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Is it crazy for a 76-year-old to be nostalgic for school days? What else might a septuagenarian be ranting about?
Canadian politics? American politics? Personal relationships? Personal health?
Am I an expert on any of the aforementioned topics? I am not. But I have opinions on all of ’em. And columns are opinions, right? Especially if they piss off at least half of the readers … some of whom will send notifications that I’m full of baloney (or worse). And those letters will supply yet another entertaining column.
So I’ll take a few stabs at the aforementioned topics. My opinions hopefully will interest and/or enrage you.
Let’s start with school days. Unlike more than a few of contemporary students, I loved every minute of my high school classroom. (Except Physics and Intermediate Algebra — neither of which I was smart enough to excel at.) My best subjects were English Lit and History. I loved reading fiction and fact and did well on both.
Regular algebra and geometry? No probs.
Calculus in first year of Commerce at university? Disaster! I nearly flunked out. They let me try another first year in Arts, and I scraped through to a totally undistinguished bachelor of arts.
What saved me and eventually created a career: the McGill Daily. I wrote about sports. I wrote about rock music. I wrote about the odd political stuff.
And I hung out with guys and gals who were smart, creative and eccentric. Some of my colleagues went on to great careers — including Mark Starowicz, who created The Journal as a segment of the CBC National. He’s two years older than I … and a lot smarter. I’ve spent my adult life working with some journalists of whom I am in absolute awe.
Onward to politics. I got interested as a preadolescent. Coming home from elementary school, I hung out with my maternal grandfather, who lived across the street from the apartment my mother and I occupied.
Grampa liked to talk about political history. An immigrant from pre-revolutionary Russia, he was a toiling, Yiddish- and Russian-speaking garment cutter in New York City. His humble career — and decent English — evolved into a coat manufacturer in Canada.
My grandfather moved to Montreal and screwed up his business. I was born in Saint John, N.B.; and I ended up in Montreal — at the age of five — when my mother’s marriage fell apart.
Fast-forward to summer camp. Having learned a wee bit of political history from my grandfather, I spent July and August hopeless in sports and swimming but fascinated by the counsellors who talked politics.
They taught me good Leftish stuff. And I’m still into it.
Onward to personal relationships and health. I managed to screw up both.
I was lucky to have great girlfriends in high school, university and adulthood. I should have been a better guy.
Having grown up with a single parent, my experience of parenthood was acquired by watching television. I watched Father Knows Best and should have learned from it. But I didn’t. And the aforementioned great women were wise enough to de-partner me.
I’m trying it one more time … and loving every minute of it. Wish me luck — and a semblance of proper partnership. So far, so great.
Nancy is terrific. And she’s keeping me healthy. It’s about walking. We get out and around every day until the blizzards hit.
It’s about diet. I eat good food. It’s tasty, and I’ve learned to love it.
I’ve had health issues. But nothing is killing me just yet. Luckily, I’ve had a succession of great doctors who take good care of me. I wish that could be true for every Canadian, from sea to shining sea.
Is it crazy for a 76-year-old to be promoting good health? I’m giving it a whirl. Feel free to email gratitude for good septuagenarian health advice.
Or tell me I’m totally wrong — about health, school or anything.
— Mike Boone writes the Life in the 70s column. [email protected]