First, let me introduce myself...

I'm a (white) Caribbean man - who just happens to have been born in Barbados and now lives in Canada. I think I'm one of the luckiest people on this earth, because I was born to parents who could afford (within reason) to let me roam where my spirit took me and do what my spitrit dictated.

Apart from Barbados, I have lived in Tortola (BVI) and Antigua, and along the way I also put in two years at school in England (we call it 6th Form, north americans call it College).

The serious stuff I did after school was to become an Air Traffic Controller - I did that for two years - and to become a pilot. The down side was that our ATC boss was dedicated to the fulfillment of himself - and himself alone - while his underlings slowly rotted in despair. His "performance" was recognised by the Barbados Government when they refused to give him a "Golden Handshake" upon his retirement, the comment being that the entire Department was at the same place it had been when he assumed command some 20 years before.

This is especially sad, given the fact that he had been an Air Traffic Controller himself when I was there, and managed to get his own promotion over all other applicants through political tricks and back-stabbings.

To become a pilot was no small feat... and when I had completed my training I (foolishly) returned to Barbados in the expectation of work and progress towards flying "heavy metal" around the world. I got back to a severe downturn in hiring - in fact pilots were being laid off. I did whatever I could for almost five years, at the end of that period taking first a loadmaster position with an airport service company (called an FBO in north america) and then a counter position with a local charter airline.

Finally, through a quirk of fate, I managed to get a command position on a small charter airplane called an Islander, and - however late - my flying career was launched. I progressed to the DC-3 there, and later went to Air BVI to fly their DC-3 fleet between San Juan and Beef Island. I was lured back to Barbados with the offer of DC-3 command to fly there again, but a Canadian (Bob Dale, of Air Dale in Sault Ste. Marie) bought half of the company and fired all the local pilots. This moved me to seek employment elsewhere, including passing through Antigua and "saying hello" to Frank Delisle at Carib Aviation to check if he needed any help.

Frank hired me on the spot, and I was flying again almost the next day, this time in Islanders and Twin Bonanzas. I was there for a three months contract, and at the end of it he introduced me to the General Manager Operations for LIAT, and I was on my way my the next job, based in Antigua.

I worked for LIAT for 16 years, flying the Islander, Trislander, Twin Otter, and then the Dash-8. At first it was gruelling work, but no harder than being a charter pilot. At least we knew when we would be home for the night, and when not, and the Rules were more diligently observed there than by my employers before.

In 1995 I was told I had a cataract and I needed an operation or my pilot license would not be renewed. I came to Canada for the operation, and in the middle of that the eye filled up with blood. That was the end of my flying (for a while, anyway), and after a corrective operation I searchd for a new career.

My daughter had done a Diploma course in Programming and Systems Analysis, and I was very computer-inclined, so I followed in her footsteps and did the same. Unfortnately, to cut a long story short, there were no such jobs for "old" people, so I went the next 8 years in Canada unemployed, "unemployable" and searching for work.

In one of my job application flurries I put in an application to the TTC - buses, streetcars and subways in the Toronto area - and to my surprise I got a call almost a year later asking me preliminary questions in a telephone interview. One thing led to another, and I was eventually called to bus training, after which I was placed at the new Eglinton Division.

Yes, I got into minor troubles, not all of them my fault, but there were enough that it led to my being suspended. Just before being terminated, I was offered a position as a Clerk, and I accepted. I was placed at the Russell Division where they handled half of the streetcar fleet in the city.

About a year into that the tendons in my arms began to ache terribly from the heavy fare boxes suddenly yanking on my arms as I slid them off the counter and moved them into their appoiunted slots, but I went away on vacation hoping that the two weeks would be enough for whatever was ailing me to heal.

To no avail, within a month of returning to work I saw my doctor about the pain and he took me off work under Workmen's Compensation - known here as the WSIB - and I started three months of treatment while I spent most of my days assisting with customer service.

After three months it had been worked out and agreed between my doctors, specialists and the TTC that I could go back to work with weight-carrying restrictions. They found me a position as a Clerk at Danforth Division, where Subway and Collectors are dealt with - and there are no fare boxes.

I have been there for just over a year now, and despite the gruelling hours, constant multi-tasking and multiple working positions I quite enjoy the constant challenges. But at my age I'd like to be doing a bit less work... but my "juniority" - or lack of seniority - dictates that I get the worst shifts and that I work the worst hours.

In my personal life, I live in northern Toronto, and I am four years into my second marriage. This time around I could not have asked for a better partner. She is light, happy, a superb cook, and keeps me constantly alive in every way.