Growing up in Cape Breton, I was never really much of a people person. Instead of having a ‘social life’ or acting ‘normal’ with other ‘people’, I was happy to just play in the woods surrounding my house and sharpen sticks with my mother’s kitchen knives.

Did this affect me negatively? Should I be worried that my son may have some of my introverted tendencies? Did eating wood that looked like chicken stunt my interpersonal growth? I’m not a normalcy scientist, how the floppy fuck should I know?

Anyway, I’ve decided to get the hoser out and about. Meeting people. Shaking hands. Drooling hard and taking names. He is a people person after all. I mean, he has pulled more hair and glommed on to more faces than any grown adult I know. He likes to get his hands dirty. And wet. With drool.

A quick poem:

He’s never fought a squirrel.

His favourite Haggard is Merle.

He wants to taste the world.

– An excerpt from the Littlest Hoser’s first album, ‘Wanna taste the world’.

Anyway, I cannot help but feel that the more people he meets, the more people he is imprinted on and vice versa. Call it information through osmosis or conceptualization through connectivity or just plain old community building, the more the merrier.

My family is mostly in Eastern Canada. Ontario is the where the bulk of them are, with a few living in Cape Breton, Nova Scotia. As much as I would like the mini human to be around my family, it is tough for him to do so on a regular basis. He gets to see his Grandma and Grandpa on Elizabeth’s side once a month and he loves being around them. They live a couple hours away though.

I wish I owned a transporter. I would transport the crap out of us. It would be so much easier.

Rant:

The Canadian government should offer once a year subsidies for air travel to those who live long distances from their families. . .seriously. It is 2,700 kilometers to Toronto from Edmonton. To put it into perspective, The United Kingdom is closer to Russia than Edmonton is to Toronto. And Edmonton to Cape Breton? 5,000 kilometers. That is Spain to Iran. And Edmonton to the moon? 380,000 kilometers. How does that strengthen my argument? It doesn’t. I just thought I’d google something stupid.

Anyway, the more the merrier when it comes to meeting people.

I wouldn’t say that I missed a lot whilst whittling whimsy in the east coast woods, but, there are things that I did miss out on. For example, my first response when faced with conflict is to search out a wooded area and pat my pockets for some of my mother’s cutlery.

Would I go back and change this if I could? Hell no. I really wouldn’t change anything from my past. Other that time in Grade 4 where I wrote a short story about all the McDonald’s characters jumping out of a stolen helicopter and mooning my entire elementary school. Actually, no. I wouldn’t change that. A good portion of my sketch comedy is based around ideas like that.

Being adopted, I got to make my family. Aside from Rose and Larry (two of the most genuine and wonderful people on the planet who adopted me thus making me the winner of the lucky baby lottery), there are others who I deem kin. They are mostly chosen. They are those I trust. Those I call upon in times of dire need. Those who I don’t mind seeing me fuck up. And they have. Jumping Jesus in a g-string they have. My brothers Kurt and Brendon can attest to this.

There is something to be said about creating a family from those around you. Reaching out, that type of thing. My kid is to rad as trees are to oxygen. As stars are to inspiration. As clouds are to weird shaped horses.