Whatever Floats Your Boat - the Peter Pond Paddle with FMPSD

There are offers you get you just can’t refuse. And when you are asked if you want to serve as a judge for a cardboard boat building competition involving local students, you’d be a fool to say no.

That would be how I found myself with a pencil and clipboard in hand last week as I served as a guest judge at the Peter Pond Paddle cardboard boat building competition hosted by Fort McMurray Composite High School. In addition to some teams of high school students there were teams of younger students from the south-side elementary schools in the Fort McMurray Public School District. The event was designed not only as a team challenge but as a way for the older students to connect with the younger ones, and for everyone to have fun in a day spent building – and then testing – their cardboard boats. There was even a last-minute addition of a team of teachers, who insisted they should build a boat too.

The judging part was fairly quick as my fellow judges and I evaluated the teams on things like team work, the strength of their construction, the design they created beforehand (and if they followed it) and the cleanliness of their work space (this was an interesting one as some were so tidy you would never guess boat building was going on while others looked a bit like an explosion at a cardboard and tape factory).

All photos courtesy of FMPSD

But once the judging was complete the real fun began, as it was over to the Syncrude Aquatic Centre pool to test the boats.

Let’s be clear. I am a writer and not an engineer, and I must say I learned a great deal about building cardboard boats that day. I don’t want to give too much away as I know this may become an annual event, but I will say that in cardboard boats size DOES matter and bigger is not necessarily better.

Amid cheers and shouts and laughter and clapping the teams selected one member to get into the boat and attempt to paddle it from one end of the pool to another. Some boats made it a few feet before meeting their demise, while some never quite left the dock, folding up quickly and quietly and enveloping their hapless captain. In the end only two boats made it all the way intact – one from the Composite High School students and one from the Beacon Hill Bears.

All photos courtesy of FMPSD

 

Confession time: the Intrepid Junior Blogger began her education as a Beacon Hill Bear. In fact we choose the school, and for six years I drove her there every day as it was not the school designated by our neighbourhood bus route. But there was something about the school, the staff, the teachers and the culture that we loved, and so we made that trek every single day regardless of the weather. I must admit I was rooting for the Bears team, so when their boat was the first to make it the length of the pool I likely cheered louder than anyone.

And about that boat from the teachers? Well, let’s just say they weren’t expert boat builders either. As their boat began to flounder about ¼ of the way across the pool I found myself shouting things like “Try harder!” and “C’mon, you aren’t even really trying!” and tee-heeing to myself in some sort of twisted latent revenge for all those years of gym classes when I failed to climb that bloody horrible rope thing that they made everyone try. I loved my teachers then and I have such respect for teachers now, but I must admit I am not above a bit of trash talk when it comes to “encouraging” them in the same manner I was once encouraged (and no, I never made it to the top of that damn rope, and no, the teacher’s boat never made it across the pool, either).

But at the end only two boats remained, and the final challenge? See how many team members could fit into each boat before it sank. While the Composite team gave it a good try, it was the Beacon Hill Bears who managed to fit three people in their boat and still keep it afloat, although it was taking on water at an alarming rate towards the end.

All photos courtesy of FMPSD

The aftermath of the day was a lot of wet cardboard, a lot of sore throats from shouting and a lot of smiles and laughter as even those who saw their boats sink had had a raucous good time while doing it. It was definitely out of the norm for their average school day, and it was more fun than I have had in ages.

The winning Beacon Hill Bears team!

All photos courtesy of FMPSD

The second place Composite High School team!

All photos courtesy of FMPSD

There are likely people who question the benefit of events like this for students, but to me they are so clear as to be immediately obvious. It encourages the kids to work as a team, it allows them to connect with peers from other schools, it shows them that learning can be fun and it reminds them of the practical application of such skills (if they are ever on a deserted island I can guarantee none of them will ever consider building a life raft from cardboard, for instance). The sense of team spirit and camaraderie was unmistakable, and the pride in both the students and the teachers was evident. And to be honest, I was both proud and delighted just to be there.

Our most precious resource in this town is not oil, regardless of what anyone says. Our most valuable resource is our people, and perhaps most especially our youth who have their entire future ahead of them. This resource is the one in which we should take both the most pride and the most concern, because it our youth have the opportunity to change our world. While they may not do it by building cardboard boats, they will do it through the skills they are acquiring at such events and every single day in our schools.

My thanks to Kevin Bergen, principal of Fort McMurray Composite High School for the invitation to be a judge, to the FMPSD for always doing what’s best for kids (including all the years they did what was best for mine) and most particularly to the students who welcomed me into their day. I smiled a lot, laughed like crazy and learned that cardboard is not the best boat building material in the world. So really, it was one of the best days, ever!

All photos courtesy of FMPSD

Let's Talk, Fort McMurray

Let’s talk, Fort McMurray.

The year is 2016, and we are now open to discussing so many things we used to shun. We talk about gender orientation and sexuality. We talk about intimate medical issues, including the right to die. We talk about some of the most sensitive, the most delicate and the most difficult topics, and yet we still struggle sometimes to talk about something that touches most of our lives: mental illness.

I don’t know about you, but mental illness has touched my family. After the death of my mother I went through an intensive year-long depression that was profound and deep and dark and infinitely frightening. I thought I was Teflon when it came to mental health, despite knowing that my family history of mental illness stretches back for generations. When I realized – finally – that I was struggling with depression I was genuinely stunned because I had always been convinced it would not – could not! – happen to me.

Nobody is Teflon, and nobody is immune from mental health issues. The number of people who struggle with anxiety, depression and other forms of mental illness is staggering. The number of attempted suicides is terrifying, and the number of completed suicide devastating.

I have watched friends grapple with the loss of a child to suicide. I have watched others attempt to secure help for family members who have threatened or attempted suicide. I have seen the huge gaps in our support system for children, youth and adults who have mental health issues. And I have realized how much we need to talk.

Right now we are facing a turbulent time in our country, with an economy that is uncertain. That uncertainty can become a huge contributor to stress, anxiety and depression, and while it is always important to be cognizant of our mental health it may be more imperative now than ever.

The statistics regarding mental illness are something we need to not only discuss but share openly. We need to have open and frank conversations about mental health, not just today but every single day. We need to have them in our homes, our schools, our places of worship, our coffee shops and our workplaces. The stigma we have attached to mental illness must end. It is 2016, and the time for stigmas is over.

You don’t need to be an expert to talk about mental health. You simply need to care about the mental and physical well-being of the people around you. And you need to understand that you are not Teflon, and you are not immune. I am living proof of that reality.

Let’s talk. And if you aren’t talking already, let’s start today. And let’s talk tomorrow, too. And the day after that. And every single day. Let's talk, let's advocate for better and stronger support for those with mental illness and let's be there for each other. Because trust me, some day we may need them to be there for us - and nobody knows this better than me.

You can find more information and resources at:

Canadian Mental Health Association

A Time to Listen

Like everyone else who heard it, I was horrified when I heard the news coming from La Loche, Saskatchewan. I have been to La Loche, as I grew up in Saskatoon and had been there on occasion when I was much younger, and I have known people from La Loche. Even if I had not, though, my heart would have ached for the people of a small community where everyone knows everyone, and where this kind of tragedy cuts deep and hard for every single resident.

There were people who asked if I planned to write about La Loche, curious as to what I might say. And to be honest all I can say is very simple: there is a time to speak, and a time to listen, and this is a time to listen to the people of La Loche, and all the communities who face challenges similar to those in La Loche.

Over the past few years I have had the privilege of spending time with some First Nations elders. What I have learned from them is the importance of opening your heart, your mind and most importantly your ears, and listening to the voices of the people who know what they know through first hand experience.

Middle class white people like me can opine on and on about La Loche and other First Nations communities, and some of us even have some experience with them – but we have not travelled that road or lived that life, and the time has come for us to simply shut up and listen, not speak to hear the sound of our own voices.

I have spent time in First Nations communities in Saskatchewan, Alberta and Ontario. While I am cognizant of some of the challenges they face I am in no way familiar with them enough to even hint at having an opinion of any sort. All I can do is grieve with them over this most recent loss, and open my heart, my mind and my ears.

I hope people across this country, those of us who have not grown up in communities like La Loche, do the same and listen instead of speaking right now. I hope we hear what is being said by the elders, the youth, the adults and the leaders of those communities. I hope our governments are listening too, because they need to hear what they are being told by the people who live in these communities and who are the experts in this regard.

If I learned anything from the elders I am so honoured to know, I have learned there is a time to speak, and a time to listen. This is a time for people like me to listen and learn. Heart open, mouth closed. Just listening.

What Does a Champion Look Like?

Have you ever wondered what a champion looks like? I mean, not a champion athlete or a champion race horse, but a community champion and local hero? This week you have an opportunity to get a glimpse of a few of the community champions and heroes we are so privileged to have in our region, and today I wanted to dedicate this blog post to them.

The annual Mayor and Council Toast of Champions is an event designed to recognize outstanding individuals in our region. Every year members of our community nominate other members for this acknowledgement, and this year it was both my pleasure and honour to provide letters of support for some of the nominees. To be honest I love writing these kinds of letters as it allows me to personally acknowledge these individuals and what they mean both to me and to our community, and I am so very proud of them. When the list of nominees was revealed I was pleased to see many names I know, as well as some I do not, because it means our community is vibrant and healthy and rich in the very resource that never changes in value: people. While the value of oil may dip and dive, the value of our people remains strong and indicative of the true nature of this remarkable community.

While only some of the nominees will "win", each and every one of them deserves tremendous gratitude and recognition for what they have contributed to our communities and our region. Today I want to share a few words about the ones I happen to know personally, and what they have meant to me and my life:

Bill Bertschy - What can one say about someone like Bill? I met Bill initially through work but he quickly became a friend and mentor. Bill's quiet and gentle nature hides the heart of a bear, and he is one of the kindest and wisest people I have ever known. His work with youth and adults alike has changed many lives, and his leadership has changed our region. He is undoubtedly a true community leader and someone I am so very honoured to have in my world.

 Candace Sturgess - While I don't know Candace as well as I know some of the other nominees, I have watched as she worked in her home community in Anzac to improve the quality of life and provide new opportunities for the residents of that incredible community in our region.Wife, mom, business owner, active community member and leader - one busy lady who is making one big difference, and someone we can all look up to.

 Dutche Iannetti - I met Dutche through work and am amazed at his genuine commitment to the baseball community of this region, and in particular to the youth who enjoy this sport. Dutche, as everyone knows, has been the driving force behind the exciting new WMBL team that will arrive in Fort McMurray this summer, and his dedication to this has been amazing to witness. It will be a true pleasure to be there when the team steps onto the diamond for the first time, because I will know Dutche is the reason it happened at all.

Joanna Torguson - Founder of the Fort Mac Hand Crafted Market, Joanna is one of those remarkable people who creates an entire community within a community. The Hand Crafted Market has developed an entirely new outlet for crafters and artisans in our community, giving them a place to not only showcase their products but their talents. Joanna saw a niche that needed to be filled, and so she did what community leaders do: filled it.

Kelli Stewart - How do I even begin this one without getting all gushy? I love Kelli. I love her enthusiasm, her passion for her craft (dance), her bold attitude and her mentorship of all the children and youth with whom she interacts. There are people who have made my life better from the moment they entered it, and Kelli, who entered it holding a small kitten she had just rescued from a dumpster in true Kelli-fashion, is one of those people. I always knew Kelli would accomplish great things, so this nomination comes as no surprise to me or anyone who knows and/or adores her. Just mark me down as a fan.

Kelsey Granick - One of the great joys of my life has been meeting the incredible youth in our region. Kelsey, who I first met in Fort Chipewyan, is one of those youth. When Kelsey was in Fort McMurray for an FC Edmonton soccer clinic I even had the opportunity to sit down with her and her mom and interview her, one of my favourite stories I've ever written for Connect Weekly. Kelsey is a role model for other youth, a leader in her community and really just a remarkable young women with an amazing future ahead. I am so delighted to see her being recognized as she is so very worthy of the recognition, and I know that first hand.

Michelle Thorne - Some people just live and breathe their art - and Michelle is one of them. She is at the forefront of our thriving arts and culture scene, with a strong presence in the performing arts including a co-founding role at an independent local theatre group. Her enthusiasm, her spirit and her genuine passion for her art have made her a community leader and it is a pleasure to know her, even if only a little bit, just to witness that up close.

Seville Kwan - While I only know Seville lightly on a personally basis, I have come to know her a bit more through my work on the Wood Buffalo Communities in Bloom committee. Much like our committee, Seville shows clear commitment to making our community and region bloom, not only through her professional role but through everything she does in our community as a volunteer. Seville is another one of those people who take leadership to a new level, and who is a role model all of us would do well to follow.

Fort McMurray Filmmakers Association - Oh, these five. What on earth can I say about these five people? They had an idea, and then unlike so many who talk an idea to death they ran with it, creating an incredibly successful organization in a remarkably short time. They are talented, they are skilled, they are dedicated, they are enthusiastic - and they are the kind of people we all wish we had in our community. We are lucky enough to have them in ours, and I am even more fortunate to call them friends, because each of them has enriched my life in some way. I consider them more family than friends, really.

There are a number of other nominees as well, and I encourage you to view all of them. While I do not know the others well enough to comment personally on them, I know enough to know that if they have been nominated then they have had an impact on the lives of others and made this community a better place for all of us. They come from a wide variety of backgrounds, with a diversity of experience and skills, and each and every one has contributed to this place we all call home. Each and every one is, of course, a champion and deserving of that recognition.

Take a look, Wood Buffalo. If you have ever wondered what a champion looks like, now you know. They are the people all around us, every single day, and how very lucky we are to have them indeed!

Extraordinary Time, Extraordinary Measures

It was a small post, not really something designed to attract a lot of attention but I saw it as I scrolled through my Facebook feed. No flashy graphics, no marketing hype – just a simple request from a local business asking for customers to support them. In some ways it was more a plea, really. It was an extraordinary post, but it is coming at an extraordinary time.

 

While it was not flashy it was certainly attention-grabbing as this small local restaurant is surely not the only local business concerned for their survival at this time in history. The economic downturn has hit us all in some way, and small businesses are likely some of the hardest hit as discretionary spending drops and they struggle to pay their employees, keep their lights on, and stay afloat as their revenues diminish.

For those who have been here as long as I have, or far longer, it is not something new. I recall after the last dip in our economic fortunes (one far less severe than this one) how I looked around when it was over and some of the businesses I had always valued were, quite simply, gone. The economic pressure and stress was too much for them, and some of the ones I had been quite loyal to quietly closed their doors and drifted away into memory.

For these business owners, though, it is incredibly painful. As someone who worked in small businesses for a very long time I know how the owners and staff devote themselves to these enterprises. These are often businesses that began as dreams and the owner was courageous enough to take their dream to reality. Losing a business for them is not just an economic loss, but the death of those original dreams.

When that last economic dip occurred I remember coming out of it and seeing those lost dreams and wondering what I could have done to prevent it. I recognized that some will fail despite all efforts, but I realized that if it ever happened again I would need to do whatever I could to help support those that had meaning for me.

For me right now that means shopping locally as much as possible. The lure of online shopping is omnipresent, but if I can support a local business I will, and if I can get something here instead of in Edmonton I intend to do that, too. The reality is that those big box retailers down in Edmonton can weather this storm, but the small local businesses don’t have the kind of clout behind them and they need our support to keep afloat right now. I have always enjoyed those trips to Edmonton, but focusing any spending I do locally is investing in my own community right now, and it is just one small thing I can do to ensure the viability of those businesses I would like to still see around when we do see an uptick in our economy.

For myself, the economic reality hit home when the weekly newspaper for which I have written for almost four years found itself unable to continue to pay freelance writers due to declining revenues (a common concern right now in the world of newspaper and magazine publishing). Content in the paper would now be generated by one person, a very competent one, but the paper would lose some of the community voices that made it unique and that had made me a fan of it in the very beginning. When the editor called to relay the news that I was, in essence, being laid off, of course I was disappointed and saddened, as the Connect Weekly has been a huge part of my life for the last few years. It was the first publication to offer me a regular place to write and a paycheque to go with it, and whenever I asked for more work (like when my personal life was turbulent and I needed something to occupy my mind) or less work (when I began a new career in communications), the people at Connect always said yes. Over the years the ownership of the paper has changed, as have the names of the people at the helm in the roles of editorial staff, but my feelings about the paper have never changed. It was the place that gave me a start, that allowed a novice writer to hone her skills while making mistakes, to develop her craft while occasionally bungling things and simply an opportunity to write. I knew it was a decision they had not come to lightly or easily, just as with all the businesses finding themselves in a similar position and that have faced difficult decisions during this time. What could I do to contribute in some way to help Connect, a paper that has come to mean so much to me, and far more than a paycheque, through these difficult times?

I called the editor and told them I would like to continue to contribute to the newspaper on occasion at no charge to them, providing one of those voices that would otherwise be missing and perhaps lessening their load just a little bit. I realized there isn’t much else I can offer – but if I can offer the skill I have and if it helps them in any small way then I will know I have done what I can to help a business that has over the years always been there for me.

Sometimes what we have to offer is not monetary in value, although it is a skill that can be monetized. I have always and will continue to offer to provide writing and editing services to social profit organizations that need the help, and I will continue to do so during this time when they are pinching those pennies ever tighter to ensure the maximum amount goes to those they serve. And on occasion I may offer to help those businesses I hold dear, with either my advice or my skills, because I want them to survive and because some day when they weather this storm I anticipate they will find themselves in the position to once again pay people like me even if they currently cannot do so. And I will spend my cash locally, supporting the businesses and dreams of my fellow community members. We are, in the end, in this together, and my primary goal is to see them ride out the storm with the rest of us.

Extraordinary times call for extraordinary measures. Each and every one of us will determine what those measures mean to us and what we will do during this extraordinary time. For myself it means making those choices I know I can live with and feel good about, including my commitment to shopping local and giving of the skill I have to help others during this extraordinary time. There is no right and wrong answer during times like these, just answers that resonate with each of us and that allow us to feel like we are contributing to our community during a difficult time. Extraordinary times, my friends, are what build communities just like this one. This isn't the first and won't be the last we will weather - I am truly just grateful we have the opportunity to do so together.

We Can Be Heroes

I awake at about 2 am, unable to sleep for whatever reason. It has already been a restless night, another in a row of restless nights as I struggle with some of the same demons we all face in the dark at 2 am.

I grab my phone to check the time and find myself checking Facebook instead, finding my timeline filled with posts that knock the wind and the sleep right out of me.

David Bowie, age 69, is dead.

Perhaps I'm asleep and dreaming, I think. You see in my head Bowie and I have always had this deal: I would keep him in my heart and head as my hero, and he would keep on living. But while I've held up my end of the imaginary deal it seems cancer (fuck cancer!) has stolen his ability to keep up his.

I never met Bowie, of course. The first time I heard a Bowie song I was likely about 12, the child of a farming family who found themselves living in the city. My parents were good people, solid and loving and kind, but admittedly I was not entirely like them and I always knew it. I was offbeat, a bit discordant, different in a way I couldn't define and they didn't really understand, although they loved me just the same. In those fragile preteen years someone told me it was okay to be different, to be unique, to approach life with ferocity and wring every drop of experience out of it.

It was Bowie.

Growing up in a small prairie city wasn't always easy when you were different. I was the girl who didn't fit in, the one with funny colored hair and strange clothing. People were either intrigued or appalled by me, but the joy was that I just didn't care because Bowie had shown me that what they thought didn't matter. I could be me, true to myself, and that was, in fact, everything. It was the only thing.

As Bowie changed over the years so did I. I was never one of those rabid fans, never owned every album or every t-shirt. I didn't want to kiss him, didn't want to be intimate with him, wasn't a hopeful groupie and wasn't in love with him. I didn't want to be him - I just wanted to be like him, to have his courage and his swagger and his confidence and his utter indifference to his detractors. And I always knew he was there, doing his own thing just as I was doing mine, and the world was spinning right on schedule.

His influence affected every part of me - the friends I chose, the men I loved, the things I held precious. He showed me I could befriend those people others thought too weird, love those who danced to their own rhythm and believe in anything I wanted to believe. 

And as I continued to grow older I began to realize that I would likely truly begin to feel old when Bowie died, as I recognized he was a bit older than I and likely to die before I did.

Yet as I lay in bed trying to absorb - no, just understand - the news of his death I didn't feel old so much as I felt grateful. Without Bowie I wouldn't be who I am today. Without Bowie I doubt there would have been the years of activism, the funny coloured hair, the bold move across the country to a city I had never even visited (Toronto), the crazy experiences and stories or any of the people - very different people, most of them - that have filled my life and continue to fill it to this day.

And to some degree I feel like I failed to hold up my end of the deal too, as while I've always held him as my hero, as years and time have marched on perhaps I have allowed the weight of the world to settle on me and forget how Bowie told me it was okay to be different, to be bold and to take risks just because I am me. I see glimpses of it now and then, flashes of the young girl who listened to Bowie sing and realized that she didn't have to be like everyone else. I see it in my resolve to stand up for what I believe, even when others think it is wrong, and in being unafraid to be the one different voice in the crowd, knowing that it is okay to be that voice as long as the voice is truly mine. I see it when I refuse to change my views to suit the conformity of others. But I wonder if maybe there are too few glimpses now of that girl, and perhaps there should be far more. (I'm sorry Bowie - I'll work on that)

I grew older, just as Bowie did, and now his death has reminded me of the impact his life had on me - and millions of others. I know many others had their own relationships with him, some far more intimate than mine, but I would be remiss if I didn't acknowledge how he touched my life - more than any other performer, musician, artist ever has. Perhaps more than almost any individual ever has.

David told me we could be us, just for one day. He said we could be heroes, just for one day. But I think by one day he meant for our entire lives, because thanks to him I've been me for as long as I recall, and he's been my hero. Even death cannot sever that, because I will be me until I die, and David? Until the moment I follow him into the long dark night that awaits to eventually enfold us all, he will be my hero, showing me the way.

Thoughts on "Unbreakable Bo", Fort McMurray and the Alberta Government

I suspect if one were to stop at a certain spot in Beechwood Cemetery in Ottawa today you may hear a small noise. Should one press their ear to the ground at this spot I imagine it would sound a bit like a whirring noise as the inhabitant of the grave in question is likely spinning at a fairly rapid rate.

Who is currently rotating in this fashion and why? I would venture it is Tommy Douglas, someone I consider a Canadian icon and hero, and founder of the concept of universal health care in our country. And why is he spinning in his grave? Most likely due to the news that a Canadian and Albertan citizen, denied funding by the Albertan NDP government for experimental treatment for an aggressive and deadly form of cancer, has just learned that he has been accepted into a clinical trial in Maryland – and that the American government, not usually known for generosity in their health care system, will apparently be funding at least a portion of his treatment.

Before I go much further I should make some points abundantly clear:

1.       I am deeply relieved and delighted that Fort McMurray firefighter Bo Cooper has been accepted into this clinical trial and that he will be the recipient of some funding through the American government

2.       I am deeply proud of our community and how it has come together to raise an astonishing amount of money in an incredibly short time frame, despite the economic climate and the challenges we have faced

3.       I believe this story is one of the most incredible I have ever witnessed and will carry it with me forever

4.       I am also, quite frankly, angry as hell.

 

Bo Cooper is 26 years old, born and raised in Fort McMurray. He is also a firefighter – you know, the guys who risk their lives to save us when our lives are in danger? Bo is now on his third round of a fight with Acute Lymphoblastic Leukemia, and his last hope is the still-experimental but incredibly promising Car T Cell Therapy being developed and clinically tested in the United States. When Bo’s Canadian physicians began to point him in that direction there was only one problem: the Albertan government, which we elected less than a year ago on a platform of change, declined to fund the American treatment.

Oh, they gave the usual bureaucratic reasons. The treatment was still experimental and not approved in Canada. There wasn’t “enough evidence the treatment is safe or effective” (this despite some reports coming from the USA trials of success rates approaching 90%). They “empathized” with the family.

Cold comfort given the fact that the Albertan government appeared to be fundamentally okay with sentencing a 26 year-old man to death.

As most know I lean left politically. In fact I grew up in NDP Saskatchewan and am proud of that fact, as I believe it helped to shape who I am. One of the things I believed always true of the NDP is a commitment to compassion and the value of human life, but in the case of the Alberta NDP it appears I miscalculated gravely.

I emailed Sarah Hoffman, our AB Minister of Health, one month ago. I have yet to receive a response to my email, and in our Twitter interactions she basically put the blame on her team for the delayed reply, as well as indicating it “takes a village”, one of the most absurd things I have ever read coming from a government minister. The Ministry of Health has a “village” of well-paid communications professionals who apparently cannot respond to emails in a timely fashion, and if I were to do similar in my professional role I could and should be fired. But then again fobbing off responsibility appears to be her style, as when questioned about the decision to fund Bo Cooper’s treatment she indicated these decisions were reviewed by a panel of doctors who needed to make the decisions, and not her.

Except there is one problem: we didn’t elect a panel of doctors. We elected Ms. Hoffman and her colleagues to make these decisions, including on occasion perhaps even going against the panels of experts and making decisions that are brave, bold, innovative and compassionate. After all, that is what one would expect from a government of change.

But there is no change here. Ms. Hoffman made the same kind of tired, bureaucratic decision lacking in compassion that many Ministers before her would have likely made. No bold strides here, no courage, no willingness to show compassion to a 26 year old man (not much younger than the Minister herself, incidentally).

To say I am disappointed would be mild. I am outraged. The American government is helping to fund the treatment for an Albertan that his own government denied. There are those coming out of this looking like heroes: Bo, his family, his friends, his colleagues, this community, all those who have fought for him and now the American government. There is one entity coming out looking like the villain, and it is our own provincial government, the one we elected on the promise of change.

I sincerely doubt you would find one Albertan who would begrudge using some of our health care dollars to fund promising, if experimental, treatment for a 26-year old man with his entire life ahead of him. To make such a decision would be compassionate, brave and forward thinking – and apparently completely beyond our government.

A cynic might say the government refused the funding because this is Fort McMurray and there is no political gain to be made from funding the treatment of Bo Cooper. However I think what should be clear is this could happen to any of us or our children, and we too could find ourselves denied assistance from the very government on which we rely. The sentence of death they pronounced so glibly could one day be directed at any Albertan, and should we not have the kind of amazing community support we have shown for Bo Cooper the outcome could be a very different one indeed.

I believe in happy endings. I am steadfast in my belief that Bo Cooper, “unbreakable Bo” as he is called, will triumph. I believe his wife, his parents, his extended family, his friends, his colleagues and this entire community will celebrate when he conquers this cancer yet again and becomes the new success story of a treatment that will quite likely become standard instead of experimental if results to date are any indication.

There will be a huge welcome home party when that moment arrives, but there is one group who will not be invited to attend. The NDP government will be shut out in the cold, just as they shut out Bo, his family and this community when they declined to fund his treatment. I can guarantee that nobody in this community will ever, ever forget how they turned their back on one of us, because in doing so they turned their back on all of us. And in Fort McMurray? Well, we have generous spirits, warm hearts, compassionate souls….and very, very long memories.