The poppy that won't pin - The unspoken complexities of November 11th

Silence can be a lot of things – awkward, painful, emotional, heartbreaking, even sometimes funny.

One year ago today, as I sat across from Harmon Black – an old Second World War vet, cooped up in a small apartment on the second floor of a retirement home – the silence was nearly too much to bear.

As a rookie reporter, I really wasn’t prepared to walk into this situation. One year and a few hundred interviews later, I’m still not sure I could handle it.

My question to Mr. Black:

“Why should the country remember the sacrifices you made for the world on November 11th?”

Seconds went by, dragging on like hours. A clock ticked on the far wall. His oxygen tank gasped as he struggled for every breath.

His stare was fixated in one place as the thoughts churned in his head.

I was initially hoping for some stoic, impressive response. As more seconds ticked off that clock, I was just hoping for anything.

But I could never be prepared for what came out of his mouth.

“I’m not so sure we should.”

The 90-year-old man kept his stare fixated upon me as he tried to elaborate on his answer. He wasn’t looking at my face, however, and I was thankful for that. I’m sure I looked as stunned as I felt. His apartment was a little chilly, so I’d kept my jacket on as I sat down across from him in the living room. His eyes were fixated on my lapel – on the red poppy pinned to my coat.

Suddenly I felt dirty. I felt rude and intrusive. Here I was, asking this man to recount the worst years of his life to me as I sat across from him wearing a steadfast reminder of the friends who died alongside him and the men he killed.

Acknowledging the silence and looking up to my face now, Mr. Black changed his tone.

“I think maybe we should honour the veterans 365 days a year,” he said. “There, maybe you should write that.”

And I did.

I sat at my desk for an hour or more, trying to find a way to write that story. It was the last of three Remembrance Day pieces I was writing. The other two carried a tone of exuberance and pride. I made the decision to look past the honest and real words of this 90-year-old man.

And it’s been with me ever since.

Last week, I made a small donation to a man from the Royal Canadian Legion and picked up a poppy – the same as I have every year since I can remember. This year, however, it just didn’t feel right. There was more than the constant finger pricking and the agony of finding a method to pin it without it falling off. There was the look on Harmon Black’s face in my mind every time I looked at it – the same way he saw the faces of others when he looked at mine.

This man doesn’t need a day to remember something he’s tried his entire life to forget.

"I just think every day of some of the things we did. It just makes me think I'm some kind of an animal."

After sitting on this for 365 days, I see now the follow-up quote Mr. Black offered me was not simply a cop-out. It worked well as one – an easy way to dodge a much more serious topic. But he was right.

When we spend one day a year respecting the actions of two million men and women, we acknowledge only the bravado and pride of their accomplishments under the Canadian flag. Tossed aside is the complexity of such a holiday – our pride and their guilt, our duty to remember and their longing to forget.

Harmon Black doesn’t need a day to remember the atrocities he bared witness to 70 years ago. Harmon Black needs a day to remember there are still thousands of others who went through the same thing, and millions more who care and are willing to extend a helping hand.

This November 11th, remember these men and women were not directed by Steven Spielberg. Their pain is real. Take time to honour not the nationalism of war, but the silent casualties and their individual struggles.

Thank you, Mr. Black.

I nominate everyone to look at themselves. You have more than 24 hours.

I’m about to do something I try so hard every single day of my life to not do. I am going to take part in an Internet trend.

For starters, I hate it when people do exactly what I am about to do. Every month, there’s something else that goes viral and explodes all over the Internet. Whether it be a Facebook game, a Twitter hashtag, or anything else incredibly annoying, it is inevitable. And every month, there are a slew of people who complain about it and are twice as annoying. And then there are the people who complain about the people complaining, and are four times as annoying (it’s a geometric pattern).

Every month I like to stay as far away from it as possible, then lob passive-aggressive comments at people from the cheap seats once it has died down (“Hey, did Bill Gates ever get around to mailing you that million dollars for sharing his photo?”).

This time, however, I’ve broken down. I just can’t sit this out any longer.

NEKNOMINATIONS! NICENOMINATIONS! NOMINATIONS IN GENERAL!

God, it feels good to finally yell that out in caps lock.

Neknomination was a pretty good idea (albeit a stupid name). It really was. I’ll even admit that I did one! For anyone who has been living under a rock (or for the hipsters among you who pretend they don’t know what the latest trends are), Neknomination is the term coined for chugging a beer on video, nominating a friend to follow suit, and posting it on the Internet. It sounds insane and juvenile and irresponsible, but if done right, in a private Facebook group with the right friends involved, it is a fun way for college buddies to keep in touch. Face it, there’s a fratboy in a lot of us and he’s always going to be there.

Unfortunately, the Internet community is a frat house of gargantuan tools. The Internet is the opposite of the Mensa Club. The Internet has provided the perfect environmental conditions to finally allow the slowest of the evolutionary pack to crawl from the ocean and sprout legs. It wasn’t long before they discovered Facebook and learned to post comments on Youtube.

Long story short, Neknomination becomes a game of “Anything You Can Do, I Can Do Dumber,” and kids start dying from it. That’s right… kids have DIED. How tragic is that?

Well... here comes the David Fincher plot twist.

It’s not tragic.

As a firm believer in common sense and simple science, I believe in a beautiful concept called Darwinism. Only the strongest survive. Of course, in our modern society, you don’t have to be that strong to survive, or even that smart (DMX, for example, recently turned 43). All you have to do is just have a shred of common sense, a smidgeon – just enough to realize, “You know what? Chugging this 26-ounce bottle of 90-proof liquor MIGHT kill me.” You don’t even have to realize that it WILL kill you. Just thinking of the possibility alone should save your life.

Yes, the game is stupid. Yes, the game is annoying. Yes, the game can be fun. But no, the game is not dangerous. Colossal human stupidity, on the other hand, is lethal.

If you agree with me so far, you might want to stop reading here. I will likely offend you in the second act.

As the beer-chugging champs spiraled out of favour faster than Kony 2012, another fad began to gather a following. People started “paying it forward” on video and nominating their friends to do the same. Again, like Neknominations, it was a great idea in the beginning. It was beautiful. And then, like a Disney Channel career, it was too much, too soon, and the wheels fell off. I saw a video the other day of a kid walking into a food bank and handing them $200 in cash. As a fellow university student, I'm on the fringe of NEEDING that food bank. Then, a few minutes ago, I witnessed the inevitable - a video of a guy chugging a beer in a bar, then walking out on the street and handing out gift cards. The rest of their profiles were private, but these videos were set public. I wonder why?

Look how far this fame-seeking has gone without us even realizing it. We post things on the regular just to get likes and validate an inflated sense of self.  I do it all the time. At least five times a day, I’ll Tweet some stupid opinion or shitty joke, and stare at my phone until someone pumps my ego with a favourite. It’s a guilty pleasure, and I’m sure everyone is guilty of it at some point.

But this is different. There have to be some boundaries for this fame game.

I was taught by a pretty great man to never boast of your charity. Without realising it, he taught me to give for the right reasons. Sure, it feels good and the giver takes away a sense of self-satisfaction. But why can’t it remain “self” satisfaction? Why does it need to be validated by strangers on the Internet?

For those Friends fans reading this, Joey was onto something when he said, “There is no such thing as an unselfish good deed.” It will always feel good. But that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t try to give selflessly, and quietly.  Charity might not be selfless, but there’s a glow to it that is lost when it’s done for the wrong reasons.

I opened this by doing something I try not to do, and I’m going to close it by doing something I have NEVER done: Quoting the bible (You happy, Dad?).

“When you give to the needy, sound no trumpet before you, as the hypocrites do, so that they may be praised by others. Truly, I say to you, they have received their reward. But when you give to the needy, do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing, so that your giving may be in secret.”

      - Matthew 6:1-4

Disclaimer: I see the irony in writing about a disdain for Internet fame-seeking in a public blog which I have linked to my social media pages. I don't feel good about it either. Sue me. 

Email: ryancooke1624@gmail.com
Twitter: @ryancooke16

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