“Public practices of history are not new and many historians acknowledge today that they had been doing public history without knowing it.”
– Thomas Cauvin, “The Rise of Public History: An International Perspective,” Historia Critica, no. 68 (2018), p. 22.
I was in my fourth year of university and working on my History Capstone project when I realized that I had already worked as a historian, and in fact I had been working in public history for years.
Well, sort of.
My Capstone topic was “Public History and Commemoration in Owen Sound, Ontario,” which is my hometown. As I researched the local museums and parks that had been named in commemoration of Owen Sound citizens, one of my top resources was the archives of the local newspaper. Having worked at that paper as a reporter for 16 years, I knew before I even started that it would be a treasure trove of primary sources documents.
What I didn’t immediately realize was that my own work held a place of prominence in that collection.
How does a hockey play reflect something that invariably happens in our personal and professional lives?
I write about varsity sports at the University of Guelph. For the past week-and-a-half, I’ve been thinking about something that I saw during a hockey game at the Gryphon Centre.
It was November 25, and I was covering the Guelph Gryphons as they played the visiting Nipissing Lakers. Midway through the second period, with the Gryphons already leading 1-0, Guelph forward Tryg Strand took a pass from teammate Marc Stevens just inside the Nipissing zone. Here’s a video of what happened next:
I’m a second-year university student. I’m also about to turn 47 years old.
There have been plenty of times over the past year-and-a-half when I’ve felt down, and asked myself why I’m doing what I’m doing. Why have I returned to school again? Why am I working toward a bachelor’s degree at my age, while trying to juggle work and family responsibilities? And it always comes back to not having been happy with my life, and realizing and accepting that I would need to make some tough choices and work hard if I wanted things to change for the better.
That means I need a lot of positive self-talk and self-motivation as I work toward a goal that is still far enough away that it remains a somewhat abstract concept. And I’ll be honest, it can be really difficult to get motivated to do all of the things that I’ve piled onto my plate. But I get them done, because that’s what I expect of myself, and that’s what my family expects of me as a provider and role model. There is a cost, though. I don’t have much of a life anymore outside of school and work. And I often feel very much alone, like when everyone else is sleeping and I’m working into the wee hours of the morning. That’s when the doubts start to creep in. That’s when I ask myself the big question – “Why am I doing this?”
Twenty years ago today, I got married for the first time. It was 5 p.m. on September 14, 1996. I was 26 years old and had one child, a 2 ½-year-old boy. I was working at a dream career in my hometown of Owen Sound, Ontario. I don’t remember thinking anything specific about the future, but I know I felt very optimistic and positive despite the rain that poured down that day. How could I not?
Nine years ago today, I was recently separated and was the full-time single father of three boys, aged 13, 10, and 8. There was little to feel optimistic and positive about. My marriage had failed, and in fact had ended in spectacularly ugly fashion. My former dream career had turned into a nightmare. As it was the first anniversary without my wife, I spent this day feeling sorry for myself, feeling overwhelmed, and feeling very much alone and lost in the wilderness.
Five years ago today, I was lying on my living room couch with a broken vertebra in my back, a broken hand, bruised ribs, and a bruised knee – souvenirs from the car crash of the previous evening. I had been spreading myself too thin, working three jobs in order to make ends meet, and as a result I was neglecting some of my responsibilities as a sole-support parent. It all caught up with me late one night on a lonely back road between Meaford and Owen Sound. Five years ago today, I was beaten up, physically and emotionally. Being optimistic and positive was so far beyond me at that point. Again, I spent the day feeling overwhelmed and sorry for myself. I’m not sure I’ve ever felt lower than I did on this day.