Because I Can… the random thoughts of Marc Scott

There are many things about me that make anything but a typical man.  For example, I have no problem putting the toilet seat down.  It doesn’t bother me, it’s not hard to remember, I don’t mind it at all.  I even live alone and I still put the toilet seat down.  How about this, if I’m lost – though it doesn’t happen often – I’m not opposed to stopping and asking for directions.  Seems to me like a better solution than mindlessly wandering around in who knows where on my way to who knows what.

The same thing, (the not typical man thing) applies to sports as well.  I don’t need to spend my Sunday afternoon watching 14 hours of football on 17 different channels.  When I go see a Jays game, I don’t paint my face blue, I don’t strap foam wings to my back, I don’t wear Blue Jays underwear on the outside of my pants, and there are no happy dances in on the street when they win.  That said, I’ve never actually been to a game when they’ve won, so I suppose I can’t say for sure… but I’m pretty sure.

One thing I’ve never been able to wrap my head around is the celebratory rituals of fans when their team wins the big game.  I simply don’t get it.  How does climbing a street light, flipping a taxi cab, setting dumpsters on fire, or participating in drunken shenanigans the likes of which you will not recall during your inevitable hangover the morning after, help make the victory taste sweeter?

When my team wins, I get excited.  I maybe do a little fist pump or send a quick thank you to God; though I don’t believe He spends much time impacting the outcome of baseball games.  Outside of that, I just enjoy the moment, and then move on with my life.  Maybe it’s because I’m not a diehard that I don’t truly understand or appreciate the celebrations of others.

For those of you that are diehards, or for those of you just looking to be amused, enjoy some video from the streets of Philly after their boys eliminated the Dodgers and advanced to the World Series.  My mom will be proud to know that she’ll never see me on the news in this fashion! :P

As a divorced man who has had nothing but unsuccessful attempts to return into the world of dating in the past 2 years, it would seem that when it comes to women, and more specifically relationships, I have much to learn.  I’m not opposed to working on this education.  I feel confident saying that God has taught me many things in the season that’s passed since my divorce.  I’ve reflected on things I did right.  I’ve reflected on things I’ve done wrong.

While looking for a file on my computer this afternoon, I came across a clip from my days in Peterborough.  I used to be the morning guy at KAOS 99.5.  This clip is from February 8 2006.  As I listened to it I confess, I laughed.  A lot.  To create a sense of context for the clip, it’s morning radio and I was goofing around trying to get a reaction out of my co-host.  Did I ever!  If only you could have seen her face.  Priceless!  Then one of the other girls in the station burst into the studio as well because she wanted to have her say.  It was probably one of those “had to be there” moments.  Nevertheless, I laughed.  I’m sarcastic like that.

Listening to this clip, and looking back on all that’s transpired in my life since, as in… divorce… it’s clearly evident that I should leave the Dr Phil stuff to Dr Phil and just stick with radio! :P

I don’t consider myself to be an emotional guy, although, the years, and to an extent, life,  have definitely softened me.  It’s not that I was ever hardened, or at least I don’t think I was.  I’m just definitely not one to wear emotion on my sleeve.

Part of that thick skin, I believe, is due to my experiences on the Fire Department.  I don’t think one would last for more than a day on the job if you let things really get to you.  You see too much.  Experience too much.  Pain, tragedy, loss, hurt, and then other times joy, relief and even humour; a spectrum of thoughts, sights, and emotions as vast as the clear blue sky.

For all the shows on television, there is only one – has only been one – that truly touches me each time I watch it.  In the span of 60 minutes my heart can break as the story begins and then leap as it ends.  My eyes can glisten with tears in one moment, and sparkle with joy in the next.  I ache from the depths of human tragedy and suffering, and then become inspired by a willingness and ability to move mountains that previously stood in the way of healing.

In my opinion, Extreme Makeover Home Edition is among the best that television has to offer simply for the fact that it’s not about me.  What I mean to say is, it’s not about self.  Television tends to be self oriented.  Game Shows about winning me big money.  Reality Shows about me winning a competition.  Sit-coms and Dramas about the pursuit of self gratification – success, wealth, sex – me… me… me.  Not me personally mind you, but me in the sense of self.

Extreme Makeover, on the other hand, is all about somebody else.  It’s about taking a tragedy, taking a loss, taking pain, taking struggles, and doing what otherwise may not be able to be done on our own.  Beating the odds.  It’s about families, friends, neighbours, and entire communities coming together for a common goal… to serve!  My heart warms just thinking about it.

I know the show has it’s critics, and I know some question it’s extravagance – though I believe it’s been toned down over the years – but all else aside, you can’t question the motives.  To change lives.  To help people.  To provide second chances.  To make the impossible, possible.  In it’s purest, simplest form… to serve.

Each week I watch the show and wish I could be a part of it.  What a joy it must be to volunteer with the show for a week.  This week, in the middle of a brutal Texas heat wave where the temperature never dropped below 100F, people kept their eye on the goal… to serve.  They cast aside their own comfort.  They worked through their own pain.  They gave their time, their effort, their energy, their blood, sweat and tears, and they did it, not for their own personal gain, but for somebody else.

This week at work somebody handed me the Future Shop flyer.  They know I enjoy browsing through it.  Wishful thinking mostly.  As the flyer was placed on the desk I joked that I shouldn’t be looking at it because it will just make me want to spend money.  The individuals response was, “well isn’t that why you work?  To make money so you can spend it on yourself?”

I thought a lot about that statement.  It made me a little sad, if I’m being honest, because it really is a reflection of the way so much of society thinks.  It’s all about me.  Things for me.  For my entertainment.  For my joy.  For my pleasure.  Sum up commom thinking in a single word… me.

It’s great to watch a show like Extreme Makeover Home Edition and be inspired.  We should be inspired!  But inspiration isn’t enough.  Thoughts are nice.  Words can be well meaning.  Actions, though, are real!  They’re love in motion.

I will likely never be on a team that builds a house in 7 days; but I could volunteer for Habitat For Humanity.  I will likely never solve world hunger; but I can make a donation to my local food bank.  I may never save a child from poverty; but I can sponsor one through World Vision.  I may never save a life; but I can touch one.

Do something this week for somebody else, with no expectation of return.  Do something that doesn’t invole “me”.

Balloon Boy.  The frightening cross county air ride nightmare of a family fearing for the safety of their 6 year old son.  Or… an elaborate hoax concocted in the mind of a scientist/inventor who spends his free time searching for signs of alien life.

I confess, I got caught up in the drama yesterday afternoon.  Mostly, because I work in radio and, being in media, I try and keep my audience informed with what’s happening in the world during my 4 hour shift each day.  I could use that as my excuse, but I’d be withholding the whole truth.  Professional reasons aside, personally, I was glued to my computer screen (between breaks of course) watching the giant balloon – that looked like something straight out of a MythBusters episode – sail across the Colorado sky.

It was one part Disney movie, and one part a parents worst nightmare.  While the story unfolded speculation ran rampant.  Was the boy in fact in the balloon?  Had the boy fallen out of the balloon?  Given the heights the balloon had reached, and the gases involved, would the boy be able to survive?

Then it landed and nobody was inside.  Almost in that instant, the world was consumed by doubt.  Doubt that the boy was ever inside.  Doubt that there was ever an emergency in the first place.  Doubt about the whole entire fairy-tale / sci-fi story.

I read an article today that posed an interesting question.  Has Reality TV left us jaded and suspicious?  The question, of course, was in response to the Balloon Boy story and how, as quickly was we learned he was not inside, our thoughts merged into one… hoax!

There always has to be a scapegoat, so it seems.  We need somewhere to place blame.  Someone onto whom we can pass the buck.  In this case, people are blaming Reality TV for causing us to doubt.  If I’m being honest, there are a lot of liars on Reality TV *cough* Jon & Kate *cough* but I don’t think that’s the explanation.

Do I have doubts about the legitimacy of this story?  Yes I do.  I have doubts because certain things just don’t add up.  Why wasn’t the balloon properly tethered?  Why is your 6 year old playing near it without supervision?  Why did you call a TV station helicopter before you called authorities?  Why did your boy, on national TV say, “you guys said we did this for a show.”

For these reasons I doubt.  Not because Reality TV has made me jaded and suspicious.  Rather, because we live in a fallen world and people lie.  They also tend to be self centered and self serving.  Has society itself, the very essence of today’s culture (that I disagree with by the way) not taught us to “Look out for number 1?”

The world breathed a collective sigh of relief when we learned that the boy was OK.  Then we breathed a collective sigh of frustration, as we all began to wonder if we’d been duped.  If this does in fact turn out to be a publicity stunt, then call it what it is.  A fallen man, who does not think beyond himself, taking advantage of a situation for personal gain.  But don’t blame Reality TV for making me jaded and suspicious.  As sad as it may be, people themselves, have left me suspicious.

Before I leave for work, and unless I get a fire call, I am mostly oblivious to what’s going on outside.  Certainly, by the amount of light sneaking through my thin curtains covering my patio door I can tell if it’s sunny or cloudy.  Outside of that, I don’t really look and I don’t really care.  The weather is the weather, and when I’m inside, it has little to no impact on my life.

When I climbed into my truck for the daily commute to Brantford, there wasn’t much going on outside.  It was cloudy.  It looked like it wanted to rain.  Then it did.  No big deal.  But the closer I got to Brantford the heavier the rain got.  Not heavy in the sense that it was pouring.  Heavy as in density.  Th rain was becoming wet snow.  I was, to say the least, unimpressed.

Because I love Christmas, and have been counting down the days to it on my show since August, people have developed a bit of a misconception about me.  Allow me to clarify.  Yes… I love Christmas.  No… I do not love snow.  In fact, I have very little tolerance for snow or cold.  I can appreciate a newly fallen blanket of snow for the beautiful imagery that it provides while undisturbed.  But, after I’ve appreciated it, I just want it to melt and go away.

Since this afternoons wet flurry activity was technically the first of the season, I had to acknowledge it on the air.  So, during the 3P hour, I played clips of various snow themed songs.  Then I posted the video below on our Facebook page at http://facebook.com/fm921.

At this moment, there is a windchill making it feel like -9C and wet flurries are in the forecast.  And so it begins…

Being divorced, even 2 years later, I still, from time to time, reflect back on my marriage and wonder where things may have went wrong.  I don’t know that you can ever truly pinpoint it down to a single event or moment.  It’s easy, I suppose, to look back and think “if only I had done this” or “if I had just said that” or “if I had handled this situation differently” maybe, just maybe, things would have turned out differently.  One could drive himself mad with such logic though.

I can say this, however.  There are lessons learned.  That’s for certain.  Should Cupid ever target me with his bow again, I will be better prepared.  Can anything good come of divorce?  Education, perhaps, is the only thing one can hope for.  Education comes in many different forms.  It’s come from experience.  It’s come from thought and reflection.  It’s come from wisdom passed down from others.  And, in the case of an email I received this evening, it can even come in an unexpected place.  Education on marriage, can even come from a child.

1. HOW DO YOU DECIDE WHO TO MARRY?
You got to find somebody who likes the same stuff. Like, if you like sports, she should like it that you like sports, and she should keep the chips and dip coming. Alan, age 10

No person really decides before they grow up who they’re going to marry.. God decides it all way before, and you get to find out later who you’re stuck with. Kristen, age 10

2.  WHAT IS THE RIGHT AGE TO GET MARRIED?
Twenty-three is the best age because you know the person FOREVER by then.
 Camille, age 10

3.  HOW CAN A STRANGER TELL IF 2 PEOPLE ARE MARRIED?
You might have to guess, based on whether they seem to be yelling at the same kids.
 Derrick, age 8

4.  WHAT DO YOU THINK YOUR MOM AND DAD HAVE IN COMMON?
Both don’t want any more kids. 
Lori, age 8

5. WHAT DO MOST PEOPLE DO ON A DATE?
Dates are for having fun, and people should use them to get to know each other. Even boys have something to say if you listen long enough. 
Lynnette, age 8

On the first date, they just tell each other lies and that usually gets them interested enough to go for a second date. 
Martin, age 10

6.  WHEN IS IT OKAY TO KISS SOMEONE?
When they’re rich. 
Pam, age 7

The law says you have to be eighteen, so I wouldn’t want to mess with that.  Curt, age 7

The rule goes like this: If you kiss someone, then you should marry them and have kids with them. It’s the right thing to do. 
Howard, age 8

7. IS IT BETTER TO BE SINGLE OR MARRIED?
It’s better for girls to be single but not for boys. Boys need someone to clean up after them. Anita, age 9

8. HOW WOULD THE WORLD BE DIFFERENT IF PEOPLE DIDN’T GET MARRIED?
There sure would be a lot of kids to explain, wouldn’t there? 
Kelvin, age 8

And the #1 Favorite is………

9. HOW WOULD YOU MAKE A MARRIAGE WORK?
Tell your wife that she looks pretty, even if she looks like a dump truck . Ricky , age 10

A friend of mine, and fellow firefighter, posted this video on his Facebook page.  As I watched it tonight I knew I had to share it.

I share it as a firefighter.  One who has seen the carnage caused by a motor vehicle collision.  One who has cut casualties from the mangled wreckage.  One who has seen life ended too soon.  There are images that are forever burned into my mind.  Images that nobody should have to see.  My hands have been covered in the blood.  My eyes have seen the terror on the faces of those involved, and the loved ones who are left behind.

I share it as a son, brother, grandson and nephew.  One who never wants his family to get “that call.”  I was hit head on in a vehicle once.  If I close my eyes I can replay the entire experience in my head.  It may have only taken seconds to unfold from impact to stop, but it plays out in slow motion in my mind.  It was one of the most frightening moments of my life.  I was lucky.  That time, I walked away.

I share it as a friend.  As someone who cares about you.  As someone who never wants you to know the pain.  Experience the loss.  See the devastation.  Get the call.  Or make the call.

This particular video is centered around texting and driving.  Its applications go far beyond.  Consider it while talking on your cell without a hands free device.  Remember it the next time you’ve been out and had a couple drinks.  Think about it when you’re looking in your rearview mirror the check or touch up your makeup.  Replay it in your mind while you’re rooting through your purse, book bag or trying to reach for something in the back seat.  We’re all guilty in some capacity or another.  We’ve all taken chances.  We’ve all said it will never happen to me.

I will warn you, the video is quite graphic.  However, I can also say, from experience, that it’s quite real!  Watch it.  Think about it.  Share this post with people you care about.  Get home safe.

One of my favorite things to do is go for a drive with a destination in mind, but not a route.  Until you’ve done it, you’ll never appreciate all that you’re missing out on.  Some people, often city folk, may be surprised to hear this, but there are roads in this province outside of the QEW and 400 series highways!  Many, many roads.  Wide roads and narrow roads.  Straight roads and curved roads.  Flat roads and roads with high crests and steep hills.  Some of them go through cities and towns, and others cut through country, edged by long grass, tall trees and farmer’s fields.

When I was a child riding in the backseat of our old green Ford, I remember thinking two things.  First, it must be so much fun to be able to drive a car.  Second, I have no idea how mom and dad can remember how to get so many places!  I recall being paralyzed by the thought of having to navigate my way to some place other than Grandma’s house.  I’d never be able to do it.  So many roads.  So many turns.  There was simply no way.

I laugh at that thought now.  Mostly because my mission in life, or at least one of them seems to be, is to find as many different ways to get to the same place as possible.  Sometimes I just set out and randomly head in the general direction of my destination.  Other times I’ll glance over a map.  Still other times, I’ll rely on my trusty GPS.  Well… for the most part it’s trusty.  I’m never really concerned with getting lost.  Mostly I’m just looking for adventure.  New sights.  New smells.  New twists and turns and hills and places.

Going from A to B in my truck is a delight for me.  Often times, it’s a relaxing escape from the mundane routine of my life.  Wake at the same time.  Eat at the same time.  Shower at the same time.  Go to work at the same time.  There is no need for a watch in my world.  My routine keeps track of everything.  So my random road trips break it up.  They provide relief.  A new experience to break the same old day to day life.

If only life itself, could be as easy as my road trips.  That, however, is an entirely different animal.  Whereas my road trips are based on never knowing whether I’ll turn left or right, life itself often requires a little more thought.  A little more structure.  A little more certainty.

The proverbial fork in the road.  We’ve all been there, done that.  It’s happened to us a thousand times before, and it will happen to us a thousand times again.  Many times, the decision is small.  Simple.  Of little significance.  Often, as we head on our chosen path, if things aren’t working out, we double back and try the other road.  Every so often though, we’re faced with a grander quandary.  One that requires much more thought.  Much more attention.  One that, once a path has been chosen, we cannot so easily make our way back.  I often find this happens as we get older.  Things matter more.  Youth maybe isn’t on our side as it was once before.  Responsibilities we’ve acquired over the years take a toll on our decisions.

I find myself standing at such a fork.  I look left, and find safety.  Perhaps a level of assuredness.  Comfort in the tried and tested.  Familiarity in the known.  A path, no doubt, filled with it’s share of obstacles, but one that I’ve walked along for many years.  One that I am as familiar with as I am the route to Grandma’s house.

Then I look right.  Down this path, I see a dream.  A vision of what could be.  Of what I may wish to be.  It, however, is an unknown road.  It’s obstacles may be few.  It’s obstacles may be many.  I can’t really say with much certainly, as I’ve never journeyed down this road.  While I’m confident of what rewards would be waiting at the end of the path to my left, I can only hypothesize about the rewards, if any, waiting on the path to my right.

I’ve been standing and looking at this fork for about a month now, though it’s been the sole focus of my thoughts during this present week.  It’s consumed me day and night.  Left?  Right?  A decision must be made.  I question whether it’s an act of faith or stupidity?  Is it a test in bravery or cowardice?  Do I choose what will be, or what might be?  Then again, even with the anticipated certainty of one path, does anybody ever really know what will be or what might be?

Take delight in the Lord, and he will give you your heart’s desires. Psalm 37:4

Trust in the Lord with all your heart; do not depend on your own understanding. Seek his will in all you do, and he will show you which path to take. Proverbs 3:5-6

I’ve never prayed as fervently about something as I’ve prayed about this.  Were it not for my ability to reach out to God, I have no doubt this decision would make my head explode.  My heart breaks to think that people try and make decisions like this alone.  I haven’t found my answer yet, but I believe with all my heart that I will.  When the time is right, God will guide my steps, so long as I’m willing, and I will start my journey left or right.  And when I do, I will travel with confidence knowing this time, there will be no need for looking back.

There was a time, not so long ago, when words flowed.  All I had to do was open my laptop, position my fingers over the keys, and let them do the talking.  My job was simple.  Check for spelling mistakes.  The rest just seemed to happen.  I honestly didn’t have to try or think or even edit really.  Give me 20 minutes, and there was a blog.

Truth be told, it was kind of frustrating sometimes.  Many nights I would go to bed, turn out the light, close my eyes, feel the cool breeze of the fan sweep across my face, and drift into the darkness I couldn’t see.

Sleep was often not swift to come.  Instead, swirling inside my head like fallen leaves on a green October blanket of grass were words.  Sentences.  Paragraphs.  All this in place of dreams.  Ideas jumping onto a screen instead of sheep jumping over a fence or the moon or wherever those sheep are supposed to jump.

More often then not, I would have to get out of bed at 2 in the morning and type those thoughts into a blog.  Freeing the words from my mind was the only way I could convince it to shutdown and go to sleep.  This went on daily for around 6 months.

I don’t know what happened.  I have some theories.  Most of them rubbish I suppose, but they are theories nonetheless.  Having grown up in a small town where homes relied on cisterns for water, I am all too familiar with the act of turning on a dry faucet.  Where there is no water, there is no flow.  Perhaps my well of words has simply dried up.

Once a cistern has been run dry, it is in such a state it will remain until it is filled again.  This provided the basis for a theory of greater concern.  Since my blogs are often about change or growth or lessons learned, I’ve pondered whether or not I’ve reached a dry spell, as it were, in my life.  Perhaps there are no words to write, because there has been a lack in my life.  We should always be changing, growing, learning, or so I tell myself.

It is in winter that the land lies dormant.  It rests.  It heals from the punishment inflicted upon it by massive green combines and tractors with 8 tires the size of a Volkswagen.  From it’s dusty brown bed it’s birthed wheat and oats and corn.  It’s provided nourishment for us for another year.  Before it can do it again, it rests.  Snow provides it’s fluffy white pillow, the cool crisp air it’s blanket.  It rests.

After this season comes spring.  A time of freshness.  Renewed fields come to life, ready to be worked and planted.  Ready to be kissed by the rain and hugged by the warmth of the sun.  Ready to produce again.

Of all the theories I’ve tossed around in my head, I like this theory the best.  Though I’ve never considered myself a writer, and thus have ruled out the theory of writers block, perhaps I’m just in period of winter.  Of rest.  My hope is that a new season is just around the corner.