British working-class banter. Cultural or just plain disrespectful?
Over the past few months, my dear new wife has overheard the banter between me and my daughter and was left almost traumatized to the point where I questioned whether I had been as good of a father as I had thought.
Perplexed, I immediately called a friend I had grown up with, now living in Ireland to seek his opinion. In stitches, he said that my idea of banter was lame compared to that of him his daughter. His wife too, at first, was distraught with the apparent cruelty of words that were brushed off so easily and countered with equal venom. Today, he is happy to say, his wife is now a master in this form of communication and could hold courses in its subtitles.
So how did I master this art and unwittingly pass it down a generation? It certainly wasn’t from my Jamaican parents, who too would be mortified if they heard me speaking in such tones. Not here in this area of North American where it would certainly result in fisticuffs or worse………. It was learned as an engineering apprentice in the heart of a rough, working-class environment of a small town called Willenhall nestled in the ‘black country’ of the Midlands, so-called for its role in the industrial revolution. In my mind ‘Black Country” would have been better referenced to the style of humor.
My teachers were Mick, Gary, Ernie, Harold, and Willie. Every one of them a unique character. I remember it well, during a coughing fit on my first day as a fresh-faced apprenticeship one of them shouted, “Hurry up and die yuh bastard!” That was my initiation and joyful to say, it only got worse from that point on.
Banter was the means of communication throughout building sites and it worked to pass an otherwise repetitive and boring day, provided everyone involved was in on the joke. The gentler form of banter involved sport but once that was established it could progress to sexual orientation and performance, colour and even mild disability. The ground rules were that remarks were delivered with underlying, if heavily disguised, humour with the understanding that all would be received without offence and returned with a withering riposte. The ‘slag’ had to be received as well as given.
Puppy dogs and roses weren’t our environment. We used what we had to, to bond and create friendships- memories that I still hold dear to this day.
This won’t make sense to many readers but those from a similar background will understand only too well. My daughter flipping me the bird is not a form of disrespect or anger, but actually a term of endearment.
It may sound a little crazy, but sometimes when I’m out on a trail I close my eyes for as many steps as I feel brave enough to take to heighten the 4 remaining senses that naturally get diluted by the 5th. For me, my purpose for hiking is not only to get exercise that both my dog and I need, but to simply take notice. To notice the things I hadn’t, before now, seen or paid attention to, the natural things in nature. By taking in the smells, the sounds, the feeling, I inch towards a mindset that keeps me in the present moment. I like to think of each hike as a walking meditation, a time to just let go and feel. Interestingly, in the brief moments that I have walked with my eyes closed, I have indeed noticed some interesting things. One is that in the summer time, the leaves of different trees make different sounds in the wind and that these are less obvious in the fall when they all begin their decline. While this may not sound like the most intriguing of discoveries, I can say that for me, it deepened my connection with nature and most certainly contributed to my goal of keeping my mind in the present. I have also discovered a much broader variety of birdsongs on these walks and that some of the less appealing “songs” didn’t belong to birds at all. Who would have known that frogs can sound like birds too? Without my sight, my breath sounds get amplified and my stride significantly slows. Breathing in the smell of fresh cut grass fills my nose, the wind teaches me about things I thought I knew, the sun warms on the back of my dark shirt. I no longer take my steps for granted, in that moment I feel accomplished.
Growing up as an avid Marvel comics fan, Black Panther was never my favorite superhero. Much to the dismay of many, Spidey held that special bro-mance position for me. There was more to his character that I could relate to- a young boy, fighting to find his place in the world, while constantly being beaten down. My opinion hasn’t changed after all these years. The older I get, the more difficult I find it to be impressed by movies, but I have to say that Black Panther has restored my faith. There is too much to rave about in just one blog entry but the script, the characters, and the special effects all meshed together to create some of the best entertainment for the two-plus hours I was in the theatre. It’s definitely up there in my top 5 Marvel movies.
This year I had the pleasure of attending the Toronto Pride Parade and couldn’t believe the love, excitement and different groups of people that were there! It was definitely a party I’m glad I attended. Growing up in the 60s, 70s, and 80s the way that the LGBTQ community was perceived was very different than today and I for one am extremely proud of the fight that so many have put up to get the basic human rights that we all deserve. From TV shows, to movies, music and books they are finally getting the representation that is deserved and hopefully, with time, the safety that is needed. Within my immediate family my daughter identifies as a Lesbian and has a beautiful partner, while my fiancee also has a daughter who falls within the LBGTQ spectrum. I want the best for those I love, and attending the Pride parade was my way of not only educating myself, but also showing the amount of pride that I have for my daughters. No matter who you are, how you identify or what you’re into I just can’t understand why people can’t see that love is love. I recently saw a poster that read ‘Don’t like gay marriage? Don’t get gay married!’ and I couldn’t agree more. Hating gay people for having the right to get married is like hating someone who is running a marathon, just because you don’t like running. Does the end of that sentence sound stupid? Good because that’s how it sounds to me when I hear people argue against gay marriage.