We had a chance to sit down with Stuart Russell, an annual participant in a local five kilometre run to raise money for Canadian veterans in order to talk about the importance of community.
“I see a medal around your neck,” our interviewer began informally. “Did you win the race?”
“Oh this? No. We don’t see the point of ranking the runners of our small charity event,” Stuart said and looked over his shoulder. “It’s just a… participation medal.” He said the last part quietly, but it was not enough.
“What was that?” Said an ancient but strong voice from the kitchen. “A participation what?” Our interviewer was startled, Stuart closed his eyes. From the kitchen emerged an old man in full military uniform, he looked to be almost a hundred years old. Leaning on his cane, Stuart’s father approached. “Don’t say those words in this hou–” he stopped himself when he saw the medal hanging around Stuart’s neck. He snorted in disgust. “No son of mine,” he said. “No son of mine.” The interview had not yet begun, only one question had been asked but our interviewer remained silent.
“Dad relax,” said Stuart “It wasn’t even a competition. It was just a local event with friends to raise money for–”
“This is why your generation is so soft,” Stuart’s father interrupted. He tapped his lapel, with a military medal on it. “This is a Victoria Cross. A real medal, because Juno Beach was a real test of manhood. I was there when Canada came into its own, and they didn’t give it to me for participating.” He said with contempt, scolding his grown son as if he was a child.
“There’s more to the differences between generations than participation medals dad, there’s cultural, political, economic realities that–” his father hit him with his cane with all the strength he could summon. Stuart didn’t flinch and rolled his eyes.
“This isn’t my son speaking, this is that fancy, expensive, theoretical education you got talking. Well we didn’t need any of that to wear a tin hat and carry a gun up that beach. All we had was the strength in our legs and our guts, and I didn’t see my friends, better men than you, lose them to hear about my son reading nonsense and eating avocado toast, while exploring his sexuality on someone else’s dime.” He was yelling now, nearly apoplectic with rage.
“Dad. I’m married with kids. I went to trade school,” Stuart said frustrated but resigned. Our interviewer remained silent for the whole episode.
“This is generational decay. There’s a ten dollar word for you son. You’ve had it easy. That’s our fault, we made it easy for you.” Stuart sighed and said nothing and our interviewer asked his second question.
“Isn’t that the point though? To make it easier for our kids?” He said. Stuart’s father did not even look away from his son. Nobody answered and there was a long silence until the front door opened when a teenage boy entered.
“Hey dad, hey grandad,” the boy said.
“Hello son,” Stuart said, grateful for the change in conversation. “How was school?”
“Not the worst. Not the best. University applications are due at the end of the month. I got a medal today though,” He responded.
“That’s great,” Stuart said, clapping his hands. “What did you get the medal for?” He asked eagerly.
“Oh not for anything like that. It’s a ‘being medal.’ Just for being me, you know?” There was a long, heavy silence that filled the room.
“You got that medal for… existing?” Stuart said eventually, shaking his head and then scoffing. “What are they teaching to kids these days?” He asked while walking into the kitchen with his father, not waiting for an answer.
Matthew Cameron 
We had a chance to sit down with Stuart Russell, an annual participant in a local five kilometre run to raise money for Canadian veterans in order to talk about the importance of community.
“I see a medal around your neck,” our interviewer began informally. “Did you win the race?”
“Oh this? No. We don’t see the point of ranking the runners of our small charity event,” Stuart said and looked over his shoulder. “It’s just a… participation medal.” He said the last part quietly, but it was not enough.
“What was that?” Said an ancient but strong voice from the kitchen. “A participation what?” Our interviewer was startled, Stuart closed his eyes. From the kitchen emerged an old man in full military uniform, he looked to be almost a hundred years old. Leaning on his cane, Stuart’s father approached. “Don’t say those words in this hou–” he stopped himself when he saw the medal hanging around Stuart’s neck. He snorted in disgust. “No son of mine,” he said. “No son of mine.” The interview had not yet begun, only one question had been asked but our interviewer remained silent.
“Dad relax,” said Stuart “It wasn’t even a competition. It was just a local event with friends to raise money for–”
“This is why your generation is so soft,” Stuart’s father interrupted. He tapped his lapel, with a military medal on it. “This is a Victoria Cross. A real medal, because Juno Beach was a real test of manhood. I was there when Canada came into its own, and they didn’t give it to me for participating.” He said with contempt, scolding his grown son as if he was a child.
“There’s more to the differences between generations than participation medals dad, there’s cultural, political, economic realities that–” his father hit him with his cane with all the strength he could summon. Stuart didn’t flinch and rolled his eyes.
“This isn’t my son speaking, this is that fancy, expensive, theoretical education you got talking. Well we didn’t need any of that to wear a tin hat and carry a gun up that beach. All we had was the strength in our legs and our guts, and I didn’t see my friends, better men than you, lose them to hear about my son reading nonsense and eating avocado toast, while exploring his sexuality on someone else’s dime.” He was yelling now, nearly apoplectic with rage.
“Dad. I’m married with kids. I went to trade school,” Stuart said frustrated but resigned. Our interviewer remained silent for the whole episode.
“This is generational decay. There’s a ten dollar word for you son. You’ve had it easy. That’s our fault, we made it easy for you.” Stuart sighed and said nothing and our interviewer asked his second question.
“Isn’t that the point though? To make it easier for our kids?” He said. Stuart’s father did not even look away from his son. Nobody answered and there was a long silence until the front door opened when a teenage boy entered.
“Hey dad, hey grandad,” the boy said.
“Hello son,” Stuart said, grateful for the change in conversation. “How was school?”
“Not the worst. Not the best. University applications are due at the end of the month. I got a medal today though,” He responded.
“That’s great,” Stuart said, clapping his hands. “What did you get the medal for?” He asked eagerly.
“Oh not for anything like that. It’s a ‘being medal.’ Just for being me, you know?” There was a long, heavy silence that filled the room.
“You got that medal for… existing?” Stuart said eventually, shaking his head and then scoffing. “What are they teaching to kids these days?” He asked while walking into the kitchen with his father, not waiting for an answer.
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