Tag Archives: youth

Blunting Our Greatest Tool

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By Jason Menard

Language is a wonderful thing. The very thought that you can string together completely random symbols and not only have them form a very real image in your mind, but all share that image with someone else is absolutely awe-inspiring.

After all, I can write c-a-t and you’ll probably have a fairly solid idea of the animal to which I’m referring. I can write those letters in seconds, yet convey a fully formed image. My other option would be to try to draw that animal. Maybe you’d get it right — chances are you’d be saying, “What’s that? A giraffe? A mongoose? A cowboy eating a hamburger on a pogo stick?” Continue reading →

Facebook — A Friendly Whitewash of our Community?

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By Jason Menard

So, are you my friend? Am I yours? Am I an acquaintance? A colleague? An enemy? An annoyance? An inspiration? We all know what the people around us mean to us, but unfortunately Facebook has forced us to paint everyone with the same brush — diminishing some, elevating others without merit, and cheapening the concept of “friend” through our own compliance.

Facebook is about community at heart – and it’s filling a void we may not have even known we had. As we continue down this technological path with all its rewards and potential, the tolls have been paid by increased isolation. How often do we send an e-mail instead of picking up the phone? At work, how frequently do six-hour e-mail back-and-forth conversations replace what would have been a five-minute face-to-face chat? Our interactions are largely through a screen – and the genius of Facebook is reconnecting us to our communities through the medium of choice.

Of course, just because we live in a community doesn’t mean we have to like ALL of our neighbours.

I have co-workers, both past and present, some of whom I consider friends, others who are acquaintances. There are schoolmates – again, some of whom I consider friends, others who were passing acquaintances (and, of course, there are those people who I thought I recognized, but ended up having no relationship with!) Sure, friend could work in some of these cases, but what about the rest?

I have had the honour of meeting a number of people over the years who, whether they know it or not, have had a profound and inspirational impact on me. Through their own talents and dedication, they push me to do better, to be better. “Friend” just doesn’t fit for those people on Facebook that I admire, the people who inspire me, the people who, whether they know it or not, have played key roles in me becoming the person I am today. Where’s the classification for that?

And what about those who have meant so much to me at various points of my life? Yes, it’s true, I’ve never been good at keeping in touch. But that fact doesn’t diminish what these people meant to me at the time. Again, they helped me become who I am today.

That’s what’s Facebook’s good for. It’s a way to reconnect with people from my past. Sure, in large part, I don’t care about one’s FarmVille or Mafia Wars updates, but I don’t spew the vitriol that some do against these games (in fact, I never understood why peopel get angry. Just turn off the notification. It’s easy). If these games make you happy, then go ahead. I’m sure my hobbies would probably annoy some of you too! And generally, I read with varying degrees of interest the day-to-day minutiae of people’s lives — some posts are captivating, others are forgotten as soon as their read. I’m sure my posts are met with the same degree of apathy by most. We post because we want to share our experiences, to connect. But we’re not just connecting to the present. Most importantly, our posts serve as tethers to our past. Today’s post may mean nothing in the grand scheme of things; yesterday’s memories do.

On the flip side, Facebook can bring out the worst in people. It feeds the needy, attention-starved, narcissistic desires of those who are perpetually stuck in a high school-esque drama of their own creation. It allows them to perpetuate a reality wherein they are the victims of an oppressive world, obviously created by whichever deity in which you believe to serve as a Hell on Earth.

From the plaintive, but out-of-context, “sighs” posted on wall, to the various permutations of “Oh, I can’t believe this happened to me,” or “Why do I bother,” these comments are designed nothing more than to elicit nothing more than the well-meaning, but enabling, responses from other “friends.” And then, of course, comes the cat-and-mouse teasing out of the whole story, which is followed by the initial intended result – the reaffirming platitudes.

Seriously, if I ever do that. Shoot me. Both on Facebook and in real life.

Spit it out, say what you want, and stop being coy. It’s pathetic. In addition, we only see one side of the story. Certain people use Facebook to spread gossip, start rumours, and distort the truth. I have one “friend” who is, well, how can I put this nicely… The Least Self-Aware Person Ever to Exist (I was going to say Hypocritical Douchebag, but I really don’t like the word douchebag.) She is constantly put upon. She is constantly distorting the truth – unfortunately effectively – both in real-life and on-line. And she loves to play the victim whilst, in reality, is actually the victimizer. She is a user to the nth degree, but is completely unaware of that fact. Well, let me change that. I would hope she’s completely unaware of it — otherwise, she’s an even worse person than I think. Unfortunately, we allowed ourselves to be used. Why? Pity, mainly. But eventually the capital raised by that is exhausted. Especially when it becomes apparent that the cause for the pitiful situation is rooted in selfishness. Alas, the ties that bind mean this person’s still in our lives.

But don’t we all have these people: the hypocrites, the desperate, the sullen (in her case the Bat-Shit Crazy?) Back during my Gazette days I had the pleasure of having lunch with Gwynne Dyer and we started talking about the Internet, which was still very much in its infancy. I mentioned that there seems to be way more wackos out there on the Internet. Mr. Dyer responded, ever so succinctly, but eloquently, “There aren’t more wackos out there. It’s just now they’ve got a forum to share their craziness.”

Is that what we have on Facebook? A forum for the crazy, the narcissistic, and the obtuse to rage against whichever machine is allegedly oppressing them? Is it a forum where old friends can strengthen the bonds that have frayed by time? Maybe it’s a way to engage in a form of voyeurism and exhibitionism? Likely, it’s a bit of all the above.

I know I’m no innocent. I’m likely guilty of some of the above. In my youth, I was an ass. I was sarcastic, biting, and very insensitive. I made jokes that I shouldn’t have. I spoke without truly considering the feelings of others. And for that, I’m sorry. If you knew me at 15, 20, 25, you only knew part of me – and, I hope, not the best part.

I’d like to think that life changes you. You grow, you mature, you become more understanding. You learn to appreciate people for who they are. You learn to appreciate who you are. In my early 20s, I thought I had it all figured out. In my 30s, I’ve learned that I didn’t know squat in my 20s. I recently had an on-line conversation with an old high school friend of mine (she fits into the paragraph about the writers I admire and make me want to be better…) and we both agreed that it takes until your 30s until we finally are comfortable with who we are. Of course, talk to me in 10 years, I may say, “Mid-to-late-30s Jay was a moron.”

But I know that 16 to 25-year-old Jay was a moron. Not intentionally, I just needed to grow.

Pain, and seeing someone you love suffer from it as well, wizen you quickly. And the natural passage of time helps too. You learn what’s important, what’s not, and you learn to leave the fake drama behind. There’s enough real drama out there – why manufacture more? And I’m happy to see that the majority of people who are my “friends” on Facebook have done the same. They’ve matured, they seem more accepting. They’ve left high school behind. Others are still stuck in some Gossip Girl/90210 world of their own creation (personally, I’d rather be stuck in some Charmed world of my own creation, but that’s again alluding to my continuing infatuation with Alyssa Milano. My apologies.)

A day doesn’t go by when I don’t read someone posting how it would be better to just walk away from Facebook. But that’s allowing the negative to overwhelm the positive. Yes, living your life entirely on Facebook would be bad. Restricting your interactions to an electronic medium isn’t healthy. But there is a valuable balance to be struck.

I guess it all comes down to the value you get out of Facebook. For me, it’s keeping in touch with friends who, in the not-too-distant past would have been lost forever. It’s learning from others’ experiences as they share them on their walls, etc. It’s about remembering the past (and, hopefully, learning from it). It’s about retaining a piece of who you were and understanding how it made you who you are. In the end, the good in Facebook outweighs the bad.

I just wish we didn’t have to paint everyone with the same “friend” brush.

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

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

Music for the Ages

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By Jason Menard

Sometimes it takes a new set of ears to remind you how powerful music can be – and how it can move your soul.

That new set of ears came from my five-year-old daughter. On the weekend, as I was cleaning the basement – that new mess, of course, also came from my five-year-old daughter with a healthy assist from her 12-year-old brother – I decided to break up the monotony by putting on a CD.

Compounding the fact that I was dating myself with that aging format – I find the MP3 format seems so cold – I decided to delve into my personal archives for a long-lost friend. The band doesn’t matter, but it’s safe to say that I haven’t heard them in over a decade. But as the first ballad on the CD played, my daughter perked up and came to me, arms extended, asking to dance.

As we danced, I thought about how powerful music truly is. How it can create such a heartwarming memory, and how it can literally help define who we are. That night, my daughter asked for that same CD as her nighttime music – and, with just a few chords, our common bond was strengthened again.

My daughter loves music. She sings all day. Whether it’s the songs she’s learning at school or the latest hits on radio, music is a big part of her life – just as it was for me.

But as we age, that passion for music seems to fade. As a youth, in my teenage years, my friends and I used music to define who we were – and, more importantly, who we weren’t. While others were listening to the Top-40 songs that saturated the airwaves, we were delving into our past to find music with meaning. I suppose, in a way, we were looking for depth in our music to make up for our relative lack of depth in life experience.

While others were listening to dance and pop, I was delving into Elvis, The Beatles, and Bob Dylan. Some were content to Fight for their Right to Party, while I was reliving a counter-culture youth I never experienced with Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young. I chose The Cure, The Clash, and The Smiths, over The The.

I was deep. Even if growing up in a middle-class, suburban environment left me as deep as a puddle in reality, my music showed the world that I got it! I understood the world and wasn’t going to conform.

Then something funny happened. I grew up – and I started tuning out.

That same syntho-techno dance crap that I would rail against actually turned out to be pretty good. Those 80’s cheese songs that I thought were the bane of my existence actually turned out to be pretty damn fun to sing along to. And I stopped defining myself by what I listened to, choosing instead to define myself by who I am.

In essence, music no longer defined who I was. It was simply a part of my life. I didn’t need to be the tortured poet or the whimsical bard. I could simply be Jay. And if I find the new Avril Lavigne or Nelly Furtado song catchy, then who am I to second-guess? There’s no Sex Pistols’ credibility card out there – and it certainly wouldn’t be revoked if I’m caught bouncing my head to pop radio. Grandmaster Flash, NWA, and Public Enemy won’t turn their backs on me because I’m singing along with the flavour-of-the-month Hip Hop artist today.

Heck, even Parliament/Funkadelic wouldn’t begrudge listening to Justin Tim… well, on second thought, not even I’m ready to go there.

Looking back on it, the depth that I was conscribing from my music has been displaced by my life-earned knowledge and wisdom. Before I was searching for music that I could relate to, that I could play as a calling card exclaiming to the world “Here I am, here’s who I want to be.” Now, I am who I am and I’ll let that speak for itself.

We spend so much time in our adult lives searching for pleasure, it seems like such a waste when we deny ourselves a full range of musical enjoyment in our youth. But that’s just a fact of life, I guess. It’s a part of maturing. As youth, we define ourselves by those with whom we associate – for better or for worse.

In the end, I’ve found that those who are most prone to criticizing things that are popular or, even worse, not obscure enough, are usually those who are most apt to define themselves by their influences. Instead, I’d prefer to define myself by who I influence – and that starts with raising quality, generous, intelligent children.

Of course, if I can start them off with a few solid bands to help them find there way, well then there’s no harm in that? After all, eventually they’ll just tune them out and be themselves – defined by who they are, not what they listen to.

2007© Menard Communications – Jason Menard All Rights Reserved