Hope for the future

By CHRISTOPHER FORTIER

What would the world be like without Superman?

Now I know the Last Son of Krypton is just a fictional character, but seriously. What would the world be like without him?

I can tell you this. The world would be a much worse place.

For someone like myself, who grew up invisible to most of the world, comic books were my escape, and at 34, they still are on occasion. Sure, my world has changed, but a character like Superman helped get me through some of those rough times in my life, and still does.

What’s so special about Superman, anyway?

Aside from his virtually uncountable abilities, in the face of it all, Kal-El, Superman, Clark Kent, or whatever you want to call him, is the measuring stick for which all other superheroes are measured.

He’s been around since 1938, and his place in our minds and hearts as just as relevant all these years later. His look has remained (Somewhat) constant over the years (Let’s choose to forget the 1990s “Electric Superman’) and his fight against evil is still ongoing.

Look at the symbol on his chest. That “S” is one of the most recognizable logos in the known world. It is more recognizable than some corporate logos. His story has been told and retold countless times over the last 70-plus years, but those of us who know the story, still sit there in awe and amazement whenever we see it.

Look at the television show, Smallville.

In its 10th season, the show has amassed over 200 episodes, and a following of loyal fans, which will be sad to see it leave the air in May, as the series nears its end.

We all know how the story ends, but the fact is, we watch it, because it tells a tale we all can relate to. A story of a protector, sent to us from a dying world, which despite all of his abilities, manages to protect us from harm, rather than dominate us with his clear superiority.

And why? Because of the way he was raised. His adoptive parents, Martha and Jonathan Kent made Clark a decent and upstanding man.

That is a story we can all believe in.

Despite the world in which we live in, that has no protector, and is filled with civil unrest, poverty, a collapsing economy and disease, we can all look to that red and yellow symbol, and see hope for a better tomorrow.

After all, the symbol is Kryptonian for “Hope.”

Sage advice from Huey Lewis and the News

By CHRISTOPHER FORTIER
It’s been said the power of love is a curious thing.
It can make one man weep, and make another man sing.
Yes, I know that’s lyrics from the greatest band ever, Huey Lewis and the News, but it’s more than true. It’s been a song I have used these past couple of weeks to justify the emotion that I have been going through when it comes to the fairer gender.
Women have always been an Everest-like challenge for me to overcome.
Mainly because of my eccentricities, and my less than stellar opinion of myself.
But there is one woman out there, and she knows whom she is, who makes my life just better.
A muse if you will.
And it tears me up inside, because I am in love with her.
Why? Because I don’t think I can ever be with her.
You see, she already has a beau. She’s not completely happy with her beau. She has confided this to me. It’s like she’s a bird, who has had her wings clipped, so that she can’t get away.
But you can’t cage this woman.
Every time she talks to me about her problems with this guy, it seems like all he wants to do is change her to suit his lofty aspirations.
To tell you the truth, I love her the way she is.
I don’t get to see her all that often, but when I do, I am always happy to see her.
She accepts me for me.
Sure, she doesn’t like my self-mocking, but then again, I know few people who do. But she accepts what I am, and what I am all about.
I have trouble speaking in front of her. She makes my speech impediment come out so often, that I have to start speaking in character in order to get a sentence out.
She makes my heart race every time she hugs me.
I love telling her something, and getting that smile she gives come out. It’s like I have done my job right because I have made her smile.
She’s so encouraging of my in my quest to better myself, and offers words of support to me on an almost-daily basis.
But I can’t make a move to win her heart, because she’s someone else’s.
I have to remain objective.
It’s not to say that I haven’t wanted to. I did have a chance, but I didn’t take it.
Do I regret it? Yes, and no.
Yes, because I may have blown my one shot to prove to her my valor, and worth as a partner and companion (not a sidekick, or arm candy). And No, because I had that happen to me, and the last thing I want, is to recreate history. I know how devastating that can be to a psyche.
What makes things even more difficult is that I know how she feels about me. She’s never said the words to me, but when she looks at me with those eyes, I know what she is trying to tell me.
Even if I get to see her for two minutes, my day is instantly better.
She makes me want to be a better person, and she motivates me to be the best person I could possibly be.
But there is a major obstacle in my path, a huge hurdle to overcome. One, which might be the reason I lose this battle.
I have to remain objective. I am nothing without it, and I need to keep that.
Yet, it is so difficult, because I want to be hers so badly, and she’s so unhappy that sooner or later, she’s going to realize she can do far better than someone who doesn’t respect her enough to let her be the person she is, and wants to mould her to suit his own agenda. A man, who has made decisions for her, contrary to her best interests, a man who has made decisions for the couple as a whole, without first consulting his own partner. That is not what I call a partnership. That is what I call a dictatorship.
So my decision is clear. Wait.
I have decided to take myself out of the dating pool, dry off, and sit on a patio chair and bide my time.
As long as it takes, I am going to sit here and wait.
I have told her this. And the only thing she has said was that she wanted a time limit for how long I can wait.
The truth is, I am going to wait as long as it takes.
Why? Because she’s worth it.
And besides… I love her.
But that’s just my opinion. What do I know?
F.M.

Rusty.

DISCLAIMER: I know it's been a while since I have written on here. Not that anybody ever reads this, but I wrote something, a column, for the Niagara News (My school paper) which got cut, and rather than "holding" it for another issue, I felt that it would be better if I just published it myself. This was a very personal piece that I wanted to share with my Grandmother, Frances Chindemi, and rather than leave it to someone else to cut it, I felt that discretion was better, and felt the need to blog this item.

I am hoping to do more of this in the near future. I am planning on possibly starting up a new blog with news pieces I do on my own time, and perhaps photos I take for my own personal use.

I am going to try and make everything "Journalism-correct" format wise, so please forgive the formality. Here goes...

By CHRISTOPHER FORTIER
Columnist
Have you ever had a lucid dream?

Recently, I had one so real I awoke in tears.

It involved my maternal grandfather, Oreste “Rusty” Chindemi.

I was given the chance to travel to any point in time for one full year, and I chose to travel back to Jan. 15, 1976, exactly 12 months before I was born.

I took a job at his bar, Rusty’s Steakhouse and Tavern, on King st. in Welland, which is now called Trappers, I believe.

I spent the next year getting to know my grandfather in a way I had in my first 25 years of life, and I was much more appreciative of the chance to get to know him in this way. He taught me a lot of the things in that year he taught me growing up, and every day felt so real that when it came time for me to leave on Jan 15, 1977, My birthday, I explained to him I had to return home, never explaining to him where I was from or who I really was. I looked into his eyes for what would be the last time, He said to me the same thing he did many times in my life.

“I know, son. Just remember to be who you are supposed to be, and not what others want you to be.”

He knew who I was the whole time, and never chose to say anything about it.

I awoke almost immediately. It was 3 a.m. and I was in tears.

Rusty died on Sept. 1, 2002. After suffering a massive stroke two days earlier, he slipped into a coma, and we were told he wasn’t going to make it.

It was one of the hardest times of my life.

Not one day has passed in the eight years since when I haven’t thought about how much I miss him. He was always more than just a grandfather to me. He was like a second father. He was also one of my best friends growing up, and even into my 20s, he was always my first choice to take to a Blue Jays game whenever I got tickets.

My love for baseball and for movies comes from him. The fact that I am as trivia smart as I am comes from the countless hours of watching Jeopardy with him.

There are times that I'll say "I don't care for that," just like him. Because Rusty never hated anything. He simply didn't care for it.

I remember when I was 14. He and I drove down to Florida for two weeks. Just us two boys heading down in a 1989 Chevrolet Corsica to the Sunshine State. I also remember the trip back when I fell asleep, and he took a wrong turn and went almost one-third of the way back to Florida.

He always drove straight through, stopping only for food or gas.
I remember when Nathalie, my ex-wife, and I drove home from Florida on our honeymoon.

We drove straight through in his 2001 Dodge Caravan, which I still drive today, 20 hours, 57 minutes. Rusty was watching over us that day.

I also remember telling my grandmother about driving straight through and her saying

“Jesus Christ, Chris. You’re just like your grandfather.”

It wasn’t meant as a compliment, but I took it as one.

Nothing makes me prouder than when someone says that to me.

I wish that he were still here today.

If I needed advice or someone to talk to, he was the first person I would want to turn to. He was never an academic, but he always seemed to know exactly what to say to motivate me. Maybe it’s all of those years being a bartender that just gave him a sage-like ability to dispense advice.

There have been so many things that he’s missed in the last eight years.

I remember breaking down and crying at my wedding, one year later. I missed him so much, and wished more than anything he was there.

I wish he were around to see the birth of my daughter, Chloe, as well as the births of my niece, Elizabeth, and nephew, Ethan. He’d have been one hell of a great-grandfather.

I wish he’d call me up, like he did every Monday, to come over to take him shopping. We’d go to Pupo’s and Wal-Mart and then, on occasion, take a trip to visit his brothers Rocky or Way, and I would just sit there and smile.

I never felt out of place around him.

His funeral was one of the hardest days of my life. I specifically remember my Aunty Ang consoling me for most of the day.

We were so close that when he died, some people referred to Rusty as my dad. Which was odd, because I was standing next to my father when they’d say that. But it was because we spent so much time together that at least in part, it was true.
I have a great father as it is, and nothing makes me happier then to see that same relationship developing between my father and my daughter, because there’s nothing better than the relationship between a grandfather and their grandchild. I hope one day to experience that from the other side.

I hope I’m making you proud, Grandpa, because I have always tried my best to be who I am supposed to be, and not what others want me to be.

I miss you every day, Rusty.