Well, there goes another month and here goes, hopefully, another blahg.
Recently, I popped in on my friend Bryan, with a colleague of mine, and he referred to me as Mr. Comedy. Of course this was just after me making a joke about something but Bryan had to explain our comedy history and our once famous, in our own minds, radio show “Dead From The Neck Up”. But, I’m getting ahead of myself. The Mr. Comedy is part of the larger “who I am” and I hope to detail more of that in this blahg.
Back in 2000, the singer Jessica Andrews had a hit with a song called “Who I am”. I have to admit that the song has been running through my head as I attempt to write this blahg. The lyrics really give some kind of make-up to the singer and define who she is. It may just be a song but the lyrics and her vocal are quite good. Check out the official video below
I started to wonder what the lyrics to my own “Who I Am” would be; other than Mr. Comedy. If I go back far enough, it would start with being A Son (I know, some would say Son of A Gun or Son of A…fill in the blanks). In the past year I’ve mentioned a great deal about the struggles I had after my Dad fell last June. All that led up to his eventually dying in January of this year. Of course I haven’t talked a lot about what I continue to do as a Son for my 
Mother who survived my Father. The picture on the left is one of the last pictures taken of my parents. It was on the occasion of my nephew Christopher’s wedding. I guess I’m also an Uncle if anyone’s compiling a list.
Over the past few years I took care of making sure all of my parents’ finances were in order and that their bills were paid. I still do that for my Mother. Five years ago I helped them deal with their insurance company when they lost their old house to an oil spill. I negotiated with the insurance company and the builders and the result is the new home that my Mother still lives in. I joke, of course, that my inheritance is looking sweet! But I don’t do that in front of my Mother because she doesn’t like that type of humor. To her, I’m not Mr. Comedy. I do all of this because she provided for me when I was growing up and I think it’s my duty. That’s what you do when you’re a Son.
Just briefly, I’m also a brother. I have four brothers and one sister. Sometimes it seems like I’m an only child when it comes to doing things for my mother but Christmas is coming up and we usually gather at Mom’s. That’s always something I look forward to. I just can’t talk politics with my brothers.
I’m a husband. 
I guess that also makes me a son-in-law but more important is the husband part. If you check out the picture on the right you will see Jeanette and I as we were married at the end of May in 1987. Click on the picture to see a larger version and a smaller picture in the bottom corner of what our family looked like 11 or 12 years later. 
The picture on the left is us 32 years later taken this past June 1st at our daughter Emily’s wedding.
Ok, so to comment about being a husband. Am I a good husband? I’ve tried to be. I’ve never cheated on my wife although I think a few women over the years looked at me in that particular light. It might just be my vivid imagination. Jeanette and I have had our struggles but this past year saw us grow closer as I struggled with the death of my Father, a tragedy at work, and my mysterious illness. I posted this video earlier this year of the Father of the Bride speech I gave at Emily’s wedding. It’s moving and at one point it sums up the love I have for my wife. It’s well worth putting up again:
I am a Father…and now a Father-In-Law.
The above pictures are of my three children on the left (left to right: Abbie, Emily, and Noah). The picture on the right is my son-in-law Charlie. He’s a card. My own children are so distinct but also distinctly like me. Abbie enjoys movies and Tv and comics like I do. Noah enjoys TV and movies as well as old camera and video technology. I believe he got those interests from me. I don’t know what Emily got from me but she’s got Charlie so maybe she inherited the gift to choose the right life partner. She’s also a tech guru and I might have influenced that. Charlie got Emily from me. I gave her away this year at our wedding. No returns, Charlie.
I am a writer. I guess when you get past the personal parts of son, husband, and father then you get to what’s left. I always wanted to be a writer. 
I continue to write but for some reason it has been limited to Christmas stories over the past few years. Once upon a time, 2007 to be precise, I self-published a collection of Christmas entertainments called “Proof For Believing.” It contains a novella called “Proof For Believing” as well as many Christmas poems, short stories (both fiction and non-fiction), and some left-over Christmas sketches from my once brilliant radio career. The cover design is based on a painting by my oldest daughter Emily. Below, is one of the short stories from that collection. Maybe I’ll draft a new Christmas story this year if the inspiration hits me right.
The Hole
Ben struggled with the Christmas tree all the way to the curb. It was Boxing Day and he couldn’t stand to look at it in the house a moment longer.
“See ya, wouldn’t want to be ya,” Ben mused as he gave the tree one last heave and balanced it against a snow bank.
Ben Miller didn’t mind Christmas but there was only so much a man could take. He was still stuffed from the turkey and the pies from the day before, he’d wallowed all month in the sentiment from numerous Christmas movies, and he’d gotten exactly the gifts he had asked for from his wife and kids.
Ben looked down the block. No other house had a tree out at the curb. All of his neighbours usually waited until New Year’s Day or after to rid their homes of their evergreens. There wasn’t even anyone out on the street either. They were probably still all inside and reveling in the Christmas spirit. Ben didn’t get it. Why hang on to it? What was the purpose? It was time for it all to come to an end and for the holidays to move on.
Turning to look down at the other end of the block, Ben noticed the Hole in his front yard. Immediately he fell back into the tree on the bank. There shouldn’t be a Hole in his yard!
Oh, it wasn’t that there was a Hole in the ground or a spot where the snow had melted to reveal a bald patch in the yard. Rather there was an upright Hole about Ben’s height just standing there in the middle of his lawn. It was pitch black and nothing could be seen on either side of it when you attempted to look through it.
Ben cursed at the scratches he’d received from falling against the tree. Struggling out of its branches, Ben eyed the Hole and wondered what on earth it could be.
“What on earth could it be?” Ben asked aloud. He was more than a little shaken from his first sight of the Hole and from falling into a tree that no other house had leaning against their snow banks.
It took a few minutes for Ben to compose himself as he studied the Hole and rubbed at the scratches on his arms and legs. His robe had fallen open and he stood open in his boxer shorts to any and all. But there were no onlookers. There was just Ben and the Hole and that stupid tree.
“Stupid tree!” Ben wrapped up his robe and tried to think what he should do next. He was sure the Hole hadn’t been there before. He would have seen it as he struggled with the tree out to the curb. Maybe it was a reflection, he thought. Maybe it was the sun reflecting against the snow.
“That’s stupid,” Ben muttered aloud. “The sun wouldn’t reflect a black hole. It’s probably…” Ben stopped himself. “A Black Hole. Like in space maybe. I’ll bet that’s what it is.”
Sure that’s what it was, Ben thought. It had to be. It was some kind of Black Hole like those scientists were always talking about. Only this one was in his yard and not in space.
Explaining it this way to himself made Ben more at ease. Half the terror of a thing is not knowing what it is. That made sense. Well, it made about as much sense to Ben as there being a Black Hole in the middle of his yard.
Feeling the tension easing, Ben decided to check out the Hole a little closer. First he walked all around it. He was right. It was a Hole. It was flat and he couldn’t see through it. “Yep, it’s a Black Hole. Funny, I thought it would has some force that would suck you in.” Ben was enjoying this a little. The thought occurred to him that besides there being no trees against snow banks in front of the other houses, his was the only house that had a Black Hole on the front lawn. Ben swelled up with some pride. He thought maybe he could sell tickets or something or that maybe those scientists who were always talking about Black Holes would probably pay big money to study this one.
Ben walked up closer to the Hole and tried to peer into it to see if he could make out anything inside. It was at this point that Ben felt a hand on his back and was pushed abruptly into the Hole.
It was dark. Ben stumbled forward from the force of being pushed into the Hole. He couldn’t see a thing.
Suddenly there was a blinding light and he shut his eyes against the glare. Opening them slowly, Ben was startled to discover he was standing in his yard again about ten feet behind the spot from where he had stood only ten seconds earlier peering into the Hole.
Ben might have continued pondering this revelation if it wasn’t for the other revelation that he was standing on his front lawn looking at himself peering into the Hole.
Ben started to stumble backward and remembered his earlier backward stumble into the tree. He caught himself quickly and stayed upright.
It couldn’t be. How could he be over there peering into the Hole and here staring at himself peering into the Hole? What was that thing? Was it even a Hole? Maybe it was some kind of Time Portal. Scientists were always talking about Time Portals as much as they were Black Holes.
But why would a time portal only take him ten seconds into the past? What could be the purpose of that? What could you even do with those ten seconds again? It wasn’t like it was time enough to change the world or something. What could you do with ten seconds?
Slowly it dawned on Ben. He hadn’t just been given ten seconds. He’d been given another chance. It was all about the value of time. Not about rushing through it or discarding it like it had no value or meaning. It was a lesson. He could look at things differently. He could make other choices. When looked at that way, ten seconds seemed liked time enough to do anything. It was the perfect gift for someone who thought they’d already gotten everything they’d asked for.
Ben knew what he had to do. He had to live like every second had been given back to him to use correctly. He wouldn’t mess it up. To make it all work he only had to do one thing.
Ben walked purposefully across the gap between himself and his other self who was peering into the Hole. Ben put his hand out and pushed himself into the Hole. Turning, Ben went to the curb to bring the tree back into the house.
The End
Now what about that Mr. Comedy? Well, that hearkens back to our radio show “Dead From The Neck Up”. Even further back than that, my friend Steve Dafoe and I used to make these comedy recordings in my parents’ basement. We thought we were funny and my friend Bryan remembered that when he was working/training at the college radio station at Loyalist College. It began meagerly as a fifteen minute slot on a sunday evening free-for-all music bash hosted by the weird beard himself, Bryan Dawkins. Bryan would later go on to fame as the high mucky muck producer, co-writer, and occasional voice talent on the highly acclaimed but rarely heard “Dead From The Neck Up.” After an initial test as “Two Guys In Short Pants”, Dafoe and I were pulled from the airwaves for making alleged pseudo-insulting remarks regarding the Mayor’s hair and a certain resemblance of one of the Council persons to the infamous Yosemite Sam! “Two Guys In Short Pants” were no more.
After a bit of retooling and two weeks in the penalty box Dafoe and I returned in a weekly 30 minute slot as “Dead From The Neck Up.” Starting out with a set format which included comic sketches, phony commercials, a rotating commentary, and a comedic song, we soon realized our strength was in allowing the format to fall into disarray and in the realization that the commentary was crap and that neither Dafoe or I could carry a tune between us. The show then founded itself as a clearinghouse of sorts for brilliant sketches featuring such odd characters as Two Dead Guys, Stan the Welcome Mat Man and his faithful sidekick Teddy the Topless Dancer, Goody Twoshoes–Actor, John Tirefire–The Man from the Ministry of the Environment, and Wally Wandaleer with things you just don’t see on radio. You can read more about our show at http://www.falseducks.com/dead/. You can listen to some of the sketches and you can check out a few videos of us in the studio. Or you can just watch them here:
I am a music fan. Why leave that to last? It’s because I can play myself out with the music. This has been a really tough year with losing my Dad and having a mysterious illness. I’ll admit I’ve changed. Here’s the segue from “Dead From The Neck Up” to music (not including the badly sung parody song from above). 
This past weekend I watched a favorite movie that I like to watch during the Christmas season. It is called “The Ultimate Gift” based on the book by Jim Stovall. It’s about redemption and the change in character of the main protagonist. Near the end of the movie is a wonderful song called “Something Changed” by Sara Groves. I’ve become a big fan of her music and highly recommend her as an artist. In fact, her song “Why It Matters” was the song I repeatedly played when dealing with my grief over the lost of my Dad. If you want to listen to |”Why It Matters” hop over to my blahg Me And My Grief and read about my Grief and listen to the song.
On “The Ultimate Gift” DVD is a special feature video of Sara singing “Something Changed”. The video is below. All I can add before the music begins is that I have changed. I was what I was and now I am what I am. What this new am is…I’m still trying to figure out.
Tags: Dead From The Neck Up, False Ducks, Jessica Andrews, Proof For Believing, Sara Groves, Scott Henderson, Who I Am