You'll, no doubt, read much about Stephen Harper on this blog as it's no secret to many, including listeners of the Doc and Woody Show, that I am a Conservative. Doc's facetious assertion that I am somehow "high up in the Conservative Party of Canada" comes with more than just a spoonful of irony.
But to say that I have a greater measure of influence than any other volunteer at the grass roots topography could only be supported by my media stature, an element that I take very seriously and with great degree of responsibility. My justification for talking politics on the show from time to time comes only from street buzz and the headlines of the day. As most listeners must agree, I am far from the zealous right wing blow-hard that all Conservatives have been stained by the broad, sloppy brush of the Liberal spinnerati, which is why I have a tremendous amount of empathy for Stephen Harper. Future entries will delve deeper into my reasons which will be substantiated with absolute fact and argument. But, for now, understand that the not-so-scary Woody is a proud supporter of the equally not-so-scary Stephen Harper. By learning about him, meeting him and getting to know him better, including reading
another book, I feel a sort of kinship with him.
Now, with that type of acquired understanding under my belt, just imagine my surprise when my father, during my visit with him this summer, pulled out his genealogy files to illustrate the reverberant possibility that Stephen Harper and I may somehow be related. True, details are sketchy and a generation or two of definitive tracking are missing from the equation, but that fact that a doctor ancestor of mine fathered a daughter who married a Harper in the same communities as both our lineages bear a connection, I can only wonder about the potentialities.
Surely, my life would have charted a much different course had I hung around a cousin more to my age (Stephen is a mere few months older than I) and experienced a vastly improved rite of passage into adulthood from the one shared with a cousin much older who took advantage of a willing and eager target for his cruel and demeaning, albeit harmless, pranks. How crude, simplistic, and immature it was for my older cousin, David - while working on his car, to send me up the street to the garage for a box of sparkplug gaps! Yes, it's true, he and his friends were giddy for days over that one. But that was nothing compared to the time, in a rec room full of youths, family and friends, that I was to shyishly invite his girlfriend's younger (yet, not as gullible) sister on a double-date into town to see the "submarine races" on the waterfront. Just one extra moment to consider its absurdities may have prevented one of the most embarrassing moments of my adolescence. But as a constant, trusting dreamer, I, in some inexplicable way, suspended any such disbelief and let my mind's eye wander to such a possible scenario where miniature, suped up, hobby submarines drag-raced along the surface of the Charlottetown harbor to take the checkered flag at some predetermined buoy. I must admit, in the aftermath, I was more disappointed in the reality check that there were no such racing submarines, than I was in the fact that David, once again, had me sucked right into another vortex of naivete. That should have been a lesson for me not to believe in endless possibilites. And, surely, after these and other rattling experiences, I should not even entertain the notion of my ancestral connections to the Leader of Her Majesty's Loyal Opposition in Canada's House of Commons and one in whom I have great hopes for becoming our next Prime Minister. But, ever the dreamer, I will, for many more reasons than my immaturish impulse to get the last laugh on David.
I leave my self, then, imagining life during my summers with my cousin Stephen Harper. How awesome it would have been, instead of losing childish glow-in-the-dark "glo-glob Bean Your Cousin" games in darkened bedrooms with fattened lips, to have sleepovers with my cousin Stephen sharing profundities across the room as the nite breeze waved passed the bedroom sheers.
"Hey, Woody", his voice would strain, as to not let our parents know we were still awake.
"What?", I would respond, only cuz that's the natural response.
"Talk is cheap", he'd bait.
"Why?", I'd ask.
"Because supply will always exceed demand."
Then he'd drift off to sleep, letting me dwell on it for several hours so that I would sleep past breakfast and he'd get my share of the pancakes. I'd be left holding the bag again at the whim of an older cousin. Only, this time, I would have merely been intellectually challenged and would not have suffered any harm.
Now, that is the 'nerd' scenario everyone expects from a Stephen Harper story. Yes, by his own self depracating admission, he's a dull individual lacking the "personality to be an accountant" like the rest of the men in his family. But, the unheard truth about Stephen Harper, because mainstream Liberal-guided media won't service this until the Conservatives win the government, is that he's a relaxed, fun-loving guy and a rock and roll fan like many of us - a REAL Canadian that just wants to live the life of a real Canadian. He loves hockey, the outdoors, a good movie and, like I said, rock music. The Beatles, Stones, AC/DC are among his many favourites. When I last spoke with him in June, he was planning to be at the Stones concert at Super Ex on August 28th. If you're going, don't be surprised to bump into him and don't be afraid to talk to him. Just don't mention me, or he just might run the other way because, you see, every family has a black sheep. I just may be the Harper black sheep. I can't, for the life of me, think of any other reason why I have yet to be invited for dinner at Stornaway.
Unless, he's just waiting to invite me to 24 Sussex. Yeah, that must be it. That cuzzin Stephen. I'm tellin' ya!
Pictured: Stephen Harper with Woody and Mrs. Woody
