I think I was 4 or 5 years old at the time. I had, what we would now call a nanny. The woman that looked after me was a poor, black woman. Her name was Matty, at least that's what I remember calling her. We were looking out of the living room window of my family home and a man was walking in front of our house. I turned to Matty and said, "Matty, that man is burnt". Matty stroked the hair on my head and said, "No honey, that man ain't burnt. That man is colored." Back then in the late 50's and early 60's, African-Americans were either called Negroes or Colored people. That is, they were called that in polite society. It was the first time in my short life and in the time that Matty looked after me, that I even recognized that Matty was different than me. You see, at that age - I always looked into her eyes or just felt her presence. Matty was love to me. No skin color or facial features, no fear or anxiety - just love. That was my first real conversation. A conversation that I remember to this day, as if it happened yesterday.
I was working on an oil rig in my early 20's and some guy drove on the rig site and was being disrespectful to one of my co-workers and myself. My co-worker was a farmer and was trying to make some money on the rigs, in order to keep his farm. He must have been in his late 30's or early 40's. A gentleman at all times, respectful and always willing to help us young guys when we were unsure what to do around the rig site. This nice and respectful man turned to the guy who was being disrespectful and just snapped. I don't think I had ever seen someone so angry in my life. He walked over to the disrespectful guy, with a hammer in his hand. My co-worker pointed the hammer at the guy and told him to "shut the fuck up and get off the lease site". The guy in the vehicle was taken aback, turned his vehicle around and left the site. I don't know who he was, don't know why he was there - but, I do know that whatever reason he was there, was not reason enough to stay there. My co-worker came back to where we working and got back to work as if nothing happened. It was about break time and we sat down for a minute. I asked him what that was all about. He was quiet for a bit and then smiled at me and said, "I treat people the same way they treat me. I put up with some bull shit from people I work for, but that guy has been on my ass for awhile. Thinks he is better than me because he has a title and business card. I don't have to take that disrespect from any man". My life to that point was trying to get along, not to create any disharmony where ever I worked, more of a yes sir or no sir kind of guy. That day opened my eyes to a new view of work. A view that a person could work hard, be respectful, be kind and helpful to those he worked with - but, never accept any disrespect from someone in the workplace again. That was a real conversation, one that I remember to this day, as if it was yesterday.
My mother lay in the intensive care unit of the hospital. Tubes and needles sticking in and out of her. She was unable to talk, she had a large tube down her throat so she could breath. Two weeks prior, she was admitted to the hospital for anemia and now she was going to die of cancer very soon. As I sat there night after night, not knowing what to do or say, I held her hand. She was awake and aware at this time and I spoke from my heart to her. We had a strained relationship since I was in high school. More my fault than hers. But now I wanted to say something to her from my heart. "Mom, thank you. You've been a good mother. I was lucky". She squeezed my hand and her eyes smiled. I can't remember if I cried after that. I don't think I did. I don't know why I wouldn't, cause I have tears in my eyes as I write about that conversation now. That was a very real conversation, one I'm glad I had and the emotions I feel as I write this are as if it had happened yesterday.
I was down by the river with Brenda. We had been seeing each other for months. I had been going through an acrimonious divorce and was pretty fucked up. I had shut myself off from feeling any emotion. The woman who I had been married to for 10 years had ripped my heart out and worse, had ripped my children out of my life. The broken heart I knew I would deal with, not holding my children was unbearable. I don't know how Brenda did it. She stayed with me through all the hurt I was going through, all the times I would withdraw from her emotionally, all the times I would generalize women and how I felt about them. She was strong for us both at that time. Not that she gave me strength to get through the divorce. No that was up to me. Up to me and my psychologist. No, Brenda was strong for us and our future as two people in a relationship. I'm sure it would have been easier, many times, for her to move on and find someone else. As I was saying, Brenda and I were walking by the river one evening and then stopped by a tree that was tilting so far over the river that Brenda was leaning up against it. For the first time in many months I felt something in my heart. I looked into Brenda's eyes and told her that I loved her - for the first time we had been seeing each other, I told her that I loved her. I don't think that she understood at the time the depth of my words. She had been so patient, so giving of herself and her body, so kind to my kids when I had them on the weekends - she was probably thinking that it was about damn time I said it. That was a real conversation, I remember it as if was yesterday and I think Brenda finally gets what I mean when I say "I love you'. It's not just three words, it's raising three kids in a blended family, it's being there for each other as parents passed away, it's being strong when death came knocking on our door and Brenda was given back to me, it's finding ways to be physically close when arthritis has riddled our bodies with daily pain. Those three words, "I love you", as if it was yesterday.
My Dad was sitting on his hospital bed. It had been two years since my Mom had passed away. The past two years had been hard on him. He missed his wife and life partner. He had been on dialysis for at least a year and was constantly in and out of the hospital, always in pain. He was lost, lonely and tired. He turned to me and said, "I'm taking myself off dialysis". I don't know if my face betrayed the shock I felt. I fully understood what that meant. My father had decided to quit prolonging the inevitable. He no longer wanted to live without my mother. We had many conversations before he slipped into a coma. The day before he went into his coma, his youngest brother died of a heart attack. Earlier in the year his oldest brother also passed away. I had to make a decision to either tell him about his brother's death or just let it go without mention. We had another real conversation when I told him of the news. "I guess I'll see them all soon", another real conversation, remembered as if it was yesterday.
I won't be writing about the real conversations that I've had with my children. Not yet anyway, I'll save that for another blog.
I was alone in the back yard of our home in Arizona. I had taken time for some health issues and was looking at a minimum of three surgeries to get my health back on track. Brenda was at our home in Canada and it was just myself and my dog Jet. It was warm, the sky was blue, hummingbirds were flittering around the bottlebrush tree and I was deep in thought about the future. I started talking in my head, I looked up at the sky and said my thoughts out loud and even sometimes I would look at Jet and talk to her. It was a conversation about the future. A place to work that was respectful, fun and with a greater purpose than to get the share price up and get as much money as I could get. A greater purpose than myself. A place where the lessons I learned from Matty would be shared with my co-workers. A place where respect was something that was expected and not thought of as a weakness, like I learned from my farmer co-worker on the oil rig. A place where young people would learn from older. A place where those with disabilities, like me and others like me, could continue as knowledge workers. Whether that would be modified work schedules or work from home or even part time. A place that gave back to the community, not for credit and recognition - but, because it is the right thing to do. To love to do something, means to work through challenges and understand a greater reason for doing the things we do. At that moment, I knew that Philosopher's Stone had to be. I had to show the courage that I learnt from my parents, to be willing to risk my carefully planned out future of making shit loads of money and retirement - in order to do what my heart was telling me I had to do.
So now we have an approved name of Philosopher's Stone Oil & Gas Foundation, three directors are now in place, application for letters patent are waiting for signature by the directors and approval under the Canada Corporation Act Part II and then further approval from Canada Revenue Agency. Only a month or two behind in the timeline I set in the first blog post. Thank you to all who have helped get Philosopher's Stone to this point. We need your support to make this dream, this hope - a reality.
Now that has been a real conversation.
