How I got started with Sibmac
Sibmac Comes from Two names, sib is short for Sibson, Son of Sibson, or in my case would be daughter of Sibson the Mac part is part MacDiarmid in reference to my three Daughters, Renee Sarah and Kayla. Born Cheryl L. Sibson, born year 1960 from former entertainer’s parents, who performed on live theatre stage, and some of the small screen, my parents preformed in Vancouver BC for many years during the 1970’s 1980’s and 1990; both Bob and Marge Sibson- Given that Bob spent the last three decades preforming and delighting other Vancouverites, Marge passed away in 1996 of Brain tumors and Cancer. She gave up dancing to start a family my sister and I; she was a former Ballerina with the Royal Winnipeg Ballerina from the early 1950’s till 1959. When I was old enough she took us to dancing lessons, music lessons and both encouraged us to use creative spirits in Dancing, singing, music of all venues, and that creative spirit if could bring some happiness in one’s life. Having hidden myself in the basement through out of some of their entertainment occasions, I found myself with pen and paper instead of plunking piano keys sitting at the family home, and began to explore words through Poetry as a mean of allowing myself some outlet of being content within myself, and learned a great deal about what it means to be creative, and what happens when others aren’t finding the same creative spirit all the while with being hearing impaired. Anyone can have a disability, yet have ability.
My Dad would often say: “don’t give up your day job” while presuming one has the creative spirit, He often believed that one “works to live” instead of living to work. Whereas I found myself attempting to come up with the day job to support the creative spirit, I was often challenged by men about what it means to be challenged to work, to live? I remember a conversation with one of my daughter’s boyfriends who often would tell me, live to work is a better concept, instead of attempting to just be content with one area of one’s life, why couldn’t one be content with all areas of one’s life? Others would tell me about what gives me the right to have a privileged life? Is who you are part where you come from? One male even told me when I’m twenty one that I belonged in Poverty, his options for me, was that I belonged to be poor? And he never quite described what that was? But others have lived in other ways and were happy? My parents were middle class family, not extremely well off, so why was I needed to defend where I came from? Was it a badge of honor to be poor, or rich? God I was never rich, and sometimes poor, Could I have a sheet for privacy in my home verses glamourous blinds? And could you forgive either? Would my daughters come see me rich or poor? Privileged or not? And could I get rid of the chip on my shoulder over defending which ever portions of life where I came from? Had I learned lessons from extreme poverty? Absolutely! Had I learned lessons from being with someone who was wealthy? Absolutely, and in the end intuitive spirit meant more, I would walk miles coming upon the tallest trees, or finding myself face to face with nature, and always felt better, my own walking around may have caused troubles paying the bills, but physically and mentally I felt better, and all of that walking brought me to the tree story I could tell my daughter to put her to sleep, so I decided to share the story the tree with spots, and share something happy moment that gave her some peace.