Background

When I was born, my name was Randolph Edouard Paulin. My birth father’s name was Edouard Paulin, so it is quite obvious where I got most of my name. But I didn’t know that was my birth name until I was 13. It was the same time that I was told I had a different birth father, whom I did not know.

Finding this out answered some questions. Most of the Bassett family never treated me any differently than my other cousins and relatives, but a few did. My step-father’s mother, whom I am particularly careful not to call my grandmother, did treat me differently. Even as a young boy and up to the time she died I could see and feel it. For instance, in her later years, I recall her giving a Christmas card with $5 in it to my sister. I did not even get a card. I know how minor it seems through my adult lenses, but as a young boy, it crushed me. It wasn’t the $5. It was the lack of acknowledgment or caring that I was even there.

It’s amazing how much a seemingly small event can brand a young person. Other things also happened, but the news that I wasn’t a blood Bassett did shed light as to why they happened.

New Questions

Yet finding out I had a different birth father also raised many questions. What did he look like? Do I have other brothers or sisters? What was he like? Where does he live? Will I ever meet him? Does he want to meet me? It would take decades before these were answered.

But one question that never bothered me was why he left when I was 2 years old. It even surprises me how little I care why he left – but even that line is unfair. I don’t even want to assume he left – I always thought my parents split up without casting blame anywhere. There were other people, circumstances and events going on at that time. It was the early 1960’s and my parents were young, roughly 20 years old. People change more at a younger age – emotionally and psychologically.

Why my parents parted never concerned me when I first found out about him, and it still doesn’t nearly 50 years later. I know that type of question can haunt some people in my situation and it can take a long time to come to grips with it, yet it was never a fleeting thought to me. I have even tried to dig deep within me, to see if there is a buried emotional cord waiting to be struck around this question – but I have never found such a pocket within me. I am at complete peace not assigning blame to either parent.

Wrong Time

To say my path through my teen years was rocky would be an extreme understatement. I was laying the groundwork for the following decade or more – alcoholism and other addictions. I was crafting the ability to hide behaviours and feelings. I was functional as an alcoholic for many years, but I was still drinking an average of at least 12 beers daily. But I was masking the fiery feelings burning inside me, maybe hoping the next beer could dowse the flames.

Although I have come to peace with my late step-father, George Bassett, (even thanking him for indirectly contributing to who I am now), I hated the son-of-a-bitch in my 20s. His emotional grip on me was draining, nearly debilitating. As much as I screamed “fuck you” to him in my head, I couldn’t shake it. George was so insecure that he dropped my middle name when he adopted me – the name I shared with my natural father.

In my mid-20’s, I started to consider changing my name back to my birth name. I felt that by changing it, I could loosen his grip on me. He didn’t deserve to have me or anyone carry on the name for him.

But then I also realized that he was not the only Bassett around. He might have had the deepest hooks in me but was not the only family member to consider. No one else in the family treated me any differently – cousins, aunts and uncles. I was always an equal part of the family in their eyes. Also, I highly adored my late Uncle John – a wonderful man in so many ways. I could not insult him or any other Bassett in my family by changing my name. So I decided to leave it – the time was not right.

New Answers

Over the years I often wondered about my birth father and his family. I would look up “Edward Paulin” on the Internet and get nowhere. I did this many times with the same outcome. But then in May 2021, through the help of an online service (23 and me), I was to connect with a cousin I never knew. I eventually connected with her mom (my aunt) and many cousins. Then through a lucky Facebook search, I connected with 2 brothers and a sister (although they are technically half-siblings, the “half” part is meaningless to me – they are my siblings!). The details of these discoveries will be a topic for a future blog entry…

Through the wonders of technology, I finally found my missing family. Without exception, everyone I connected with through messenger or talked to on the phone has been very warm and welcoming. They have embraced me and I have happily embraced them as well. Each conversation has flowed so gently and easily. I have had discussions with my brothers, which fill me up with excitement every time. I have been in daily contact with my sister Suzanne. We just met, but it feels like I have known her all my life – the spirit is not bound by time.

Sadly, I found out that my father passed away in 1977 through an unfortunate accident. Suzanne and a couple of cousins have given me some details of that fateful night. But there were 37 years of life he experienced before that night. From the accounts of many people, “Uncle Eddy” was a good man. He cared about others and it showed. I have seen pictures of that I never saw before – a handsome man with a wonderful smile.

I know more questions and answers will follow, but from what I know now, I have the blood of some fabulous people pulsing through my veins.

The Right Time

Over 40 years later, the idea of changing my name has come back to me. But this time I am not running from someone or something. This time I want to embrace fully who I am. I am a Bassett and I am proud to be so. I have done my little bit to bring some respect to the name and I want my son to hold it high.

Yet I am also a Paulin and given the exceptional reception from all members of my new-found family, I am happy to have that name as well.

I have decided to change my name. Currently, my name is Randolph Bassett. My new name will be Randolph Édouard Paulin Bassett. This keeps Bassett as my last name but brings my natural father’s complete name into mine. The change pays deserved respect to him and his family – and it more completely reflects who I am.

It’s in the Mail

It is no longer simply a decision to change my name. I sent out the application a couple of days ago. I will wait patiently now for the revised birth certificate to arrive in the mail with the new name

“Hello, I’d like to introduce myself.

My name is Randolph Édouard Paulin Bassett.

And I am very pleased to meet you.”

The post Changing My Name appeared first on Randy Bassett.

My way out of the maze was not a solo effort. The compounding effect of people lending a hand or simply saying the right thing at the right time helped to cast enough light and navigation to lead me along. Without the gracious touch of so many people in my younger years, I would have been stuck in the maze, never knowing what could have been.

One of the most influential people in my life was a math teacher named Doug Johnston. One particular 15-minute conversation with Doug cast needed light on my life and contributed to my future in ways that only time would reveal.

This is my thanks to Doug.

Return to School  

I never graduated from high school. I dropped out of grade 11 four times from 3 different schools. It was not meant to be.

Instead, I worked at a variety of jobs, making enough to buy cigarettes and beer. Since I was 17 and living on my own, I also covered rent and food. I lived in a one-room bachelor apartment, with enough furniture to be comfortable. The kitchenette, not much bigger than a closet, was hidden behind sliding doors. I paid $103/month for this gem and it felt like a piece of paradise.

My girlfriend, Ann, and I seemed inseparable. Our youth and unbridled libidos kept the flames stoked. I thought we were going to last forever, until she decided that greener pastures existed in the bedroom of one of my drinking buddies. After a brief period of drinking myself to sleep while wailing out Barry Manilow’s Mandy, I realized I needed a change. Since my girlfriend parted with me, the lack of horizontal gymnastics gave me a lot of time, which I decided to fill by going back to school.

Upgrading

After reviewing some options, I decided to get my high school equivalency through Mohawk College. The program had continual intake which meant I could start whenever I wanted. Since it was designed so that students could work at their own pace and write exams when they were ready, it had just the right balance of freedom and structure.

It took 30-40 minutes to get to the campus by bus which I did not mind. I went to school every day which was much different than when I was previously in high school. And it was different in so many other ways. I was now going because I wanted to go, not because I was being told to do so. Plus, I was on a path to show Ann and others in my life that they had made a mistake in discarding me.

The program was broken up into 3 sections: English, science and math. For each section, there were teachers available to help. My math teacher was Doug Johnston – who would become one of the most impacting people in my life.

Meeting Doug 

Of the three sections I had to tackle to get my grade 12 equivalency, math was the one I dove into first. I always liked math and had a knack for it. Doug was the teacher who was in the classroom, available to help any student who needed it. Since it was continual intake and most people were at different places in the curriculum, there was no way to have proper lectures. I generally did not need much help in math, but Doug was always close by if questions arose.

I am not sure why we started meeting outside of the classroom. Maybe it was the math or that we both liked hockey. Or maybe it was simply that our personalities connected. Doug was full of energy. His leg was fidgety, constantly moving and he had a loud, boisterous laugh. He also had a strong, confident voice which I admired.

Over time, we started playing cards together in the cafeteria with some other students and going out for the occasional beer after school.  Sometimes we ended up at his house and played ping-pong over a couple of beers. (I hope we did not drive his wife too crazy). Doug was my friend.

Opening the Door

Our friendship had no bearing on my marks in math because my entire mark was based on one final exam – and there is little room for interpreting answers in math. Answers are right, or they are wrong. In fact, the one mistake that I made on the exam could have been overlooked, but Doug was right in marking it as incorrect. I got 159/160 on the final exam. I am not mentioning this to toot my own horn, but rather to note this test result was something Doug would refer to many times.

After I finished the math section, I still had science and English to work through. Even though I was no longer in the math class, Doug and I still met quite often over cards, beer and ping-pong. He would occasionally bring up the math exam mark, noting it was the highest mark on that exam he had ever seen. He would say it with a level of pride that made me feel uncomfortably good about myself. Up to this time, I had often been told what I should or could be doing in school. Accomplishments were rarely acknowledged.

Late one afternoon, Doug and I were sitting in the cafeteria, having a cigarette and enjoying each other’s company. Doug then brought up a topic that no one had ever discussed with me: going to university. Before that moment, I never gave it the slightest thought. The notion of me going to university never entered my mind, but something strange happened in that afternoon with Doug.

He not only asked if I considered going to university, but he told me that I would do well there. This was all new to me. He talked to me about his own university experiences, which further raised my intrigue in this previously unknown world. This small seed of possibility planted by Doug grew quickly and became a driving force in my life. He flipped the switch that gave me the light I needed to guide me to a brighter future than I ever dreamed of. All from a single conversation.

Lost Touch

I eventually graduated from Mohawk College with my high school equivalency. Doug and I still connected, but since I was not on campus daily, it was less frequent. As time passed and circumstances changed, we lost touch.

I never forgot Doug. As time continued, the power of that single conversation became more evident. Going to university did not define my character, but it did open doors and opportunities that likely would not have been available to me otherwise. It helped point me in directions that took me to the wonderful life I get to enjoy today.

I always wanted to reach out and say thanks to Doug. With the Internet at my fingertips, I searched for Doug several times with minimal success. I eventually tracked him back to the Math Department at Mohawk College. By the time I did so, he had retired. I would check again after a little while, but only ever found him in some Mohawk College archive articles.

Looking back, I could have contacted some people in the Math department who know Doug and who might have been able to connect us. Unfortunately, I did not do that. After all, there would always be time to do that later … or would there be.

Found Doug

A few weeks ago, I decided to look for Doug once again. This time I found an article about Doug outside of the Mohawk College world. Unfortunately, it was Doug’s obituary. He had passed away in 2018 from cancer. This article broke my heart, layering a cloud over me for a few days.

In the obituary, it said, “Doug touched the lives of all who knew him”. I am evidence that statement is true. I never really thought that I would not be able to say thanks to him in person. Being 60 years old, I know we are not eternal, but I was duped by the illusion of tomorrow. I can no longer look at him in the eyes to say thanks, but his conversation with me was one of the 4 biggest turning points in my life – only behind the moment I met Sue and the birth of my two kids.

The Delusion of Eternity

The history of time passing and its apparent unending state deludes many of us into thinking it will never run out. That there will always be a tomorrow. Our treasure chest of tomorrows that have come into our lives masks that idea that the well of tomorrows is bottom-less.

Since reading about Doug’s passing, I have been pondering what I should do with my remaining time. I am no longer blinded by the light of eternal tomorrows.

I have spent so much time filling my space and time excuses about the one thing I am most passionate about – writing. Always believing I will have time. I am no longer going to tolerate these excuses from myself.

Thank You

It seems that Doug touched me in such a profound way 40 years ago, but he also reached out and touched me from beyond the grave. He has opened my eyes wider to what I need to do.

Thanks, Doug – for then, for now and forever.

The post Thanks to an Old Friend appeared first on Randy Bassett.

Given the current events swarming us, gobbling up all of our attention and cloaking us in multiple layers of fear, it may seem odd to say that world is wonderful, but let’s look at it a little closer.

Two Years Ago

In early 2018, I thought I was flying high. I had my own small business. I felt healthy. I was helping to run a local charity. My son and I were hanging out occasionally, going to movies, having a bite to eat or just chatting. My wife and I were stronger together than ever.

I thought that having a small business was the ticket to success – at least that is what so many well-meaning (or self-serving) coaches told me. I had made some decisions in the business which made sense at the time. Those decisions were about to clip the wings of the business and I didn’t even see it coming.

Healthy? Who was I kidding. I was tricking myself into believing that, supported by the mirages fueled by short-term memory. My weight was cycling between 285 and 300 pounds. I had promised myself for years that “this was going to be the year I would lose weight” – just to reset the timeline of that goal each New Year’s Day. My cholesterol was high enough for the doctor to discuss medications to help bring it down. My blood pressure was always just above the high end of normal.

Little did I know that my son was entering a challenging time of his life that would change our relationship. Our relationship was going to be tested in many ways that I didn’t see in 2018.

My wife and were sailing along in our career choices. We were there to support the children and keep them as strong as we could. Yet we also had late nights spent separately because of outside commitments and very few daytime moments connecting together. We were strong in many ways – individually and collectively. But as a married unit, the strength of the bonds were under fire and being tested.

Sure, I thought I was flying high. What I didn’t notice was that the blinders I was wearing were hiding the cliff I was heading directly towards.

One Year Ago

At this time in 2019, I had just found out I had cancer and was starting radiation and chemotherapy. The delusion of the state of my health was unraveling. Medical tests were going to be frequent, as were the mental and emotional tests. I was no longer feeling healthy. But I had made strides in the prior year. I had made some adjustments to my diet, which brought my cholesterol into the normal range for the first time in years, but this was over-shadowed by the cancer diagnosis.

A year or so prior, I had decided that I would focus my business on helping non-profits and charities with their websites. After all, I knew website development and I ran a charity for years, so I knew the challenges that charities faced. It seemed like such a natural direction to take, but it proved to be extremely difficult to market. So many charities couldn’t see the value in a quality website and many simply didn’t have the proper funding. However strong it was on paper, this direction wasn’t flying.

What looked like a potential failure actually helped me to open my eyes and embrace another opportunity. I decided to wrap up my business and take a position with one of my clients. It turned out to be a brilliant move.

My son and I were going to the movies less frequently. Our interests were quite different. It was getting harder for me to parachute into one of his electronic game-playing sessions and play with him. He was so far ahead of me in any game, that I was more of a nuisance, bordering on pathetic! Our discussions seemed to be drifting apart too.

Prior to  my cancer-diagnosis, my wife and were still sailing in our own directions, occasionally bumping into each other. These bumps would sometimes cause us to pause and say “Hi”, other times it would annoy the shit out of each other. Once the cancer diagnosis came, there was a shift. We dusted away some of the external distractions. Necessary light and water were being sprinkled on our bonds, allowing them to grow stronger.

The cancer diagnosis was traumatic, but it was also starting to inject some much-needed reality checks into my life.

Today

I am pleased to say that I am now cancer-free and I truly feel healthier than I have in many years. Ironically, I know I am in much better health now than I was two years ago, even though the Randy back then would have told you otherwise. I am not without ongoing challenges from cancer – it certainly has a way to leave its marks behind. I still have painful neck spasms many times a day and that will likely be my normal for a long time. But I will gladly take those daily disruptions over cancer.

Besides the fabulous support from so many people, especially my wife Sue, what carried me through the cancer journey was my mindset. I knew I was going to come out on top, although there were many times when I had to force myself to keep that mindset in place. This was not always perfect. There were many times when I fall into a salt-bath of self-pity. Why me? Why my family? When was this bullshit going to end? But my strong inner knowing that I was going to be okay would eventually prevail.

Atticus and I are now reconnecting in other ways. I know a lot more about Rap music than I ever thought I would. He tells me about the music and the artists, because this is what is important to him. He is a teenager turning into a young man.

The greatest joy in my life is watching him grow, yet my biggest heartache is also watching him grow. I had to accept that he is growing and needs me less, or at least, he needs me in different ways now. His changes were a natural result of him growing up. In order to adapt to this transition, I needed to change the way I looked upon our relationship. Simply put, my mindset had to change and it did.

As the time demands of the cancer treatments began to subside, Sue and I started to resume our normal cycle of work and looking after our family. But something changed. We continued to spend time together in the evenings. Sometimes it was huddled around the table discussing Opening Hearts or how to keep a half step ahead of the kids. Other times it was just quietly watching TV together. This seemed to be a healthy side-effect of the cancer.

Common Theme

The central pattern over the past two years has been my mindset. I needed to know that I was going to pull through my encounter with cancer. I had to change how I looked upon my relationship with my son. I needed to be reminded that my marriage represents the most important relationship in my life.

These shifts in thinking may appear simple, but they collectively helped to give me the light I needed to guide me to where I am now – healthy and happy.

Reflection of the Pandemic

What I have gone though is a small, yet meaningful representation of what we all experiencing with the global pandemic

Prior to the arrival of Covid-19, many of us were flying high, basking in the muddiness of materialism, yet thinking we were winning the race. Just as cancer grabbed my attention very quickly, Covid-19 has stopped many of us in our tracks.

Similar to chemotherapy and radiation to cancer patients, the community at large is experiencing the challenges of trying to deal with this pandemic. We put our trust in the professionals that these demands being placed upon us are for our collective good. We are drained sometimes. We feel alone. We wonder when it will end. Cancer patients feel the same way.

Sadly, many cancer patients die from the disease, just as many people have died from Covid-19. This is a grim part of these realities. Yet is does cause many others to band together to try and save as many people as we can.

Thankfully, many more people do survive their encounter with Covid-19. Although the survival rate with cancer is not as high as with Covid-19, a majority of cancer patients do survive.

Side-effects are very common with cancer. My neck will never be the same – it will twitch and spasm for years to come. I had to learn to adapt to my new normal after cancer. Similarly, the world will have to adapt to the side-effects of this pandemic. The big difference is the uncertainly of what those side-effects will be. Another big difference is that we, as a community, have some choice as to what those side-effects will be. What will we learn from all of this?

Fear Sells

When the doctor first looked into my eyes and said the word “cancer”, fear was the first feeling that overtook me. My lack of knowledge of cancer immediately equated it to a death sentence. After I dodged denial, it took a while for me to learn more about the cancer I had and work my way through the fear. If I focused only on articles on-line that focused on the atrocities of cancer and the number of people dying from it, my fear would have grown. Instead, I focused on a balanced approach – respecting that cancer can have a drastic outcome, but also focusing on how to get past cancer.

Similarly, we are bombarded with fear-propagating messages in the media about Covid-19. Fear sells. Bad news sells. Worry sells. I have read some articles where the sole objective seems to fan the fire of fear. It’s no wonder that fear is a common community emotion right now.

But is doesn’t need to be.

There is absolutely nothing sexy about good news. An article about our friend who made some masks for Sue and our family will never sell a single copy. A story about people ordering groceries on-line for elderly neighbours will never appear on CNN. A news video about families sitting together to watch a movie or play a game for the first time in months (or years) will never go viral. Good news is boring.

And thankfully good news is so common that it really isn’t news. It will be a sad day when good news is so rare that it becomes news. Stories of families, neighbours and communities connecting are everywhere. The number of scientists coming together across the globe to combat Covid-19 is remarkable. The number of good things people are doing during this pandemic is huge and far outweigh the negative. We just need to look for it, because we won’t find these stories on CNN. We’ll find them in our own community.

Mother Nature is Speaking

Mother Nature has a strong voice – sometimes it is silent and other times it booms. But like many mothers, she may have a plan that will help us, even if we don’t understand it. For instance, forest fires can be devastating. A forest fire from 10,000 years ago could have wiped out a large area. Yet in its wake, lush new greenery arose.

Cancer paid a visit to me. It took its toll and forced me to go through a challenging time, but now I am stronger than I was before – physically and emotionally. I just had to pay attention to the lessons cancer was teaching me.

Using a very loud voice, Mother Nature has given our world-wide community Covid-19 to deal with. We are enduring a challenging time, but if we listen carefully, maybe we can hear what she is trying to tell us.

More people are reconnecting with their families and are learning to slow down. Is she telling us to return to a simpler way of life?

More people are saying “Hi” in public, even as we try to keep 6 feet away. Our physical distancing is causing some people to connect in other ways. Is she telling us to build stronger communities?

When the pandemic first hit, people were asked to stay at home to keep themselves safe. It didn’t work as well initially. The message to stay home was more quickly embraced when we were told it was to help keep other people safe. As a community, we seemed to care more about others than ourselves – a stark difference from what seemed apparent pre-pandemic. Is she trying to remind us to be less selfish and to serve others?

Our Choice

Maybe in its simplest terms, Mother Nature is trying to remind us that our world is remarkable, with all its highs and lows, and all its pains and triumphs. We just need to listen to the messages and have the courage to embrace them. And maybe, as we work our way through challenges like cancer or this pandemic, if we remember the messages we are being taught, our world will become even more wonderful.

It’s not just a cliché embossed in glitter on a greeting card. It’s not just an affirmation we tack to our bathroom window. It’s not just the name of a beautiful song written almost 60 years ago. It’s a simple truth wrapped up in 4 elegant words:

It’s a Wonderful World.

The post What a Wonderful World appeared first on Randy Bassett.

Satchel Paige was a legend in baseball. He played in the 1940’s during the time when black baseball players were first allowed to play in the major leagues. Jackie Robinson is recognized as the first black player to play in the majors, but Paige was instrumental in paving the pathway for Jackie and others.

In 1948, Paige was called up to help the Cleveland Indians in the pennant race. He was a pitcher who spent a number of years crafting his fastball in the minors. He became the first black pitcher in major league baseball.

His feats are amazing, but his age was even more interesting to me. He became a major league rookie at the age of 42 – the oldest man to ever debut in the majors. In reference to age, Paige simply, yet eloquently stated:

“How old would you be if you didn’t know how old you are?”

– Satchel Paige –

Upon hearing that line recently, the student (me!) was ready, likely due to the health challenges over the past 6 months.

In My Youth

When I was in my teens and 20’s, this would have been a meaningless quote. As I have touched on in earlier blog posts, there were low moments when I considered suicide and even acted upon those thoughts. Those moments were not filled with questioning my mortality, but they were filled with a driving need to escape the engulfing emotional cyclones.

Fortunately, most moments were not filled with such thoughts. I was a young man, doing things that make the present-day me wonder how I made it through it. After all, I was invincible and immortal – I was going to live forever. At least I lived like that was my mindset. I simply would not have understood Satchel Paige’s quote and I wouldn’t have bothered trying to.

As I Aged

With age, I have acquired some bits of wisdom, even though most of it is not Earth-shattering. For me, wisdom would arrive at those flashes when cute words, quotes or concepts would move from the outer layer of awareness where I selectively care about things to the inner layers of deeper understanding and emotional awareness.

Like the moment when I realized that I won’t be around forever. Sure, when I was younger, I had an intellectual awareness of the idea, but the wisdom came when the concept slipped through the superficial periphery into my inner being. It was at that moment that I started to appreciate the gift of life, and how brief how time really is.

I was more ready for Satchel Paige’s quote, but I still didn’t think about mental vs physical age very often. For instance, when I was 55, I would often think “I know I am 55, but from my memories of 55 year-olds from when I was younger, I don’t look or feel like that!”. Yet I never really thought to assign myself another age.

The Quote

I was listening to a CD series in my car a while ago called “Dreams Don’t Have Deadlines” by Mark Victor Hansen. On one CD he discussed Satchel Paige and posed the question “How old would you be if you didn’t know how old you were?”

I was hooked. The student was ready. The idea pierced my exterior and entered my inner knowing. I then started assigning the age I felt and compared it to my calendar age, and they did not always match up!

Just Before Cancer

I had already accepted my mortality and began accepting the aches and pains that time bestows upon us. I learned that I had to adapt to new normals or get them fixed. For instance, I fully recognized that I could not run as fast as I could when I was 25, but that is from lack of running more than age.

My kids have helped me to blur mental and chronological aging even further. They help bring out the playful side in me, giving me cause to be a little boy again, but it causes me to get tired a little quicker – feeling old and young at the same time.

I didn’t know what 58 was supposed to feel like, but I felt much younger than that – in mind, spirit and body.

I felt more like 40 than 58. So maybe 60 is the new 40.

Cancer Diagnosis

Being diagnosed with cancer caused my mental evaluation of my age to cycle wildly, sometimes feeling 40, other times much older.

Besides the physical impact of the surgery, I still felt younger – but now trapped in a time continuum rather than a point in time. My mind was trying to hang on to the thought that I am still much younger than whatever 58 is supposed to be, but being pulled in the opposite direction with cancer reminding me that years are advancing.

At any point on time, could feel anywhere from 40 to well over 60.

Cancer Treatments

When chemo and radiation therapies started, I still felt strong – age 40. I was at work, functioning very well. I was getting increasingly tired, but it was still highly manageable.

After 2 weeks of treatment, I seemed to have aged 15 years. I was moving slower and eating less. I was more irritable, but trying to smile and keep up a strong front.

After another 2 weeks, I aged another 15 years. By this time I was eating very little. I was in bed by 8:00 most evenings. Still working, but much slower now. The growing fatigue was more obvious now and I had the decreasing ability or will to hide it.

After another week, aged at least another 10 years. I wasn’t eating at all and I had a g-tube in place to stabilize my weight and give me the nutrition I needed. I stopped working. I was too tired to properly focus on anything. I also felt impaired, like I was constantly stoned, but not enjoying any highs. I decided not to drive because I knew my reflexes were slower. I didn’t care about not having the freedom to go where I wanted because I simply didn’t want to go anywhere.

Because I was I was so mentally distant and physically tired, I was not connecting well with my family. I was dependent on others to help more than I had been ever in my life and I was fortunate that people were there to give me the help I needed.

End of Treatments and Recovery

For a week or so after the treatments ended, I felt even worse – more tired, fatigued and sore. I felt much older than I ever felt. By this time, I felt 85 or older.

I had gone from 40 to 85 in less than 2 months.

During 2nd week after treatment stopped, I started seeing signs of recovery. I was feeling more rested. I started to be able to tolerate some food.

After the third week I went back to work. I was still a bit foggy, but I felt it was better for me to get back to work. Since I was still a bit tired, I asked some co-worker friends to drive me back and forth to work, which they graciously did.

Over the course of a couple of months, I was eating fairly normally and driving myself around just like before.

The clock was starting to roll backwards.

Now

I am now dealing with cancer treatment side-effects, which is still much better than dealing with cancer itself. I am still not at 100% energy that I had prior to treatments, but I understand that it is completely normal for that to take a long time to recover.

I also have some side-effects that I was not prepared for. For instance, I have frequent dizzy spells and neck spasms. I am working with a number of professionals to determine the cause. These lingering side-effects are the reason why I don’t feel 40 again – yet!

Regardless, I would say I feel 45 – 50. I am now slimmer, I have more energy (90%) and I am sleeping normal (although my normal is shitty, it is still my normal). I just turn a blind eye to the mirror and the reflecting wrinkles that want to dampen my mental age-meter.

Why This is Important to Me

I have come to the realization that calendar age is not a prescription for physical or mental condition. Due to cancer and the treatments, I went from 40 to 85 back down to 50 in 6 months. I don’t want to say “I can’t because I’m too old” (unless it involves gymnastics or kindergarten). I don’t want to link limits to aging.

I would prefer to say “I choose not to do that” or “I choose to do that” and leave age out of it.

My Recent Lessons

What I can and cannot do now are a sum of the choices I have made up now. I can’t do karate now, not because I am 59, but because I did not choose to keep myself in the necessary physical condition to be able to do karate now. There are a lot of folks practicing karate in their 60’s and beyond.

As “Mark Victor Hansen” said, Dreams Don’t Have Deadlines and cancer has reminded me of that.

So what are my next dreams? I now have a longer list than I had even 6 months ago. Besides activities and things for the betterment of my family, my top dream is to become a best-selling author. I want my words to get out there with the hope that they will make a positive impact on many.

I have many other dreams on the list that I want to pursue with the passion and energy of the 40 year-old that I am inside. It will mean that I will be winding things up when some people may be winding things down. It also means I will be starting new adventures and opening new doors rather than embracing complacency.

Cancer has taken me through a wild aging cycle, but it has also reminded me that I am here to wear out rather than rust.

And I am always just beginning.

Now I ask you …

How old would you be if you didn’t know how old you are?

The post How Old Would You Be… appeared first on Randy Bassett.

I work in the IT world. When investigating computer issues I often ask what has changed. The response I almost always hear is “nothing”. Whether or not the person I am talking to is aware of it,  if something is different, something had to have changed.

Humans aren’t so consistent. Same input, variable outputs. A beautifully challenging reality.

I am fully aware that I sometimes react differently to similar or seemingly identical situations. Sometimes when someone cuts me off on the road or highway, I really don’t notice or care. Other times I care too much and start lighting up the horn and my language, swearing at someone who can’t hear me and who couldn’t care less.

Since being diagnosed with cancer I have been more prone to these inconsistencies. It seems to take more effort to remain optimistic and keep a strong front.

Uncertainty

We all live with a level of uncertainty that we are comfortable with, what we have adapted to. There are some people who live pay-to-pay and don’t mind at all. On the other hand, I am sure there are some affluent people who would be very stressed out if their bank account balance fell under one million dollars.

My level of uncertainty prior to my diagnosis was probably fairly normal – wondering what the future holds for my kids, how long will my car hold up, will the interest rates be low when I renew my mortgage, etc. Most of the time these thoughts would come to mind, I’d consider them, then tuck them away again – while not expending a lot of emotional or mental energy on them. I have noticed that this has changed since the diagnosis.

The prior uncertainties haven’t changed. In fact, they seem to have faded into the background because they haven’t even come to mind. But the uncertainties around cancer dash in and out of my mind with relentless persistence. A bolt of fear and doubt spikes from a bout of uncertainty, triggered from a medical report, a Facebook article, the worried look on someone’s face … or simply from a song. I do my best to clean up the emotional debris left behind by one of these bolts. I then sit down, waiting for the next one. For instance…

Medical Reports and Tests

I am not completely new to working with medical professionals since we have been dealing with them quite regularly since Treva was born. But somehow it seems quite different with this bout of cancer, either because I am the patient now or this is simply the adult health care system. Upon my first visit to the Juravinski Cancer Clinic, the oncologist arranged for me to have a CT scan. I didn’t ask any more questions, because this seemed like a normal procedure. A week and a half later, I was at St. Joe’s preparing to have this scan.

Whenever I meet someone new in the medical arena, I try to create rapport – joking around or asking about them. The nurse I met who did the I.V. for the scan was an amazing lady and we were like old pals within a couple of minutes. She told me what the requisition from the oncologist said and 2 different things triggered flaming flashes of uncertainty. First, she told me the CT Scan was flagged as “urgent”. Urgent! A cloud of questions flooded into my mind upon hearing that word: What the hell do they mean by urgent? Is there more shit going on that they are not telling me that makes this test urgent? Why didn’t they tell me it was urgent? And on and on …

Then this awesome nurse explained to me that they were scanning my chest. Seriously? It was pretty obvious from the still-healing scars on my neck where the area of concern was. Why were they not scanning my neck too – at least? Were they looking for stuff and not telling me? Was this even the right requisition (even though I knew that question was fairly stupid)?

These questions and others that were part of the mental mob just added to the uncertainty.

When I was at that appointment, I saw a poster that advertised a service that allows patients to get scan results and reports from the hospitals. I took down the number and signed up. A week later I read the results of the CT Scan on-line. I read a lot of words like “unremarkable” and “normal”. I enjoy those words. Then I read a part that bothered me: “ a 3.3cm x 2.7 cm mass in the lower left pole of the thyroid, unchanged since prior scan … a complex cyst.” A cyst? Isn’t that what they went in to remove in the first place which caused them to find cancer? Didn’t they remove the cyst along with the collection of lymph nodes? That makes no sense. Wait … this is on the thyroid. That is lower in the neck, whereas the cyst we seemed to be focusing on was just below my jawbone. Is this a different cyst altogether? Why didn’t anyone say anything about this earlier?

Another mountain of questions to fuel the uncertainty. I simply have to wait to see a doctor for some answers. Waiting …

My Guard Drops

When I am in my car or working at my desk, I like listening to music. I have a lot of songs from the 60’s to the 80’s on my music devices, many carefully crafted into playlists waiting to address my desire or mood at the moment. I know most of these songs very well. They can carry me to moments in time or bring into focus faces I haven’t seen for years. Most songs are fairly predictable in how they will hit me at any given moment. But occasionally a song will hit me in a surprising way.

A couple of weeks ago, I was driving back from doing some errands. On came a song I had heard at least 100 times before: “I Will Take Care You” by Amy Sky. But this time was mysteriously different, because tears filled my eyes. This song wonderfully portrays the circle of life through a woman’s eyes, where she sees her mother requiring care after being the caregiver for so many years. It seems that this shift from being a caregiver to being cared for, even if temporary, is a challenging transition for me.

In public I have noticed people staring at me sometimes. Most of the time I couldn’t care less and I barely notice. Sometimes I don a veil of exaggerated confidence and think, smiling to myself, “who else is there better to stare or look at right now in this room!”. Yet there are times when I shun away, internally cowering, externally trying to find a place to hide. It seems I don’t have the strength in those moments to fend off the perceived negativity. Mental and emotional fatigue settle in. Same situations, different reactions.

Sue has been wonderfully supportive throughout this cancer journey. When we are one-on-one, we can be sounding boards for each other, venting to release and then giving each other support when needed. When I am voicing concerns or worries about this journey she will aptly remind me to “think positive”. Most of the time that quick reminder allows my truest, optimistic nature to return and regain internal control. But there are moments when I simply can’t easily think positive. My optimism is simply too tired. The short journey with cancer has been forcing me to more actively keep up my optimism, burning energy in the process. Sometimes it needs to take a much-needed rest, and it sleeps soundly through any emotional commotion. I simply  have to wait until it wakes up from its slumber, more energized and ready to return me to the state of mind that serves me best.

Building Strength

This journey with cancer has created levels of uncertainty that I have to deal more actively. More frequently I have to push back negative thoughts that creep in. This takes mental and emotional energy that I have not needed to use for years. Most of the time I am very successful at tucking those thoughts away before they hit the surface. This allows me to keep the strong face that most people see me wearing. Much of the time the strong, spirited exterior is in sync with what I am actually feeling, but there are times when that exterior is just a mask, hiding the turmoil within.

Using this extra energy takes work. As with any bout of sustained work, I find myself getting tired. It is in these periods of mental fatigue that I am even more prone to waves of uncertainty and fear overwhelming me.

Yet, like all forms of exercise, this cycling, increased use of mental and emotional energy is helping to build internal muscle. For instance, it bothers me less often if I notice someone staring at me. I am sure there will be more surprises on this journey and I will need this extra strength for those moments.

Consistency

As I mentioned in the opening of this blog, humans, unlike computers, are not overly consistent. Even with the same inputs, we can see different reactions within others and ourselves. This can be a source of awe or frustration, but it distinguishes us from the cold calculability of a computer. Circumstances arise which can cause even more inconsistent, unpredictable reactions, such as my current dance with cancer.

Yet through all of this, one thing has been powerfully consistent. The support and encouragement I have received from so many family members, friends and strangers who have become new-found friends. Interwoven through the elevated mental and emotional ups and downs I am experiencing is this amazing level of support to help lift me when I need it. It helps to ensure that my exterior is more often a reflection of what I am really feeling and not simply a mask hiding inner turmoil.

The support people show for each other like many of you have shown for me is beautiful and empowering.

It makes as wonderfully human.

The post Behind The Mask appeared first on Randy Bassett.

His name was Ken and he was my Big Brother. (No, this is not a reveal of someone hidden within our lineage – I was involved with Big Brothers when I was a young teen!)

I was 14 when we first met. Ken was 10 years older than me and about 10 inches shorter. It didn’t matter how much I physically stood over him because I still looked up to him.

When we first met he lived in Hamilton in an apartment on the mountain. I don’t recall going to that apartment very often because we generally went out – bowling, playing pool or whatever would grab our attention. Although we got along great and talked almost non-stop, we never really talked about how I was feeling or anything too deep. I don’t think it mattered. With Ken, having someone to go out with on a regular basis and have fun was what my spirit needed from him.

St. Catharines

Within a year of meeting Ken, he moved to St. Catharines to be closer to a new job. He moved into a one-bedroom unit in an apartment on Geneva St. Once or twice a month I would visit with Ken in St. Catharines, usually staying over on a Saturday night. Often Ken would buy a case of beer and he would have a few. I don’t ever recall him being drunk – just enjoying some beer. He would give me one or two occasionally. Yes, I was underage, but maybe he thought I couldn’t get into any trouble. Or could I?

On one particular visit, things were going as normal. We had gone for dinner and then settled back into his apartment. He had a few beers and offered me a couple, which I was glad to accept. This particular night I had an elevated taste for the brown pops. Ken went to bed a little after midnight and I had my bedding on the couch I normally slept on. Once Ken was sleeping, I helped myself to a couple more beers. I wasn’t drunk, but I was feeling mildly euphoric – this was all fairly new to me. This particular night I was also feeling adventuresome.

My Adventure

Ken drove a yellow car. I believe it was a Ford Fairlane, or something very similar, roughly 1972 model. It was a big car. At 1:30 in the morning, with Ken asleep in his room and 15-year-old me with a few beers under my belt, I decided to take the car for a ride. How hard could it be?

I got the keys and quietly snuck out the apartment door and took the elevator to the main floor. The parking lot was behind the building. I found the car, opened the door and slid behind the steering wheel. It was helpful that the car was an automatic because having no driving experience whatsoever rendered the steering wheel, gas pedal and brakes complicated enough.

Turning the key, the engine started without a hitch. I backed up out of the parking spot and I carefully memorized which spot I just left. Slowly I drove down the lane-way, stopping at the lip of Geneva St. Given the time of night, there were few cars around.

Turning left, I drove onto the road. I was keeping in between the lines, driving rather well and enjoying every second. I drove down Geneva for a few minutes. Since I started getting a little nervous that Ken would wake up, I somehow turned around and drove back to the apartment parking lot. Thankfully the same parking space was open, so I pulled in.

My Adventure Continues

I went up to the apartment and found that Ken was still fast asleep. I sat on the couch for a few minutes and quite easily talked myself into going for another ride. Same sequence: quietly close door, go downstairs, start the car and go to Geneva. This time I got a little more adventuring.

I turned off Geneva to a long road with almost no cars on it. Carefully I drove it one way to scope the nuances of the road – the gentle bend and one minimal dip in the road. I turned around on the road heading back to Geneva. Holding my breath, I hammered on the gas pedal. I wound it up to around 75 mph (that’s miles, kilometers) in the city of St. Catharines before having to slow down before reaching Geneva. Again, nervous about Ken’s awakening, I went back to the apartment.

My Adventure Ends

I didn’t take long for me to convince myself to go for another ride. This one had its own level of excitement – very unplanned. I did my run down that same road, hitting around 75 mph again. Cruising back along Geneva heading back to the apartment I was on cloud nine. I was feeling good – until the car started to make a strange sound. It started to jerk and slow down. I was running out of gas.

I managed to pull over in a parking lot of a tiny strip plaza. This was not good. I had about $6.00 on me, so I had enough for some gas, but the gas station a few stores down wasn’t opening until 7:00. I had almost 2 hours to fill, smoking cigarettes and sweating bullets. When the gas station opened, they did have a can for me to use to fill up with gas and take to the car.

I filled up the $6.00 worth of gas, returned the can and went back to the car. As I was about to get in the car, a man approached me and asked me for ID. Seriously? I found out very soon that he was a plain-clothed juvenile police officer. He had been watching me nervously going about my gas-filling duties and something looked wrong.

He took me back to Ken’s apartment. We woke up Ken so the officer could explain what had happened and I filled in some of the blanks (I didn’t mention the 75 mph trips). After the officer left Ken was pissed off and spoke very little for the rest of the day – until a knock came to the door which would make things worse.

It Got Worse

Having no driving experience or lessons, I wasn’t aware that I needed to back out straight a few feet, then turn the wheel so that the nose of the car doesn’t clip the car beside you. Apparently, I turned too soon.

The knock on Ken’s door was the owner of the vehicle parked beside Ken’s car. He had spent some time trying to figure out who owned the car who dented his. After they sorted out the details and the guy left, Ken was even more pissed off. A short, blasting lecture was followed by even louder, longer silence.

I don’t recall if I took the bus or Ken drove me home. Either way, Ken gave all the details to my mom. There was over $200 in damage and I was told that the money she was going to use to buy me a new bike would be paying that tab.

I never had another visit with Ken after that one and I don’t believe we ever talked again. It was a punctuated ending to a necessary relationship.

The New Inner Voice

My mom, in turn, told my step-dad all the details. He didn’t come over for a week or so to confront me about this. I recall coming up the house one evening and seeing his car on the street. I went into the house, completely petrified about his reaction. He looked at me, paused, raised his fist for drama and said, “When is the last time someone punched you right in the mouth?”

I froze, but he didn’t follow through. Thankfully, he didn’t punch me or hit me in any way. But something odd happened. For the first time in my life, I heard a tiny, barely audible voice coming from deep within me. It was a voice talking to my step-dad. That voice was actually a scream, but the layers of fear turned it into a soft whisper. That voice had eyes and as it looked at my step-dad it simply said, “Fuck you”. These words never left their inner confines, but that moment changed the relationship between my step-dad and me forever.

At The Edge

I have told this story to a few people in the past and to many I seem like a juvenile prankster, getting the due consequences of some stupid actions. Superficially, that is an understandable summary of events. But so much more happened.

My decision to take the car seemed like fun at the moment. Standing on the edge, I had the choice to step back and not go joyriding or leap off the edge landing behind the wheel of the car. The combination of beer and youth created clouds which blocked the view of the jagged rocks below. I chose to leap. The collision on the rocks had many impacts.

One impact from this incident is that I never saw Ken again. We never talked on the phone or got together. It was the first time that my actions, fueled by drinking or anything else, caused a fracture in a relationship. It wouldn’t be the last.

Another impact was the slight, but significant change in the relationship with my step-dad. That inner voice trying to scream out “fuck you” was that piece of me that trying to break the binds of the enveloping, smothering fear I had of him. Those binds were very strong and it would another 20 years before those words actually came out towards him.

The final impact was more subtle. I didn’t even see it then. I was in the early stages of a downward slide. This slide was masterful in its deception, baiting me with some exciting adventures and some fun with drinking. The early stages of the slide barely point down at all, maybe a degree or two. Enough of a slope to start the decline, but not enough to notice. A seeming friend with demonic intentions.

I was on the downward slide and I didn’t even know it…

The post Starting the Downward Slide appeared first on Randy Bassett.

Grade 2

In grade two I asked my mom if I could change my name. I was a big Superman fan and I had some plans. My mom said “yes”. Looking back, I am not sure if she didn’t actually hear my question or she was trying to pacify me.   At the age of seven, I didn’t care. I got the answer I wanted and set my plans in motion.

We had wide-ruled notebooks for our subjects, all with smoky pink-coloured covers. I dug out one of my books and erased “Randy Bassett” from the front of the book. I proudly printed “Clark Kent” in its place. I was proud to be Superman’s alter-ego. Sometime later, I had to hand the book in and I did so without flinching. The next day, the teacher handed back all the booklets and saved mine for last. She just simply asked who was Clark Kent. The snickering from the class instantly crushed my pride of being Superman, but since I was the only one without a booklet, I sheepishly stood up. With an eraser in tow, I decided to resume my existence as Randy Bassett.

Later Years

Years later in my early and mid-20s, I thought about changing my name again. I wanted to create more space between my stepfather and me. I was also thinking that he didn’t deserve any good things that I might bring to the name. I realize now that last thought was ego-laced, but I didn’t want him to have any credit for anything I had done or was going to do. The bitter taste of being raised by his hands was still fresh and I wanted a way to make it go away. Cases of beer didn’t remove the taste. Maybe changing my name would neutralize the acidic memories that lingered.

But what would I change my name to? I ruled out “Clark Kent” this time. I thought about reverting back to my birth name – Randolph Edward Paulin. My mom was only 17 years old when I was born. My birth father’s name was Edward Paulin, with, obviously, part of his name embedded in mine. When I was less than 3 years old, my mom and birth father parted ways and my mom met George Bassett. They quickly got married and had my sister, Elizabeth. That was in 1963. According to my revised birth certificate, my name wasn’t officially changed to Bassett until after I started school. George insisted that my middle name was to be dropped since it was the same as my birth father. I became Randolph (Randy) Bassett. Maybe I could change it back to my birth name?

I mulled over other options for names. Aubrey came up a number of times for a first name. I never really came up with solid ideas for alternative last names.

I Think I’ll Keep It

After a short while, I set aside the notion of changing my name. This had nothing to do with my desire to distance myself from George, but that was still there. It had everything to do with my Uncle John. My Uncle John was George’s brother and he was a great man. He was a few years younger than George and he adored George when they were younger. That changed as they became adults and Uncle John was able to see things he hadn’t seen before. I always loved seeing my uncle – he was funny, seemingly always wearing a huge smile. I can still hear his large, jovial laugh, and he passed away over 13 years ago. He was also a loving father who always put his kids first.

I had always admired, respected and loved my Uncle John. He made me feel like a genuine Bassett, even without the name pumping through my veins. There was no way I ever wanted to disrespect or hurt my Uncle John by changing my name, so I simply discarded that idea.

My idea of changing my name had its purpose – to create distance from my stepfather. Like many teens and youths, I spent many years trying to garner the attention of the person I thought I needed it from the most. As wisdom started to slowly trickle in during my late 20s and 30s, I realized that the attention from George was no longer needed. Somewhere, somehow that void had diminished. It was still there, but it was more of a tickle than a gnawing need.

Distance, Space and Time

George and I only lived 10 minutes apart, but we only saw each other twice in the 20 years prior to his death. Although the miles between us were short, the years created a gap between us that I simply accepted as being so. Near his end, I no longer felt angry. Actually, I felt somewhat sorry for my stepfather. He missed so much, never getting to see his wonderful grandchildren, two fabulous children bearing the name Bassett.

It seems that the distance I needed came in space and time, not in changing my name.

The post A Tale of New Names appeared first on Randy Bassett.

But there are other decisions that happen infrequently, that significantly shape our future. These are the decision points that put us at “the edge” and force us to decide to jump, retreat or freeze. These times influence where we are versus where we could have been.

Mr. Destiny

A few years ago, Michael Caine and James Belushi starred in a movie called Mr. Destiny. Belushi’s character (Larry) was a mid-level accountant as a large company. He was constantly haunted by a moment in his youth. Larry played minor baseball and his team was in the state championship. Bottom of the ninth inning, two out and with his team down by a run, Larry comes to bat. Digging in with all eyes watching, he strikes out. Absolutely devastated, the memory had eaten at him for 20 years.

“If only I had hit the damn ball. If only I had swung a little earlier.”

In a series of seemingly unfortunate events, Larry met Michael Caine’s character (Mike) who was a bartender in this mysterious bar called The Universal Joint. After a brief exchange where Larry tells of his problems and how they all stemmed from that fateful strikeout, Mike gave Larry a drink called “The Split Milk”.

Once leaving the bar, Larry soon discovered that he did hit the winning run and his life was dramatically different. Rich, famous and powerful, it seemed like he had it all – yet he also had the memory of how his life was. As glamorous as the new life seemed, he missed his wife, kids and friends.

At one point in the movie, Larry asked Mike what happened to his life, why did it change so much. Mike simply replied, “You hit the ball, Larry”. Larry did not understand how it could make such a difference.

In a brilliant demonstration, Mike (who we can call Mr. Destiny) showed how a major decision or circumstance in one’s life can bump them in a slightly different direction down one path or another, almost unnoticeable at the moment. But the differences in the two paths widen as time goes on, causing a change in destiny.

Like many of you, I have had some of those moments that have created my destiny. Some of these moments involved me making a decision on my own. Some of these moments involved other people nudging me one way or another.

Ultimately, it was me who had to decide which path to follow, but sometimes it was input from others that presented the options. These moments seemed so minor at the time, that I probably didn’t express my feelings adequately right then. I still do the occasional Google search for the names of people I want to thank.

A Bump in the Right Direction

My path through school was not traditional. I dropped out of grade 11 four different times, from three different schools. I still don’t have a high school diploma. When I was 19, I decided to go back to school to get a grade 12 equivalency from a local college. Since I was doing this on my own choosing, it worked out a lot better. I dug in and applied myself.

I soon discovered that some subjects came very easy to me and I was fortunate to have good marks in math. This helped create a connection between me and the math teacher (Doug J.) and we got along extremely well.

One afternoon, Doug and I were having a coffee in the cafeteria. I recall distinctly when Doug asked me, “Have you ever thought about going to university?”. I can remember the room we were in and the table where we were sitting. I can still picture Doug very vividly, his head slightly tilted as he leaned in and said these words.

Up to that point, goint to university was never on my radar. I never thought about it either way. No one in my family that I knew had gone to university. It was simply not a concept I entertained – until that moment. The seed he planted was so small that it was hardly recognizable, but it was a seed that would grow and blossom. That small birth of an idea would open doors for me for many years to follow.

A Bump Away From the Wrong Direction

I left home when I was 16 years old. Through a series of twisting and winding events, I moved into a group home. Wesley House was a group home for teens like myself – not coping at home, yet needing a halfway step to complete independence. It was in this group home that I found my wings, with the help of the amazing staff and the friendships of fellow residents. Yet, like some environment where a number of teens collect, we experimented with some drugs and drinking.

On a particular Wednesday night, one of the residents (we’ll call him Dave) got some acid to share with us. I remember it was a Wednesday because those were the nights we played pick-up ice hockey with some of the group home staff and their friends. Prior to hockey on those nights, I also played in a bowling league with one of the other residents. I decided to take a hit of acid before going bowling. I was disappointed.

Even after bowling I really didn’t feel much of a reaction. I had to go back home before going to play hockey, so I asked for another hit. Dave obliged me. I went to play hockey that night. Since I was playing goalie, I was focused all through the game and didn’t think much about the acid. When I hit the change room after the game, the acid took its effect.

I proceeded to laugh continuously for the following few hours. The staff members in the change room asked what was up, but I just said I was in a great mood. I thought this was great – the acid made me feel better than ever, seemingly. The next day I asked Dave for some more acid. I wanted to relive that rush, that euphoria.

I was a drug dealer’s dream – one taste, and I wanted more, but thankfully Dave wasn’t a drug dealer. Instead of giving me more that day, he just simply said “ask me again one week from now. If you want some then, I’ll get you some more acid.”

I never did ask him a week later. In fact, I had just got back to my life and forgot about it entirely. By Dave being so wise in his teenage years, I was able to step back from the edge, and not take a jump into the abyss that more acid would have dragged me into.

Only a Few Decisions Made the Difference

The stories above are just two examples of maybe 6-8 decisions that have helped create the life I have now instead of living on the street, homeless with no family – or maybe not even living at all.

This may seem excessively dramatic, but I firmly believe the difference between me and the person I am giving money to on the street is only the result of 6-8 decisions. These are moments on the “edge” where I retreated or jumped, and made the right choice. There were many times I didn’t make the right choices, but fortunately, I did choose correctly sometimes.

I have often thought about Doug and Dave. I know Doug is a retired math teacher from Mohawk College. I would love an opportunity to meet with him one more time and thank him. I have no idea where to start looking for Dave, so I will just have to shower enough gratitude into the air and hope that some of it is sprinkled on him.

Thank you, Doug. Thank you, Dave. (I just cried while typing these last 2 sentences)

Do you have decision points that you know shaped your destiny? If so, please share it with us.

The post A Few Choices, My Destiny appeared first on Randy Bassett.