Is
my daughter “Canada’s Smartest Person”?
by
Robert LaFrance
Our daughter Kate is scheduled to be
a contestant on the CBC-TV show “Canada’s Smartest Person” on Sunday evening,
November 2, and I suppose I should watch it, just to keep peace n the family.
(Translation: If I don’t, she will
beat me even worse the next time we play golf. The last time we played she beat
me by 27 strokes, but we had to go or I would have done better on the second
hole.)
The funny thing is, when she first
saw the ad welcoming contestants, she phoned me and suggested that I enter.
When I stopped laughing I said: “Remember when I taught you how to play chess
when you were four and you beat me two months later and forever after? Remember
those Jeopardy shows when you would get 25 or 30 answers and I would get two by
guessing? Remember…?”
“I got it, Papa,” she said. “Okay,
just for fun I will apply for it.” So after dozens of emails and phone
interviews between her and the folks of CBC-TV Toronto, they chose her as one
of the top 32 Smartest Persons in Canada and she flew to Toronto for the taping
of the show. She stayed in a luxurious hotel, “was treated like a queen”, and
came home with her mouth closed.
In other words, she had signed a
confidentiality agreement that she wouldn’t tell ANYONE how she had done. I
looked at the agreement, and it didn’t include the words “anyone but your
Papa”, so I will be in the dark as much as you when I watch “Canada’s Smartest
Person” which will be on at 8:00 pm that Sunday, November 2.
*****************************
Going from someone I love to some
things I hate, let me start with anchovies, although they don’t weigh heavily
on my life.
The first (and last) time I ever ate
anchovies was in 1967 when I moved from Tilley to Hamilton, Ontario, and had
some on a pizza. I was staying for a few days with some Aroostook chaps who had
ordered a pizza “with everything”. It was either Dennis Campbell or Gaylen Dee
who asked me if I liked anchovies and I sure, I like everything.
Apparently I lied. When I bit into
that pizza the gag reflex kicked in, but, being of tough French-German stock, I
ate it anyway. Although being of no Scottish stock at all, I still worried
about the five dollars I had contributed to the purchase of three large pizzas,
but being otherwise greedy, I ate three pieces, anchovies and all.
I also hate false advertising, or
any advertising at all. This morning I bought a box of crackers whose label
read “61% less salt”. Less than what? I asked myself, but didn’t pursue the matter;
I was hungry. When one is hungry, he doesn’t feel like arguing, only gorging.
How about terrorists? Don’t you hate
the way they don’t respect private property and the various urban bylaws? Don’t
you hate it when your spouse cooks some delicious looking treats and then says
you can’t have any because they’re for the church supper?
Don’t you hate it when you are
coming from fishing and you only have four small fish on your stringer and you
tell somebody that a big one – at least a foot long – got away and they don’t
believe you? How about insomnia? Physical work like dealing with firewood?
Winter? The piercing sound of mourning doves at about 5:00 am? Mould? Mold?
Slum landlords? Columnists who ask dumb questions?
*****************************
We had some house guests in October
and they were a trial, believe me. Earl and Joanne arrived here about the 3rd
of the month and brought their suitcases right in the house first thing, as if
they were planning to stay a while.
I sighed, then sighed some more. I
felt like cursing, but one must put up with in-laws, outlaws, and other
assorted laws. My side of the family probably is thought of the same way.
So for the next week we fed Earl and
Joanne and washed their bedding, engaged them in conversation, took them out
for drives and even took them to my club where they filled up on fish and
chips. It was with a certain sense of relief that we said goodbye to them on
Friday evening.
“I think we need to have a talk
about your relatives using our place as a motel,” I said to my wife as we
watched the dust from their car tires drift down past the church.
Pause. “MY relatives?” she said. “I
thought they were your relatives.”-end-
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