I am one of Those Crazy Parents

I will not be one of those crazy parents.

I will not be one of those crazy parents.

I will not be one of those crazy parents.

I will not be one of those crazy parents.

Well, we're back from swimming lesson number one. And I have to write lines. Seems no matter what school I go to, or visit, or watch . . .

Okay, the lines are self-imposed. I really have to step back, chill out. I'm learning and I will get better.

Upon arrival (15 minutes early) I took the boys and had a seat with the other moms in the viewing area. Everyone was nice, asked the boys' names and so on.

"You have your hands full this morning," said one. "Every morning," I replied. The moms quickly learned the boys' names and, minutes later, even remembered them. I did not remember any names. Note to self: remember names tomorrow.

Anyway, at the appropriate time, I took Sonwun and Sontoo to the change room, got Sonwun changed and led him to the pool. There, we met Sarah, his teacher. She seemed nice and quickly took control. I didn't have time to ask her about her teaching ability, her rescue training, her medical background, of if there's any history of mental illness in her family. I fought the urge to remain poolside to monitor Sonwun's every move, and instead, beat a hasty retreat back to the viewing area.

"You did the right thing," said one of the moms upon my return.

Perhaps.

I watched as my eldest son, at 3.5 years, made his way around the pool with Sarah. The only other student was a boy about Sonwun's age, but maybe a little bigger. The other boy held the teacher's hand all the way around while my boy skipped ahead, touched everything and made my heart jump half a dozen times as he skipped too close to the edge of the deep end. Be cool, be cool.

And then it was into the water, which was up to his armpits as he tip-toed around the pool. I was happy to see he was eager to get in, eager to get involved under the ever-watchful eye of . . . he slipped . . . his head's under water . . .

I just about went through the plate glass viewing window in the 0.5 seconds it took for Sonwun to regain his footing. But during that fraction of a second, I had visions of him taking in a huge amount of water, choking, never wanting to go near water again and passing on his fear of water to his children. The other mothers kind of chuckled, rolled their eyes. It's nice to be the new guy.

I will not be one of those crazy parents.

I will not be one of those crazy parents.

I will not be one of those crazy parents.

I will not be one of those crazy parents.

It took a few minutes, but I managed to adjust myself to the devil-may-care attitude of Sarah's teaching style. I mean, she let him get more than an arm's length from her. She took her eyes off him for more than two seconds. Okay, you're the boss. I'll try to be cool with your Bohemian way of teaching children to swim.

In spite of it all, things went very well. Sonwun had a blast and went about each task with huge smile on his face. Yeah, he had to be warned about splashing the other boy once or twice, but he'll learn. And he can't wait to get back to the pool tomorrow.

All in all, a good time, a good experience. And now I have something to keep us all occupied, every day, for about an hour, for two weeks. I may just survive.

Control Issues

I hate flying in airplanes. And the simple reason is, I'm not the one driving. And therefore, if something goes wrong, there's not a damn thing I can do about it.

When I worked in newspapers, I had the chance to fly in a number of stunt planes on media days leading up to the annual Friendship Festival in Fort Erie. I found I was most comfortable in the open-cockpit biplane. Pretty sure it was a Stearman, but it was a long time ago. Anyway, there were two reasons I was comforted as we did barrel rolls, hammerheads and loops. One, I had a parachute on my back and two, I could undo the seatbelt and get off this ride if necessary, "in the event of an unfortunate incident," I think is how the pilot put it. Not sure if this makes me a control freak or not, but it's just the way I am. The bottom line is that I had some control over my destiny that is not afforded in a 747.

(My pilot in the biplane that day, by the way, died in a head-on collision with a fellow stunt pilot a few years after I flew with him. No parachute would have helped that day.)

So why am I going on about this? Well, it's the IRP and the CRSP; the HHT and the HHE. Yes, I pointed out in a previous post that it appears the RCMP takes care of its people. Still believe it. But I am having some trouble trusting the system. Mostly because I don't trust most "systems" designed to "help me out."

Call it a control thing.

Yes, there are monetary benefits in the IRP, but there is, at the very least, a feeling that I've lost some control over the sale of my home. And that's difficult to take. Before I can even list our home, I must submit to two appraisals by folks out of Winnipeg. My wife and I must sign several waivers and permissions. And then, when we list our home, we were told, it would be "in our best interest" to list it close to what the Winnipeg appraisers say it's worth.

I'm not sure why it would be "in our best interest" to do so. I wasn't on the phone at the time, so I didn't get the chance to ask. But it would seem to me that what is in my best interest is to get as much as I possibly can for my home. Call me crazy. I also have some concerns regarding a Winnipeg appraiser's ability to accurately assess the value of a home in the Gimli market. And believe me, with the housing prices in Thompson, we need to get every penny out of this house.

So as I was hyperventilating and venting these concerns yesterday, my wife told me to chill out. The RCMP has moved a lot of people. We haven't heard too many complaints. They know what they're doing: relax control freak. Sit back in your seat, keep the tray in an upright position and enjoy the flight.

So that's what I'm trying my level best to do. There are still at least three months to go in this process and I don't need the acid in my stomach to eat right through before it's all over.

I realize I can't fly this plane. But between the CRSP, the Relocation Reviewer (don't know why she didn't get an acronym), my wife, the real estate agent, the lawyer and the RCMP, I fear I may become a passenger on this 747 headed north. That is my concern. If I can't fly the plane, I would at least like to be co-pilot, or navigator or something. And, if I can't be any of those people, I want a parachute and a seat by the door.