World's Greatest Grandad

On June 6, 1902, Harold Ross Tufts entered the world. Born in Kirkton, Ontario, he was the son of a farmer and a homemaker. He was the grandson of an Englishman, Thomas Tufts, who first immigrated to Canada in 1851 at the tender age of 15. A true pioneer, Thomas settled on virgin land, felled the trees, built a house and barn, and worked the land, all with his own hands.

Thomas married Harriet Beavers and they proceeded to raise a family of ten children. All ten children were raised in the Christian faith, attending the Methodist church in the village. Thomas considered not only religion, but also education to be important, and donated the materials for a brick schoolhouse to be built just north of town to replace the wooden structure.

One of his sons, Samuel Tufts, married Annie Ross who gave birth to Truman Samuel, followed by Harold Ross. Harold grew up on the farm and quickly learned how to help plant and harvest the crops. He also developped an affection for the horses. By six years of age, he attended the one room schoolhouse for which his grandfather had donated the materials. From an early age, he was an enthusiastic and dedicated student.

In grade seven and eight, he had to ride his bicycle a few miles up the road to Winchelsea where he attended a middle school. It was at Winchelsea school that he wrote a math test for which he received a mediocre grade. His teacher posted the test on the blackboard and ridiculed Harold for being weak in math. Determined to prove the teacher wrong, Harold set out to ace every math test in the future.

Harold graduated from Grade 8 and enjoyed his last summer on the farm before moving to board with a family in St. Mary's, a bigger town with a high school, the following Fall. High school proved to be a good experience for Harold where he managed to improve immensely on his math marks while at the same time not neglecting his other subjects. He made new friends and continued to visit the farm on weekends, and at Christmas and Easter. In the summer, he returned to the farm where he helped his Dad and his older brother tend to the crops.

After attending five years of high school and receiving many excellent report cards, Harold was accepted at the University of Western Ontario in London. The 1920's was a time when not many people attended university, often because they could not afford it. Fortunately, Samuel had made provisions so that Truman would inherit the farm and Harold would attend university. Still remembering what that teacher had said in Grade 8, Harold chose to major in Math. In fact, he chose to do a double major in Math and Physics, thereby increasing his chances of getting a job.

While at Western, Harold was not just an academic, but a well-rounded student, pursuing extracurricular activities like long distance running and even boxing. At church, he honed his skills as a piano player and a tenor in the choir. After five years of university, Harold graduated from the University of Western Ontario "summa cum laude" in 1925.

Harold was accepted at the Ontario College of Education in Toronto to study for his Bachelor of Education. Once again, he was out to achieve not mediocre, but excellent, marks. Even though the economy was not doing so well, Harold managed to receive three teaching job offers on Easter weekend of that year. The fact that he had taken a double major had paid off.

On a personal note, while singing in the Danforth Avenue United Church choir, Harold met a young woman named Dorothy Brown. In 1931, they married and later had two children, Norman Ross, my Dad, and (Florence) Marilyn. I remember celebrating their 50th wedding anniversary as a new teenager and their 60th anniversary as a new fiancee.

Harold went on to enjoy a long, successful career with the Toronto Board of Education. He taught at Eastern High School of Commerce for 45 years, missing only one day of school! Adored by his students, he truly loved his profession and it showed.

Even though my Grandad retired a year before I was born, I can remember him telling me stories about teaching and he acted as my inspiration to become a teacher. While many of his students considered him to be the "World's Greatest Teacher", my siblings and I thought he was the "World's Greatest Grandad". I can recall us giving him a present one year, a pen holder with a little man on it with just such an inscription.

There is a postscript to this story. Thirty years after Grandad retired from the Toronto School Board, he was living in an old folks home in the metropolitan area. He was in his nineties and unfortunately had developped Alzheimer's Disease. One day, he escaped from the home and, accustomed to walking four miles a day, he set out to do just that. However, he got lost and confused, not knowing his place of residence or even his name. After about a mile of walking, he fell and broke his glasses. Thankfully, in the great metropolis, he did not run into a thief or a drug dealer or even a stranger. He ran into one of his former students! And even more surprisingly, the student even recognized Mr. Tufts, despite the passing of over 30 years! The student figured out where my Grandad lived and returned him safely to the old folks home. You reap what you sew, as they say.

Below is a poem that I wrote dedicated to Harold Ross Tufts.
Happy Birthday, Grandad!



WORLD'S GREATEST TEACHER

"World's greatest teacher", the inscription reads.
His students numbered 8000 or more.
Devoting his life to doing good deeds,
He planned his lessons down to the ties that he wore.

Mathematics was the subject he taught;
He traced perfect shapes on his large blackboard.
He would stay late if extra help was sought;
Slow to criticize and quick to reward.

His hearty laughter filled Eastern High's halls.
His radiant smile calmed his student's fears.
His guiding hands led the school band at balls.
He served his profession for forty-five years.

He inspired many to follow his lead.
Mr. Tufts, "World's Greatest Teacher", indeed!




Photo courtesy Eastern High School of Commerce.

It's a Small World Afterall

My parents always taught me the value of history. They always impressed upon me how important it is to know your roots. I am blessed to know a lot about my Dad's side of the family, the Tufts. We attend a reunion, the Tufts-Skinner Family Picnic, every summer to keep in touch. In recent years I've learned more about my Mom's family, the Stroud's, too. In fact, my aunt has worked diligently on that side of the family since the 1980's. My Mom made me a beautiful scrapbook with photos and inscriptions about both sides of our family which I have browsed through with my own children. What a treasure!

Some families, however, have little interest in geneology, finding the whole topic boring and irrelevant. If you ask, for instance, Mr. Littlejohn if he is related to the 10 other Littlejohn's in town, he will likely say "no", eventhough he likely has never investigated his family tree.

That being said, maybe studying your family tree is coming back into style. With the premier of the show "Who do you think you are?" last year, a TV which shows Hollywood stars tracing their roots, the word geneology has come back into the mainstream. Furthermore, websites like ancestry.com have made geneology popular once again.

Littlejohn is not a very common name, but Adams is a prevalent English surname. Herb Adams, a professional geneologist, studied my Dad's family tree for years. However, before the Tufts, Herb investigated the Adams family. For years, people would ask Herb if he was related to the second president of the United States, John Adams,and he would reply "no". However, one day he decided to do some digging. Eventually, he was amazed to discover that yes indeed he was a direct descendant of both John Adams and John Quincy Adams (the 6th American president).

So the next time someone asks you if you are related to Mr. Brown, check it out. You could be surprised at what you find out. Family history is only boring until you make it come alive.



Drawing courtesy www.calligraphyforalloccasions.com

The Freedom of a Library Card

     I took an African-American Literature Course at McMaster University when I was doing my undergrad program. One of the books we read, Native Son, was written by Richard Wright, a famous Black author. In the meantime I went on to graduate, attend Teacher's College, and get a fulltime job as a teacher.

     Years later, in our school library, I found a book called The Freedom of a Library Card. Curious, I opened it up only to discover that the story was based on the childhood of Richard Wright. Raised in Mississippi and Memphis, where Blacks were banned from taking books out of the library, Richard hungered for reading material. His mother did not have enough money to buy books and was forced to retrieve old newspapers from the garbage can so that her son could read the comic strips inside. Richard's father abandoned the family when he was only 4 or 5 years old, making their financial situation precarious. Another tragedy that marred his early years was the racist murder of his uncle when he was only 8 years old.

     When Richard reached his early teens, he was hired by a white man who did have a library card. His boss would send him to take out books on his behalf. Richard got the idea that he would take out his own books using his boss's card; his boss agreed. Whites would ridicule him when he took out titles like Oliver Twist and War and Peace, assuming that he didn't even know how to read. Richard devoured every book he could get his hands on and soon became a proficient reader.

     Reading led to writing. When Richard grew up he eventually moved to France where he continued to write, pumping out such classics as Black Boy and The Outsider. Now he is one of the most recognized names in Black literature, penning 16 books in his lifetime. And all because he refused to accept the word "no". Something most of us take for granted, who could imagine the power of a library card?


Photo courtesy www.google.ca

Spinning the Globe

Every so often my husband Rob gives our little girl a geography lesson. She brings him the globe that we bought at a flea market and they study it. She spins it, closes her eyes, stops it and sees where her finger lands. Then the two of them discuss the town or city she is pointing to. They talk about countries and their borders. They also talk about bodies of water and mountain ranges. My husband explains to her how if it is summer in the northern hemisphere, it must be winter in the southern hemisphere and vice versa. It is nice to know that she is curious and that her Daddy is happy to answer her questions.

My daughter also asks questions when we are in the car. She wants to know where we are going and how to get there. She has been with me several times to Brampton and she can tell you all the cities you pass through to get there. Many passengers do not pay attention to their surroundings, but my daughter certainly does.

So, I hope that my little girl continues to spin that globe and ask questions. Those geography lessons are not just educational, they're great bonding experiences!



Photo courtesy www.1worldglobes.com

Bon Voyage!

Fifty-six years ago today, a ship named the Castel Felice sailed down the Saint Lawrence and dropped anchor at Quebec City. An Italian boat, it was filled with Canadian immigrants from Europe including the Neumann family. Elfriede, a war widow, was fleeing communist East Germany with her two children, Irmgard and Manfred. Frau Neumann had nothing other than the clothes on her back and had borrowed the money to purchase the tickets for the voyage from her sister, Doris. Although she was a little bit sea sick on the trip, her children enjoyed themselves playing tennis and getting to know the other passengers on board.

Disembarking from the Castel Felice, the Neumann family stood at the dock and took in the magnificent view of the Chateau Frontenac. For Elfriede, it reminded her a bit of the Koenigsberg Castle she used to visit as a child in East Prussia, reduced to a smouldering ruins during World War II. Manfred, a young teenager, was introduced to his first chocolate bar, handed out by a Red Cross worker. He savoured the sweet delicacy, something rare in post-war Germany.

Making their way to the train station, the Neumann's soaked in the sunshine, remarking on how hot it was in Canada. Boarding the train to Toronto, they were relieved to be starting the final stretch of their journey. Young Manfred looked at the window, struck by all of the open spaces once they reached the countryside of Quebec. He was amazed by all of the church steeples and by how each driveway was filled with a very large automobile, in contrast to the small East German cars owned by a privileged few back home.

The train steamed into Toronto several hours later and they stepped on to the platform at Union Station. Struggling a bit to read the English signs, they managed to find their luggage and transfer to another train which would take them to Hamilton. The threesome settled into their seats and the train took them through town after town until they spotted a crystal blue lake surrounded by lush trees. This was most definitely the prettiest part of the trip. It was Cootes' Paradise, an inner pond on Lake Ontario.

A few minutes later, the train whistled as it lurched to a stop at the North End Station in Hamilton. The Neumann family retrieved their luggage one last time. They searched a sea of faces on the platform and smiled as they recognized Elfriede's sister, Doris, who had immigrated to Canada only a few years before. "Welcome to Canada!" Doris greeted them with her husband Ernst and five-year-old daughter Ursula, who was relieved that her cousins made it in one piece. Her first memory of Hamilton was of a train wreck that had taken place a couple of years before, only a few blocks from her home. She could still picture the train car turned on its side.

They piled into Ernst's vehicle and headed for the Schiemann house. Driving south through downtown, Elfriede noticed what looked like a mountain ahead of her. She commented: "This mountain doesn't look quite like the mountains that I lived near in Ruhla." Doris explained that it wasn't a mountain but rather the Niagara Escarpment. Regardless of its name, it was quite pretty, covered in greenery now that it was Spring.

As Ernst made a right hand turn off of Main Street,he announced: "This is our street." Elfriede saw the green and white sign "Liberty Street". How appropriate, she thought, that I escaped from East to West Germany to Canada and now I am going to live on Liberty Street. The car stopped outside of the house, its riders got out and one by one they walked into the house. Elfriede Neumann and her two children were now Canadians. God Bless Canada!

P.S. This post is dedicated to Elfriede Neumann, my husband Rob's Oma. She lived in Hamilton for forty years and then moved to Brantford for 10 years. She passed away on October 15, 2007. A wonderful mother, grandmother and great-grandmother, we were privileged to have known her and she enriched our lives immensely!

Photo below courtesy Museum Victoria.

The Berenstain Bears and a Leap of Faith

Today, my son gave his collection of Berenstain Bears, Mama, Papa, Brother and Sister to my daughter. Those bears bring back great memories for my husband and I. It was the Christmas of 1996. We were trying to start a family, but had suffered two miscarriages. Christmas was a particularly hard time of year, given that we had no children to share the holiday with. However, we chose to hold firm to our plan. Buying the Berenstain Bears was a leap of faith. At that point, we had no children, but I was determined to have the mindset of "When,not if, we become parents". I hoped that one day we would have a healthy child to cuddle those bears.

The following June, after suffering a third miscarriage, we decided that we wanted to adopt a newborn. In the meantime, we did our homestudy, a series of questions posed by a social worker to see if you are ready to be parents. I jokingly called it "The Spanish Inquisition". We completed our homestudy that September and then settled down to wait. Incidentally, part of our homestudy included photographs of us and our families. One photo I had chosen featured the four Berenstain Bears sitting on our dining room table heaped with Christmas presents.

I handed out 400 "business cards" in an attempt to make connections. One of the people I told was an elderly fellow that swam at the Gretzky Centre named Lonnie. Lonnie always tried to be supportive and whenever I saw him he would reassure me that on Christmas Eve, he was going to show up at my door with a bundle of joy in his arms. We would laugh and then go back to our swimming.

Through my networking, I found out about Beginnings Adoption Agency in Hamilton. We went for an interview the following April and were placed on their active waiting list along with 29 other couples. Birthparents then reviewed the profiles of these couples and were offered the choice of three profiles to choose from. On November 30, Rob put up the Christmas tree. He was in a melancholy mood thinking that we would celebrate another Christmas without children. However, God had a different plan in mind. The following day, we got a phone call asking if we were still interested in a baby. Were we? I jumped 10 feet in the air. Within 3 days we met the birthparents. Two days later we took them out for dinner. And on December 9, the birthmother gave birth to a bouncing baby boy weighing 9 pounds. It was a strange feeling visiting your own child at the hospital. Because the adoption happened so quickly, the paperwork was not yet complete and our son went to stay with a foster family for a few days. However, on December 22, we brought our baby home. On Christmas Eve, we introduced him to my husband's family. And on Christmas Day, we visited my family. My mom placed our bundle of joy under the Christmas tree and took a picture. He was our best Christmas present ever!

I believe that God had our meeting planned from the beginning (although I didn't have the date pinned down the way Lonnie did). I believe that He gave us our little boy. I say thank you to our son's birthparents for having the strength to give him to us. What a selfless act! And now I look at the Berenstain Bears sitting on my daughter's bed. Yes, buying them was a leap of faith. But I'm so glad that my husband Rob and I took that leap. When I look at our son, I am thankful.


"If you can believe, all things are possible to him who believes."
(Mark 9:23)



Photo courtesy mentalfloss.com

Teacher's Pet

"The Chancellor and Senate of McMaster University admit Linda Lee Tufts to the degree Bachelor of Arts (Honours) with all the rights and privileges pertaining to that degree. Dated this 31st day of May 1990 at Hamilton, Ontario."

It's been 21 years since I, dressed in a cap and gown, walked across the floor of that giant gymnasium to collect my diploma. Packed in like sardines, our bodies really raised the temperature of the building. It was so hot that day that one of the guests passed out and had to be taken away by ambulance. I was relieved to be graduating. Eventhough I had had a successful four years of university, I was tired of writing essays and exams. I was ready to complete a year of Teacher's College and then get out into the "real world".

However, as time goes by, I find myself missing school more and more. I was always a conscientious student. I gave 110% in every subject I studied. Being a people pleaser, I was always ready to participate in class, to finish my homework on time and to do whatever the teacher asked. In turn, most of my teachers recognized my hard work and enthusiasm and rewarded me with praise.

I was born to be a student. When I am learning, I feel alive. Writing an essay used to be a rewarding experience for me. Eventhough it would require a lot of work, especially since most of my essays were written in my second language (French), when I completed them I would usually feel really good about the finished product. There's something about creating which makes you feel alive. Whether it's writing an essay, composing a song, planting a garden, baking a cake or painting a picture, creating can be such a fulfilling experience. You put your mark on something. You are able to express yourself and at the same time hopefully grow as a person through the experience.

Yes, I would love to go back to school. I would love to be back in the classroom. I miss the positive reinforcement I received from my teachers. I miss the "high" that you get from creating. You're never too old to learn. In the meantime, I am content to take a summer course every year. This year, rather than signing up for a course, I have signed up for the Christian Writers' Conference which will take place from June 16 to 18 at the Guelph Bible Conference Centre. I look foward to it!



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