WHITBY FREE PRESS. WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 11. 1985, PAGE 5 "I have sworn upon the altar of God eternal hostility against every form of tyranny over the mind of man." - Thomas Jefferson THE CROW'S NEST by Michael Knell Please, get out and support the Legion Well, folks I've got writer's block again. Trying to find a topic to write about this week has given me a headache that would kill a horse. But I do have three little items that I hope will be of some interest to you. LEGION WEEK Next week (from Sunday to Saturday, actually) is Legion Week throughout Canada. Branch 112, right here in Whitby, has a host of activities going on which have been dutifully reported in another part of today's edition. I would like to take this opportunity to encourage every resident of the town to take a few minutes out next week and pay a visit to the Legion Hall at 117 Bryon St. S. and checkout the truly good and neededwork they do In this community. Perhaps I'm speaking with a bias or two. You see, I'm an associate member of the branch and have had the opportunity over the past few years to get acquainted with the men and women who make the Legion what it is locally. These people are really involved and care about what happens in this town. If you're the widow or family of a veteran, you'll never be without a friend or without help in times of need. Most of the members are getting on in years now, but that doesn't stop them from giving everything they've got. They're good people. They care. They're involved. Their motto says it best. "They starved till death - Why not we?" They served their country in times of war and they continue to serve it in times of peace. So please, take a few minutes out next week and show my comrades in Bran- ch 112 that you appreciate not only their past service but their continuing ser- vice. BOBBY'S ROAST Bill Wallace was right on when he remarked last Thursday night that Bob At- tersley sure knows one hell of a good way to kick-off a re-election campaign. A lot of high powered people turned out when the Whitby Jaycees hosted a roast in the mayor's honor. While the evening was for a good cause, (over $2,500 was raised for the local branch of the Multiple Sclerosis Society) I was amazed to see so many well known people in attendance. Even Dan Mahoney, who as coach of the Toronto Maple Leafs must have the worst job in professional hockey today, turned out to roast and toast him. Let me tell you, it was a pretty raunchy evening. I had a terrible time trying to write the story that appears elsewhere in today's paper. It seems Bobby was somewhatof a heliraiser during the wild and reckless days of his youth. The stories related by Wren Blair, Glenn Cochrane and others were not suitable for repetition in a family newspaper. But that didn't stop any of the 250 people present from laughing so hard they practically rolled down the aisles. I told the mayor the following morning that it couldn't have happened to a nicer guy. No one deserved it more. After attending that little get-together, I think a lot of potential candidates for mayor would be doing a little re-consideration. With a record like his, and friends like he's got, running against Bob could prove a bigger task than one bargained for. GRAND OAK HOMES A home is usually the most expensive and important investment most of us make during our lifetimes. More than anything else, our home is our little cor- ner of the world. Our sanctuary. Our castle. Home becomes the focal point of our lives. It is where we raise our children. It's where the good times are. Because it's so important an investment, people expect the home they buy to be top-notch. They expect their money's worth. Well there are about 50 families in the Grand Oak Homes subdivision in the Sugar Maple Cres. area who aren't happy. I spent a couple of hours with a few of them last week listening to the scores of complaints they have against the. builder., And it's not the big things It's the little things. One fellow who I was speaking to told me that he got the wrong doors. In fact, two of them were warped and had to be replaced. But it wasn't that they had to be replaced that irked him, it was that the developer took so long to do so. Most of the people I spoke to generally agreed that the overall product was a good one. But when you've had to have the tiles in your bathroom taken out twice to get rid of the warp in the wall, it gets to be a bit much. The same fellow I mentioned two paragraphs back had scratches in his bathtub. The repairman came to fix the tub only to have the contracting gang come in the next day to tear the wall dqwn. This means the scratches in his tub are worse than they ever were and they have to be fixed again. All these people really want is for the little things to be taken care of. When you've paid anywhere from $77,000 to over $100,000 for your home, I don't think that's too much to ask. Because these things are considered comestic, there's little the Town of Whitby can do for them. HUDAC might be able to. But that takes too long. So, they have to go back to the developer. Home is, after all, the best place of all and I hope the developer sees his way clear to getting these little things done. WITH OUR FEET UP By Bill Swan Outside my window on the neighbor's lawn, small girls spread blankets beneath the trees and hold picnics for their cabbage patch dolls. Like little mothers, they cluck impatiently at the dolls. To each other they tell stories of the bumps and grinds the doll has in endured. Behind each grease spot, the doll has a story. "Elaine broke this leg when she was skiing last winter in Quebec. She was in a cast for weeks, but even now she cannot walk properly." "Well, Robert Kevin fell head first from his carriage last week. Look, the bump is still there, plain to see." "Yes, but Cindy C. was just so terrified of that huge dog the neighbors have that she cried and cried for nights after..." While this is going on the boys sometimes join in -- usually brothers, though once in a while taunting school chums will saunter by. But they have neither the patience nor the cultural spurs for this kind of game. They are soon shooed away by the mothering girls. They scoot off to play Rambo in the ravine, to swashbuckle enemies from behind bushes, to play road hockey, to ride bicycles over ramps on the sidewalk. But the girls, whose ages range from eight to eleven, linger. Cabbage patch creatures are ad- monished to eat sandwich crusts. We have watched this performance from our house with great interest. The nursery window provides a bird's-eye view of the family setting. We were talking about cabbage patch dolls over breakfast the other day, about the girls in the neighborhood, their parties. "Girls have always been like that," Kathy said. I have two older daughters and had once watched them play with dolls. But these days, with a new in- fant daughter, I somehow see the world through dif- ferent eyes. "Yeah, but how do they learn this stuff?" I asked. Kathy shrugged. "I don't know. By the way, do you need anything ironed to wear to the wedding this afternoon?" "I can iron it if I do," I replied. "But I want to know when girls start playing with dolls and lear- ning to be mothers." "They just do. But I don't mind ironing what you need. I have to iron a dress anyway, so the iron'll be on..." "That's okay." "Yes, but I feel kind of guilty about not havine everything laid out for you. I mean, I'm home all day these days with the baby and I should be able to..." "Where," I replied, "is it written that you, a woman, must cook and clean and iron?" In the seventies I had my conciousness raised. It got jacked up to the point that I learned to iron -- a skill which would have made life a lot easier had I learned to do it when I was 18. Learning to iron also brought me an appreciation of how much women must hate the job, of why ironing can pile up in baskets in the laundry room. 'It is written," she said, "in chapter seven." The conversation might have continued for hours, but chores called. A lawn needed cutting, the car washing. "What do you want for lunch?"I was asked. "I'll get it." But that brought me back to the original thought. Where do girls learn about making lunch for a creature who is reputed to be all thumbs? With an infant girl asleep in a crib in the nursery, this question now begins to haunt me. Affirmative action is one thing; equal opportunity another. But this runs deeper than either. One can answer the question simply - and I believe incorrectly -- by stating that little girls are born knowing how to wait on men. But somehow, with great subtlety, we teach girls to be little mothers long before they start school. While cutting the lawn that morning I watched another girl further up the street, dragging her cab- bage patch doil by the leg toward the picnic. She was three. While the girls learn motherhood, the boys in the ravine defend the world against invaders, seek out challenges, learn to master the outside world. Somewhere in this confusion, boys who are all thumbs when it comes to sewing, to ironing, to making of peanut butter sandwiches are more likely to become surgeons. Or, sadly, Rambo -- a frightening thought these days. I washed the car, cut the lawn, walked the dog and thought about the culturalization of girls. And of the infant still asleep upstairs in the crib. Should she grow up, learning to wait on some male, to iron his shirts, make his peanut butter san- dwich for lunch and worry about what he eats? I've already begun to price baseballs and bicycle ramps. m