Non-selfish seven year old fundraises for Slave Lake RCMP

Philip Rushton

Whitecourt Star Reporter

A grinning Asher Melnychuk answers the door.

In June, he decided to collect donations at his family's door to help children in Slave Lake, without knowing which people needed it.

“If I was someone who lost their home, I wouldn't be happy if nobody helped,” said Asher.

His mother, Stacy Crossland showed him YouTubes of the devastating fires. When she told him RMCP members had lost their houses helping people leave, Asher knew right away where his donations would go.

“The police are really nice and they protect the city from bad guys,” Asher said.

For three weeks, Asher asked everyone he knew and wrote a letter for his teacher to hand out around school.

“He came up with the idea to write a letter,” said his mother showing Asher's neatly hand-printed request. “It was very much all him, I just drove him around.”

Through Crossland's Facebook account, Asher asked his grandparents, uncles and aunts, and friends who all donated generously.

“It was hard when I had to wait for people to decide to give money,” said Asher, “but some friends came to the house.”

Helping his Mom count donations every day, Asher kept asking everyone who visited the house and around the community.

“We're very proud of him,” Crossland said. “He always tries to help when someone is sick.”

When Const. Kurtis Milbrant received the Zip-loc bag full of cash from Asher, he and the other RCMP were completely caught off guard by the gesture.

“I'm impressed someone at such a young age to do such a non-selfish act,” said Milbrandt. “It's amazing.”

After Milbrandt posted a Facebook request for donations, a mutual friend of his reposted the link and Crossland noticed it.

“It's not often that people show appreciation for police officers,” said Milbrandt, “so this came out of nowhere.”

When the fundraiser started on Facebook, RCMP members from across the province gave $2,800 in gift cards, the high school raised $1,400. Asher's contributions alone were $1,300.

“Most of it went to guys who lost homes so they could put clothes in closets,” said Milbrandt. “It was encouraging after seeing on the news around the world with aid for disasters, when this is much closer to home.”

Milbrandt thinks that kind of attitude will help Asher go far in life.

“I hope he keeps that attitude up because he has a bright future ahead,” said Milbrandt.

Asher's eyes lit up when he heard the total of $5,500 had been donated and he said he hopes that people continue to donate.

“Hopefully the city will be built up quick so people can move back in,” said Asher.

With hockey, golf and baseball practices, as well as artwork, at seven years old, Asher keeps busy and already knows what he wants to do.

“I want to work with my dad and be a mechanic,” said Asher, “but my older brother wants to be in the RCMP.”

Asked if he could go the park for a photo, he was out the door immediately. 

Geese of a feather stick together and so should neighbours' block parties

By Philip Rushton

Whitecourt Star Reporter

Driving down to Arizona for the winter in a Greyhound Bus converted into a camper, Canada Geese still painted on the sides, Darlene and her husband Gary Pearce, known by their CB radio call signs, Nana and Poppa Goose, have always been meeting new people.

“I've always been a real people person,” said Darlene Pearce.

When they moved to Whitecourt in 1970, the Pearce couple didn't know anyone on windfall Drive, so they launched a block party the next summer.

“The town dropped off some barricades and we rolled out the barbecue,” said Pearce.

Having planned parties and get-togethers since the couple moved away from their hometown of Sundre Pearce led by example.

“Guess what, I’m your new neighbour and I want to come over for a cup of coffee,” Pearce told people next door.

When they moved in 1961, the couple first came up with the idea of block parties. The neighbourhood made its own barricades out of sawhorses.

When the couple moved to Whitecourt years later, everyone loved the idea as well and more than 50 people gathered on Windfall Drive.

“We even played a baseball game in the street,” said Pearce. “It was close, but none of us were very good so we didn't break windows.”

There was a potluck, and as people chatted around the barbeque, friendship formed.

Someone pulled out a fiddle during the evening and after the children went to bed at 10 p.m., the dancing continued with vinyl records.

Those three years of these block parties built bonds that endure as people were transferred and moved away.

Pearce decided to have a reunion 25 years later and made some phone calls to meet in a local restaurant in the autumn.

“It's really neat at the restaurant because waiters asked if we were all neighbours or what? They said, Really? People don't do that anymore.”

In the 1970s in a small town where everybody knew everybody, stay-at-home moms could watch over each others' goslings running through the backyards.

“We never worried about our children being out,” said Pearce. “It was a lot different world from nowadays, a very special time in our lives.”

Having celebrated their 50^th anniversary this May, Gary and Darlene Pearce naturally had a huge flock gathering for an entire week.

“People came from B.C. and up from the States where we follow the Canadian geese.”

Throughout the years others have kept up the tradition of block parties in Whitecourt with in the '80s on the Athabasca and in the '90s in a park square.

“It's a great way to meet your neighbours.”

Nana Goose out.

Photograph: Lake County Museum

story behind the story, after the jetboat race pt2

With a whiff of gas fumes and mile long plume of spray, the jet-boaters roared past, some only 10ft from the shore where we were tied up.

It was fabulously loud and exciting.

My heart was racing, my camera zoomed in and tracking, my feet balanced on the bow of the jet-boat which slightly rocked as the racers flew by.

Having waited so long for this, I was having so much fun!

The jet-boats flew by, gunning the throttle at speeds over 100mph and approaching 140mph. Defying gravity with barely a few feet of hull touching the water still, most of the boat wasn't in the water. Skimming the surface and zipping around floating logs, it was a deft display of steel nerves and practiced grace.

Some of them were having troubles because the cross-wind wasn't helping. Some of the boats were reared up like they were popping a wheelie and others were low in the water -- I wouldn't know why, but guessed that they'd sucked up something that wouldn't spit out the back very easily.

After all 30 boats had flown by and then turned around and raced back to the finish, starting staggered one minute apart, we left too.

My camera was starting to die as the batteries hadn't been charged in a while, but I was more than happy.

The boat's skipper stopped to talk to some friends who were parked on the bank watching the race. They had beers for the passengers but I still had to write my article and he still had to steer home.

We were almost home and there was a log jam of boats trying to get up the one boat launch. So the skipper asked if I'd like to see how high the river had gone on the other side of the peninsula.

In retrospect this should have foreshadowed my troubles to fording the car along the road. I was game and off we went, the boat bouncing off some incredibly high peaks and valleys I didn't think were possible outside of ocean waves. Like 4-5ft swells. It was still fun.

We got to the bridge and I'm like can you touch it? He was like sure why not? I asked if he could hold it and he eased the throttle, let go the wheel and stood on tip-toes. Still was 4inches short, but it was supposed to be 4-6ft lower. Incredible amount of rain. This was the photo that appeared on the cover of Whitecourt Star, my first issue of printing.... WOOT.

We got back and parted ways with much thanks. The skipper was more than happy just show off a beautiful way to get around on the hidden water-highway of Alberta.

Got in my car after I had packed up my camera and downloaded my photos. I followed the last trucks and jet-boat trailers back to town.

And then I got to where the road ended and 2ft of water began. The water had crested a few hours before. Good to know now.

There were two 1/4ton trucks and a car stalled and dragged back out on the side of the road. This was a very bad sign of attempting to drive through it.

So I backed out of the way of the trucks and someone gave me a ride back across so I could find someone to tow me across.

The newspaper publisher had told me to call her if I needed any help. This would qualify as help needed. The waters were still rising.

She said not to worry the other reporter almost got trapped out there too the day before in his SUV. It wasn't much in the morning.

The fact that those huge trucks were up to their running boards and past the axles said I was going to be waiting for a while to find someone to drive.

No problem, she'd call and ask her brother. He phoned to say he'd be there in 15 minutes. I'm guessing he'd just got off work. No matter, I needed help and he was happy to lend a hand.

He got there and got to work, pulling out a tow rope. He asked which city I was from. Half-teasingly he pointed out that only a city boy would try to get across that in a little car and not have a truck. Fair point....

After a few tries we got through and I'm happy to report my car-doors are water-tight. Lesson learned that water that is up to my knee is a bad idea to drive through. No doubt, but what I didn't know was that water will over-flow onto roads when it's raining bad enough, hard enough.

Was mightily glad that someone was wiling to come own and help me out on short notice. AMA would have taken hours to send a tow-truck. It was a quiet statement of how neighbours look after each other. I was totally grateful and left a Timmy's card with my publisher as a token of thanks.

It was a wild and wet long day. My car got the under-side washed. I met some very down-to-river people and got a glimpse of how the camaraderie extended to random strangers and friends alike.

Why am I in Whitecourt Alberta? Where is Whitecourt anyway?

Those two questions are still alluding me after living there for a week and then packing my bags for a road-tour of central Alberta. Don't get me wrong, I love getting out and exploring this 1/12th of Canada I'm living in and soaking in all the beauty on occasion.

Still, I like my home-cooking and home-comforts. And in a hotel room I have neither. At least I feel at home in a newspaper office. Didn't expect it so fast.

Should have been more specific when I was carelessly wishing for more excitement and road-tripping this summer. There was even a road-trip mapped out in the Alberta Motor Association magazine in the spring and I was like oh that looks gorgeous for a weekend! A 14hour round trip didn't sound as cool when I got to hour five and I was dying.

That was until after a week and a bit of talking to the publisher and working out details, other than the fact to whether I was hired or not. When I got there for the second interview to meet the editor it was very much on the spot, welcome aboard, when can you start?

Wrote up my job resignation letter just like that a month ago now which seems like it flew by so fast. Started thinking about packing my bags, boxes and life up into a U-Haul and driving out on my lonesome to some town I had never heard of until now.

Nothing new about that part, I'm used to learning some random name of some random town or village in the prairies. I'll be talking to someone and they will rave it is their gorgeous hometown but they're glad they left that drunken dump.

Oh. Change of topic.

And suddenly I was faced with the prospect of not knowing what kind of adventure I was signing up for as an internship reporter. With a steady paycheque, good room-mates and friends, and lots of contacts and projects to do in Calgary, I wasn't exactly excited about pulling up roots initially.

Not just for the super huge amount of nesting I'd done, filling up the entire living room in the town-house I was renting in when all the boxes were packed. Also I'd miss the house's cats and my friends too.

At the same time, as the Marine in WWI famously said, 'Com'mon men, you wanna live forever?' I trained for this moment of 'going over the top.' I wasn't going to hide in the trenches and not get on the front-lines of newspaper. I felt like I really was going to jump out of a perfectly good airplane in my comfy little life in the city. There is no Good Earth Cafe in Whitecourt AB. No so sure I wanted to leave my favourite writing spot behind. Part of me wanted to wait it out hiding with a mug-full of good coffee and good atmosphere.

With all those thoughts of dam, I'm actually going to be shooting and writing and publishing people's stories, talk about living the dream.

It almost has sunk in as I'm into my second week of reporting, that by-line is in a real non-college newspaper and I'm getting paid to do it? Kinda cool feeling that I dreamt about since... since high-school when I decided I naively wanted to be a National Geographic reporter.

My ten year reunion came and went a few months ago and I was like screw this? It had hit that I had a one-year badge from Home Depot.... where's the ejection seat button? Not that I didn't like it there, it just wasn't what I signed up for after college finished.

Found out about the internship and wasn't sure what to think. Talking to friends, some said to pray about it, some said to get my crap together and some just were happy I was still working and volunteering at my church. Very well and good, but I felt like I was spinning my wheels in the mud, gunning the engine but not getting anywhere.

My beautiful Sharon is half done her degree in Nursing and I needed to get somewhere with my j-school certificate that says I can write, time to earn my keep. My honey was very supportive even if it meant I'd still be far off in the distance three hours drive away. At least it wasn't in another province. My parents were just as happy even though they had no idea where I was going either. So that gave me a bit of courage, especially when Sharon was like I told you so and she was thrilled.

So as I mauled over the offer over the weekend and snapped at it. Very first and only interview and offer and off I went. I had heard of the neighbouring small town of Mayerthorpe unfortunately as the Slain Four Mounties were on that stake-out in the farming community.

As I traced the google map up to Edmonton and northwest towards Grande Prairie on 43 hwy, six hours was starting to seem like a lot. I had rented a moving van, but now I was actually packing up my bags into it with help from a few good friends. It was surreal.

Having found most of my friends for coffee or a drink to celebrate moving to the boondocks to hang out with red-necks and farmers and write small-town newspaper, was I ready to go? I've only been there for not even two weeks and every stereotype has been refuted already. Everyone's been so welcoming but more of that soon enough.

Yes it's sunk in and I'll try to write more soon because the 7 hour drive alone was wild. It was definitely into God's country without barely a sign of civilization other than road signs and long haul truckers at rest stops. More on that tomorrow.

Seeing how I have to be up and pulling together layout for copy proofing, must post and pass out, living the dream and I'm glad the coffee wore off.

Even so, I think I might miss the cats more than they miss me as long as someone will give them a belly-rub, but how could I not miss those goofy fluffy rascals a bit? My other room-mates were happy for me too.
Goodnight and good-luck. More on Edward R. Murrow later....

Story behind the jet-boat story - part 1

The story behind the jet-boat article that appeared in both Whitecourt and Grand Prairie was that my car nearly served as a boat. If I had tried to ford the river that used to be a road, I would have sucked water into my engine.

It would have worked if I was in a jet-boat but not so good for a car.

First things first. I got to the boat launch at 8a.m. caught the last support boat going out. It was over-cast and the river was full of size-able logs and choppy waves.

Wasn't too worrisome except for the owner of the 20ft boat swearing about the amount of debris he was sucking into his jet intake as we stalled three or four times. We drifted backwards on the 20km/hr river current as another guy kicked at the propulsion grate to clear debris.

Noticing my white knuckle grip on the rail, the cap't asked if it was my first time on a jet-boat. I've been on destroyers, submarines (moored to the dock), schooners and ferries in rougher weather. Not a river jet-boat though.

That was something different. It was only going 40mph but felt like so much more. Especially with the logs whipping past and the waves buffeting up at the prow.

Could have sworn the skipper was having almost fun dodging around drifting logs and the other guy and I were holding on for dear life in the back.

He radio'd we'd arrived and that the photographer from the newspaper might need new boxers as he had brown-shorts. I protested it wasn't too bad to amiable laughter. We were in position along the race-course to assist in case a boat got into trouble. Biggest thing was to raise a yellow or red flag to warn other racers to slow down or to stop and wait until the troubled boat had been dragged off the course.

The cap't and his navigator sat up on the bow and got ready to clock times of boats passing and keep watch. We waited for 45 minutes to find out the race was delayed until the weather got better and the debris stopped coming so rapidly. One boat had sunk in those conditions the day before, skidding out of control and hitting the river bank.

Did a few interviews with the race marshal and some of the race leaders and got them talking about their boats and crew supports. It was really neat talking to true gentlemen sailors who graciously answered my beginner questions and calmly explained about spinning out at 100mph.

Slammed back some yummy deep fried chicken nuggets, fries and gravy from the concession and got back to the jet-boat. Had to help push the boat out because I was wearing boots and hopped aboard.

My second ride was a bit smoother as they had re-mapped the race for the other river that was less wild and debris-free. We sat and waited for the race to start.

We heard jet-boats engines might roar before we saw them.

To be continued...

Canadian Jet-boaters sweep the International Competition on home rivers

By Philip Rushton

Whitecourt Reporter

Stick a T58 helicopter engine with 1350 horse-power in an sleek aluminum hulled boat and this isn't grandfather's fishing row-boat.

Grande Prairie racer, Gord Humphrey keeps his 23ft long jet-boat named Un-natural Disaster under control and hit speeds of over 130mph.

"It's a lot safer that you think," said Humphrey, World Champion in the unlimited class. "It's very solid in the water."

Jet-boat racers are part mechanic, part pilot, part pure lucky.

"Mentally, lots of seat time and multiple races will help keep sharp because it's easy to lose an edge.

With all that power, safety is still number one priority in the sport.

"It's a fine line between in control and out of control, depending on conditions," said Jim Greber, winner of the CX class.

With canard wings on the prow, an pair of electrically controlled short wings which act like airplane ailerons to give the jet-boat slight lift or downward force.

With a stock 525 HP GMC aluminum block, Greber can throttle his jet-boat up to 100mph in seconds.

"Once you giv'er, you're flying and you can feel quite a bit of G-force on a corner," said Greber who comes from Fort St. John.

“In the turns, it can go from 90 to 0 in seconds,” Greber said, “it bothers the heck out of me when it happened yesterday, then you're at the mercy of the river.”

At speed there are a lot of maintenance of gearbox, pumps, mounts and engine blocks or turbines.

"What happens to the boat is fairly violent so the most reliable part is the turbine," Humphrey said.

Though there are only a driver and navigator on board, Greber pointed out that he couldn't race without a dedicated support crew which launches and retrieves, repairs, and takes care of everything else that goes on behind the scenes.

“There was a lot of preparation and lot of luck at the end of day and it was on our side today,” said Humphrey. 

With cresting river conditions and debris from the storms during the last week, the course changes hourly according to Humphrey.

With only 13 boats dropping out in a field of 49, it was a marathon effort of 500 miles from Fort Assiniboine to Whitecourt. Nobody was injured so it was a good race.

In the overall standings, Canadians Gord Humphrey at 4:15:53, Dale Whiteside at 4:21:05, and Darren Weaver 4:43:25 won the competition hands down.

Humphrey won in the Unlimited class, Darren Weaver won in the A class, Colby Davis won in the B class, and Tim Greber won in the CX class.

“It's exhilarating and being able to race with friends, it's definitely worth it,” said Greber.

With competitors from all over North America and New Zealand, where Lord William Hamilton invented the water-jet for a river-boat, a sense of camaraderie develops during the race season.

“It was a good event, despite all the issues with weather and high water levels,” said Richard Grant, Whitecourt River-boat Club president and co-coordinator of the event.

“The whole race is volunteer run with donated time, service and sponsorship,” said Grant.

There were less in the crowds watching but still 1,500 were estimated to be watching from river bluffs and campsites along the route, but all had a good time.

“It's one of those things in life if you ever get the chance to ride in those boats, the acceleration is second to none,” said Humphrey. 

Next year's international championship race will be in Idaho.

Rocking the Casbah with skillet! Chicken & Broccoli!

My room-mate's hungry! Working on projects... can't stop. Oh right... it's 7:30 P.M. probably time to eat. She gets out a box of cereal that from a company called Casbah, rocking an East Indian grain. Imported from USA to Delta BC, not too exotic by that point.

Okay, if it's about the The Clash, I'm game! Despite having never cooked couscous, the fact I've only had it in Greek salad a few times. Being a rice-like grain, couscous is the Eastern answer to oatmeal. I wonder if it goes in cookies ^_^ will experiment later.

Since you can have it with figs, almonds, dates, allspice, and cinnamon, that to me is breakfast. We found a recipe online for throwing it in with chicken and broccoli. Don't know if it's traditionally Indian, but the fun word skillet made me un-manly giggle. The fact that it takes FIVE minutes to cook on it's no-brainer to cook-up was a winning combo in a solid stick to your ribs kind of way, even icky four food group, definitely healthy with a glass of milk. Frying chicken included, fifteen minutes later, supper's ready for two hungry people.

Here goes with modification from about.com/homecooking recipe which missed a few details...

Rockin' Casbah Skillet Chicken & Broccoli with Couscous

1 tsp olive oil
2 chicken boobs, pre-cooked
2 cu water (or more...)
1.5 cu broccoli
2/3 cu couscous!
Pinch-me of salt
4 cloves of garlic
1 tsp of lemon juice


Cutting board, big knife, skillet and good to go.

Take chicken and defrost, chop into cubes, dash of olive oil 5 minutes cooked at medium low, no pink!
Throw in first cup of water, minced up garlic, broccoli and cover for 5 minutes.

Dump in Couscous with splash of water -- more as needed as Couscous just sucked up the water so fast.
Cooking the Couscous reminded me so much of oatmeal cooking that it was just awesomely easy.
It boiled happily away and was done in about another 5 minutes.

So there's something new to throw together that is way more healthy than Kraft-dinner for a student meal.

Only it takes a bit more attention than KD because an iron skillet's only flaw is scorching stuff real quick if you don't push stuff around. Even heat displacement and retention out-weigh that with added bonus of near zero clean-up. Scrape stuff off and scrub with water, NO SOAP and dry right away done. Yes I can be lazy when it comes to cooking so it's something to get over and done with right away and not forgotten.

</end rant> I heart my skillet for another quick win in the kitchen.

FYI on the history behind the song, the Casbah is Arabian for citadel and specifically the Algerian fortress and mosque that was the main safe haven of the National Liberation Front when they were freedom fighting aka terrorism against the French as pressure for independence. Considering it is a hugely populated city, 40-70,000 estimated now live there, a good portion of it slums, and probably not much different 50 years ago from 1954-62, one long battle... now a falling apart UN heritage site with once gorgeous 17th century mosques.

As a revolutionary statement, Rock the Casbah written by the Clash in protest of Algerian neighbour's Iran when they outlawed dance music, crazy disco beats.... The Clash probably weren't thrilled as punks when their hit single became the unofficial US military theme song during 1st Gulf War. First song to play as troops were kicking it into Operation Desert Shield, aka invading Iraq long ago it seems now.



So there you have it, just from making supper, I learned something new. Yay... It don't look super colourful, but my brave room-mate and I devoured it quickly enough.

veterans, respect or forget

Was really happy to hear that the Canadian Defense minister in government put out a press statement on Father's Day. He reminded people that soldiers are fathers too and their kids and spouses are at home waiting for them to come home.

It was a happy thing because there's not a lot of noise made about soldiers making sacrifices other than funerals' announcements. So to hear about their kids waiting for them to come back okay was a great idea. So why stop there? I'd love to write more about it. I cannot forget because veterans' stories have kept me captivated with bravery in just doing their job and duty.

Having never missed a Remembrance Day ceremony, even if just on TV when I was too sick a few years, even got a speeding ticket making it to the cenotaph on time. That's how much I care. Why am I going on about this in the middle of the spring and not November? Everyone seems to forget about the common soldier the rest of the year other than Afghanistan casualties and if a veteran dies -- taking his stories with him. So I'm taking the challenge to figure out when is best to be talking to veterans.

Not the best remembering dates and years, but June 6th was D-day and there's so many other historic war deciding and small battles which have been fought before and since then. I'd love to talk to some more veterans since two years ago I went and drank beers with a bunch of wonderful older men at the legion who told me about their glory days and bitter return to normal life where nobody understood them.

Put that idea on the back burner when I was working full-time and caught up in other projects and half regret not knowing how to get in touch with the veterans. I'll dig up those interview notes and my other formal articles in student and community newspapers as well as online posts and poems too.

Having a few friends tell me wow... interviewing them sounds like an awesome project and I'm sad to say I've lost some of those photos in a stupid lack of hard-drive back-up but it's not too late to go find those wonderful veterans again and get the rest of the stories. Never-the-less I'm really wanting to tackle the issue from all angles from before during and after the war. None of the Hollywood nonsense or nationalism, just a platoon looking after each other, camaraderie that rarely is understood by civies like myself.

If you'd like to look up the kind of stuff I'm looking at doing, read a short story called 'The Things They Carried' and the inspirational book written by a journalist and later a movie called 'Black Hawk Down'. Yet I've read very few books and articles outside of November 11 about Canadians so I'd love to take up that gap in the rest of the year.

Will it be difficult? Bloody difficult to convince those old veterans that I even had an inkling of what they went through. Only because both my grandfather and father (reserves) served in the Cold War era Canadian Navy was why they started talking.

Having heard a few wild and chilling stories from my dad I am more determined to see what I can do about getting those stories out of the Legion Hall and into the electronic sphere. There seems to be a few projects out there that I'll try to latch onto and find out from others' experiences.

Check out at Facebook and the Legion that I intend to contact real soon. Thanks for any supports or ideas on what I could do with this project. It's going to be worth it as these stories bear repeating to keep peace on the forefront of how much was sacrificed by young men my age and younger who were brave enough to enlist and defend our nation. Soldiers past and present deserve to have their legacy preserved.

Cheers to them who fought, supported on the home-front and keep on guard for freedom.

-- PLR --

p.s. stay tuned on old stories and new interviews happening soon! like June 6th and any other significant battle.

stay-at-home dad? sure why not

On Father's Day a survey gives thumbs up to a stay-at-home-dad becoming more of a significant fixture in Canadian culture.

Bank of Montreal released a 21st century sign of times that guys choosing to do house-work and mind children are less rare.


As feminism isn't such a big issue anymore, 59 per cent of Canadians think there is gender equality around roles at home and work.


Which is interesting because only a generation ago, even being a single dad was almost unheard of in most parts of western culture. Only a few of my parents friends, almost none at my church and out of many clients of their daycare were single dads.


Not being the main bread-winner is hard on pride, especially when 31 per cent of guys have taken home-maker role after being put out of work during the recession.


"It made a lot of sense for them [fathers] to stay at home and raise the family," BMO spokesperson Larry Moser said.

A stay-at-home dad isn't exactly a topic that comes up after church, being the largest segment of this reporter's social circle.


There are plenty of families where both parents are out working, yet as with most financial planning, there are pros and cons.


If benefits plans of both spouses over-lap enough, it doesn't impact family, nor does kids having a parent at home to have reassurance that someone is always home to talk to about problems or help with school projects etc.


"If the woman is probably going to be promoted very shortly and start receiving a higher and higher salary, it's just common sense that the dad should stay at home and look after the kids from a financial point of view." 


The BMO press release had some good advice regarding finances:


--  Plan, plan, plan - Start the conversation at least two years in advance so that you can adequately plan, prepare and take time to evaluate your decision.


--  How to choose - When trying to decide which partner should stay home, take into account each other's salaries, benefit packages and any             prospective career advancements on the horizon.


--  Weigh the costs - Research local daycare or nanny costs and compare them against your salary.


--  Track everything - As part of your evaluation process, track your             expenses, create detailed budgets and revisit your financial plan to             ensure it is aligned with your new goals.




All good advice which sounds like this reporter's father would give as an independent business-man. Which is something the study doesn't take into account of how many guys have home-based businesses as well to look after their kids better.


So as Father's Day rolls around, we thank the guy who raised us and supported mom. Single dads work so hard to make it up to their kids like single moms do with a bit more of a harder mission from society's view-point that mom should be main child-raiser.


The role of fatherhood may be changing and adapting to what goes on, but manly men might be in charge of the house-hold in a different designation. Raise a beer for dads everywhere anyway.


-- PLR --


am admitting to taking a short-cut by re-quoting the BMO dude, but just thought it was an interesting piece of culture. photo came from same article


original article re-post

roomates - 1st year - sound & silence - pt 4of4

 

There were things that went on that were beyond what I can remember about the little moments when my roomates didn't notice that I was there and they dropped their shields while talking to friends. There was a lot of empathy despite my threats and grumpiness from lack of sleep and school induced stress. Not that I'd want to betray that trust though nor take photos like this spiteful person did of their room-mate's mess - I can only say some of mine were messier. I was lucky as I could have had nightmare room-mates like my friends bemoaned.


Room-mates who stole stuff, made way worse messes then my nose would have been able to deal with. Other friends in dorm had murderous thoughts about stereo systems fueling dance parties late into the night. They liked and used my pre-tested solution of playing opera and polka early the next morning in retaliation to their neighbours.


They were lucky compared to the people who thought dorm was a place to test out their wrestling skills. Someone got put through a wall head-first, was okay other than concussion and stitches, but refused to pay the damage deposit fine imposed by dorm. Other people on dorm had angry pizza delivery guys to deal with after prank calls, angry neighbours when they couldn't control their room-mates.

Worse, others had to steer clear of recently ex-boyfriends and ex-girl-friends after bad break-ups or loud make-up sex that didn't heal the wounds. That and creepy people who tried to follow their room-mates home from the bar. Compared to the guys who had bike races and foot-ball games down my hallway, I couldn't complain. Or the huge dorm party which resulted in all the furniture being piled into a fortress in common areas.


Or the fire-drills because someone was 'cooking' hot-dogs stoned and forgot about smoke if they passed out at 3 a.m. or lit candles for a relaxing bath which became less relaxed when candles started to burn through the counter. Not that fire extinguishers were left alone, one was shot off and into the vents and again we were evacuated while maintenance and fire fighters ventilated the dorm.


Other people forgot to ventilate the bathroom hot-box properly and in lighting up the bong and light the smoke alarm as well. This was at least once a month in the -30C. I got very efficient at loading my camera bag and laptop and leaving the building from pajamas to clothes in 30 seconds flat in case it was the real thing finally.

However, the night Halo-boy, a few friends and I re-organized the common-room was my fondest memory of the first year of dorm. For all the assignments, I was allowed to relax once in a while and partake a drink or three. Never again with Royal Reserve and I apologize to my liver for that night.

Appleton, RR and Lucky's beer aplenty, we had a great time. Emo-boy whined so much but we had a great time. Nobody took credit for the first move, but by the time Emo-boy arose in the morning, I thought he was playing more screa-mo for the amount he yelled. We were pretty happy with the new decorating style.

Sitting on a side-ways easy chair, I was calmly watching cartoons and eating kraft dinner mac & cheese, head cocked to the side. Non-flat-screen TV, chairs, table, small appliances, lamps, even posters were all side-ways.


For extreme make-over, Martha Stewart would have been proud. I was a lot less proud thinking about it now, but there's something metaphoric about said about the whole dorm lifestyle -- sometimes it just goes sideways for a curve-ball so keep on trucking.

If this says anything about why I decided rum shouldn't be on my diet in such plentiful amounts, I learned my lesson. Come to think of it, by second year I was a lot more calm about assignments, no less busy, but less in the drinking.


Second year was much more orderly in comparison as I was blessed with a much more sane bunch of dorm room-mates who got along much better. However, that's a different story for a different day. Hope you enjoyed ^_^