no lasting impact. Maybe, just maybe, you can repay the debt you owe us by becoming a better person and not putting anyone else through this torment.

Forgive me, however, for not holding out hope.

We will come out of this stronger, eventually. The one thing you cannot steal is our family’s bond and love for each other. We will be more vigilant and we will protect each other better because you’ve stolen more than just a video game – you stole our belief in a better world.

2007© Menard Communications – Jason Menard All Rights Reserved

My Pocket Picked by a Mouse

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By Jason Menard

Mar. 2, 2007 — Call CrimeStoppers, I’ve had my pocket picked! The culprit? A short, dark male with a propensity for wearing red pants and no shirt. He has overly large ears and a high-pitched, squeaky voice.

Aiding this crime were his female accomplice, an unintelligible duck – who should be approached with caution because his frothing at the mouth may indicate rabies – and a large, clumsy dog with an aw-shucks countenance and limited cognitive abilities. Amazingly, these clever bandits made off with my money while I was sitting in the comfort of my own home, as the real scene of the crime took place when my wife, daughter, and mother attended the recent Disney on Ice spectacle at the John Labatt Centre.

But let’s not blame Disney alone as this gang wasn’t alone in perpetrating the crime – the management of the local arena was more than a willing conspirator.

There is an expectation, at any event, that you will pay a premium for items and memorabilia. Like at amusement parks and sporting events, people are more willing to part with their hard-earned money once they’ve become caught up in the atmosphere. But the combination of over-the-top pricing and preying on small children is something that, while it fills the company’s coffers, should leave the recipients with an empty feeling.

In the end it may have been cheaper to take my family to Disneyworld , especially after considering the $15 program, the $20 wand, the $4.50 beverages, and the $10 popcorn — $10 for something that probably costs 30 cents in kernels. And we complain about movie theatre prices!

Now, the argument will be that you don’t have to buy these things, and that a simple no is enough. And we, as parents, do our best to show our kids what can and can’t be done on limited resources. Although all children will ask for everything, we try to show that you can’t have everything, and that things need to be saved up for or budgeted. We say no far, far more often than we say yes.

But at a celebration, specifically targeted to young children, you can forgive any parent for wanted to maximize the enjoyment. What seems like a cheap piece of plastic with flashing lights to an adult is, in essence, a magical experience for a young girl. To us, it’s a toy wand, to her it’s the embodiment of her dreams and a tool to use to create future memories and experiences. They say there’s no price you can put on those memories, but these cash-grabbers are certainly doing their best wring out every last dollar.

Unfortunately, the prices charged are only reflective of what the market will bear. If people weren’t willing to shell out these exorbitant rates, then they wouldn’t charge them. But there’s a subtle difference between fair market value for a product that’s targeted towards an adult, and what’s considered fair when your demographic is under the age of 10. And while parents have a responsibility to their own budgets, marketers abdicate any responsibility towards not exploit the dreams and imaginations of the youth that propel their product.

It’s not a matter of parents feeling that not buying something for their children makes them lesser parents, but rather it’s a desire to accentuate the experience by having something tangible to take home with you (or, in the case of the $4.50 Diet Coke, having something to ward off dehydration…) It’s a matter of helping to make memories last and being able to afford to do so.

The thing is, there is no legal obligation for producers and venue owners to change their price structure – it can be argued that there is only a moral one. If they can justify charging $20 for $3 worth of cheap plastic and circuitry, then so be it – they’re not alone in the market for inflating the value of their products. And, yes, adults should take a stand and fight back against price gouging. But must that stand be taken upon the foundation of our children’s imaginations?

And let’s not just base this argument on the consumer end. There are plenty of reasons why shows like this – and the venues that host them – should re-evaluate their pricing. First, the tangible: by lowering your prices, you would increase consumption. There have been many times I’ve heard people walk away from concessions and booths without spending a dime because the prices are too high. By lowering the prices a bit, while still respecting the margin, you would increase the number of consumers taking action. The key is to find that right balance to maximize profits – the same type of math we learned in high school.

Secondly, the intangible – and, by far, the most important. In large part, people aren’t offended by the total they spent, they’re irate at the individual prices. By providing better value-priced merchandise, you’ll stimulate spending, while leaving people with a better feeling about their purchases. They’ll feel they’ve received value for their dollar and will be more willing to return for subsequent events, thereby creating a self-perpetuating, steady source of reliable income. If morality doesn’t sway you, then cold hard business should.

In the end, yes, I was robbed (and thank goodness for generous grandparents – who were also robbed), but it’s an inflated price I – along with many other parents – am begrudgingly willing to pay to help my children live their dreams.

2007© Menard Communications – Jason Menard All Rights Reserved

A New Perspective on the New Year

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By Jason Menard

As we age we often lament the loss of things that we enjoyed in our youth. But that mentality is short-sighted when one considers all that we gain in return. All in all, it’s hardly a fair trade.

Like many of you, when I was younger I rang in New Year’s Eve as hard as possible. From nights at the bars to house parties to rock star-esque trashing of hotel rooms, New Year’s Eve was a time for revelry – usually fuelled by alcohol.

In years past, I greeted the New Year with a bottle in both hands. This year, I quietly welcomed the New Year with my daughter in my arms. And there’s really no comparison.

It’s been a steady descent into adulthood over the past few years. Before we were rocking the streets of the town, now we calmly watch Dick Clark’s New Year’s Rockin’ Eve and ring in the New Year not with a gong, but with a quiet kiss and embraces with friends. The old me would wonder what’s wrong. The new me knows that it’s finally all right.

With two children, aged 11 and four, my wife and I no longer feel the need to go out and paint the town red. We’ve long realized the game of life isn’t won by partying or staying up all night. No, the game of life is won or lost based solely on who your teammates are. And I get more satisfaction now spending an evening at home with my family than I ever did bellying up to any bar and racing the rising sun home.

While I still have friends who continue to frequent clubs and bars, I can’t say that I have any inclination to join them. Instead of drinking myself into oblivion, I’d rather head home and remember every single moment that my son and daughter give to me. As I watch them grow – and as my son gets closer and closer to those teenage years – I realize that each passing page of the calendar means fewer opportunities to share their lives. And I’m not willing to let those moments go. And when I do go out, I don’t want to be stumbling arm in arm with some drinking buddy, but rather enjoying an evening on the arm of my wonderful wife.

So as I sat on our friends’ couch with my wife at my side and my four-year-old in my arms, I watched as my daughter vainly tried to hold out until midnight – less for the New Year’s celebration and more because of every child’s wish to stay awake. Instead of slamming down shots or squeezing another tune on the dance floor, I read to her the assortment of books she continued to bring to me.

At 11:56 p.m. she finally lost the battle, her eyes fluttering closed as she fell asleep in my arms. With my wife at my side and my son nearby, we counted down the last few moments of 2005 and greeted the New Year with smiles and hugs. Our daughter saw the arrival of 2006 through sleep-heavy eyes and promptly fell back to bed.

Shortly thereafter, as we drove the Montreal highways back to our temporary home, we watched the traffic that accompanied us on our route. It wasn’t the over-lubricated revellers that stumbled along the streets of our past, but fellow families heading back to their homes with similarly somnolent offspring in various states of repose in the backseats of their cars.

I realized that while I enjoyed the follies of my youth and don’t begrudge anyone their decision to keep living that life, I’m enjoying the company I’m currently keeping. And like most of us in the not-too-long-after-midnight traffic crowd I went home not regretting the life I’ve long since left behind, but fully embracing the life that I now enjoy.

Because, when it comes down to it, while holding a drink in each hand may have had its moments, they’re easily forgotten. Holding my child in my arms as she succumbs to the security and warmth of a father’s love – that’s a moment that’ll last forever. And I can’t think of a better way to ring in the New Year.

2006© Menard Communications – Jason Menard All Rights Reserved

The Great Middle-Class Doughnut

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By Jason Menard

Why is it that in our attempts to find the best that life has to offer, we often ignore the most important aspect of our existence – our soul?

I’m referring to the underlying societal gravitational force that begets the Great Middle-Class Doughnut. No, I’m not referring to spreading waistlines. The insidious force to which I’m referring is the gravitational force that draws many of us to an inertial point somewhere between urban and rural life – the suburbs.

We have heard countless stories about how many of today’s rural dwellers are abandoning their environment and conglomerating towards urban environments. But, as our basic physics lessons taught us, every action has an equal and opposite reaction. Just as people are being drawn to the cities, a significant number are being repelled from its core in search for a better life.

Just as the planets and satellites are held in their orbits by opposing fields of gravity, so do suburbanites congregate in a swath of land that’s not “downtown” but that’s certainly not to be considered as “The Boonies.” For many of us, our aspirations are to find that patch of land, in our quite community, with our fenced-in yard, 2.3 kids, and the family pet. It’s a good life and it’s certainly not to be begrudged for those that have chosen it – but there seems to be something missing.

But that same bourgeois magnetism that draws us to these areas is the same that confines us to the four walls of our home. We reject interaction with our neighbours, we travel to the same Big Box stores, to buy our same value-sized products to return quickly to our Home Depot-inspired family rooms to gather around the TV to watch television.

And I’m no different. My wife and I have often spoken as to where we’re going to settle, and the idea of a place that’s safe for the kids is first and foremost in our minds. But, in embracing the security and uniformity that the suburbs represent, are we denying our children the opportunity to experience the beating heart of the city they live in?

As long-time Montrealers who now live out-of-province, we are afforded the opportunity to visit the city on a regular basis and look at it with a perspective that enjoys both an insider view and an outsider’s freshness of sight. We’ve watches as our friends have spread to the far corners of the island and beyond, while other remain in a more central location.

And, at every available opportunity, I try to walk the streets of the city. While I’m instantly at home in the suburbs – a place that’s eerily reminiscent of my current city of residence, London, ON, it’s the vibrancy of the core that strikes me. The streets are painted with a variety of brushstrokes, each colour overlapping and crafting an image that’s stunning for its raw beauty.

I’m instantly transported into a world that I imagine existed in much the same manner a half-century ago. While the storefronts may change, the essential ebb and flow of the streets remain the same. From the people sitting on their balcony to the animated conversations on the street, the very soul of a city manifests itself in all its glory. Instead of radiating from a TV screen, life presents itself in live action, with each of us as an active participant.

What most of us forget is that the true soul of a city – the reason why we were drawn to a location in the first place, is at its heart. It’s not a coincidence that the music that moves us to our very souls comes from the inner city. Motown, the Liverpool-fueled British Invasion, the Mississippi Blues all come from experiences forged at the heart of a city. New York City, the symbolic pinnacle of success and dreams, is represented not by the commute from Connecticut, but rather the vibrancy and excitement that resides right on the paved streets of Manhattan.

Yet, what I may be most guilt of here is romanticizing. While I can appreciate this tapestry of life, I’m not privy to the hardships that go into weaving it on a day-to-day basis. The same sense of community that I romanticize is forged not from any sense of communal support, but rather out of necessity.

So that’s why, in every step of life, it’s important to appreciate what we have and where we have it. Although often vilified, the suburbs are not soulless. They are, in fact, a place where dreams are realized. And, while the sense of community may not be as prevalent, the essential bonds of family are as taut in the suburbs as they are in the city.

Whether you choose to experience the Great Middle-Class Doughnut or sample the fare from the city’s breadbasket, the most important thing is that you take a bite out of life and savour every moment.

2005 © Menard Communications – Jason Menard All Rights Reserved

Appreciating Our Passengers Along the Road of Life

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By Jason Menard

In rushing through our everyday lives, we often are so focused on getting ahead that we forget to look around and appreciate those who have joined us for a ride down the road of life.

I recently attended a funeral, and the adult daughter of the deceased got up and read from a letter that she wrote to her father on the occasion of his 80 th birthday. In it, she stated that she didn’t want to wait for a funeral to express her feelings, when it would be more appropriate to share them while he was still alive. And I was struck as to what a profound yet simple concept that was.

Why do we wait for eulogies to express our feelings? Why is it that we are constantly doomed to repeat the mistake of not appreciating what we’ve got until its gone? Why do we take for granted those that are with us while they’re here, and not appreciate them fully until after their gone?

The game of life can be cruel. Anyone of us, young or old, healthy or frail, can shuffle off this mortal coil at any time, with or without warning. And it’s partly because of that fact that we dwell upon our own self-reflection. Our candle could be snuffed at any time, so we’re bound and determined to make that flame burn as brightly as it can!

There is a reason why important starts with an I – because that is the person we generally put first and foremost in our lives. From our hedonistic, world-revolves-around-us youth to our budding adulthood, we are possessed with the idea of being better, experiencing more, and exploring the world around us. We live, learn, and work to satisfy our Id.

Yet, often when it’s too late, we feel the loss of a loved one. We regret the words unspoken, the harsh feelings, or the wasted time arguing over petty issues. We look back on friends left behind as we’ve moved on.

But why should we wait? The old saying says that those who forget history are doomed to repeat it. You don’t know what you’ve got until it’s gone is a mantra we all repeat without taking it to heart.

But how do we remedy this situation? Personally, despite being a man of many words, I find it hard to express my true feelings. My parents, who I love and care for deeply, don’t hear that enough. I have friendships that I cherished in my youth that have been worn away by the eroding forces of time and distance. Even in this digital age, when communication is as simple as sending an e-mail, we rationalize our distance and attribute our lack of interaction to “being too busy” and “life.” But what good is life without friends and family to share it with?

So what do we do? We can do our best. Even if we can’t say “I love you,” we can show it through our interactions with our friends and family. We can cherish old memories and strive to make new ones. We can reach out for long-lost acquaintances and catch up on old times. The fact of the matter is that the bonds that hold us tight never truly break. They may slacken through neglect and they may be covered in cobwebs, but it only takes a quick dusting off to rediscover what brings us together.

There are some people in the world who are naturally mushy. They emote and empathize with the best of them. They cry at long-distance telephone commercials. Their eyes well up with tears when someone is telling an emotional story. I’m not one of those people and probably never will be. That doesn’t mean that people like me don’t feel. Don’t care. We’re just not as adept at expressing it.

The important thing is that deep down inside, whether you’re an emotional cripple or a blubbering fool, we all have attachments, we all have those we hold dear to us, and we all need to do a better job letting those we love know it.

Because once they’re in that pine box, it’s too late. And all the would haves, should haves, and could haves in the world won’t make up for those lost moments.

2005 © Menard Communications – Jason Menard All Rights Reserved