Category: family

Haiti Mission Trip 2012 part 3 Lets Ride..

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June 8, 2012

Lets Ride….

Awoke at 0600, oh who am I kidding, I never really slept.  Between the dogs fighting on the compound, what seemed to be one hell of a party going on in the alleyway or house next door, anticipation of the days to come and the sticky, wet heat that encompassed our room, sleep never came. Pretty disappointed, because after what I felt was a long day yesterday, sleep would have been beneficial.  Came downstairs to the smells of breakfast wafting gently from the kitchen.  Shuffled my way over to some coffee and was pleasantly surprised by how fantastic it tasted.  Smooth, mellow, robust, nothing like any coffee that had previously crossed my palate!

Sitting down at a table outside, the smell of burning garbage rose over the compound and once again I began questioning my purpose for this journey.  After a while John C. and John G. joined my table, soon we were discussing upcoming events for the day and how things may play out.  Paul came down then Cody and slowly the rest of the team emerged, shuffling slowly, looking for hot coffee.  After several cups, we all began telling tales of a rough night had by all, apparently I was not alone in my suffering.  Joking about the chickens, anger for the dogs and laughter at our own silliness.  We had bonded fairly quick as a group, which usually is a sign of impending personality clashes. (watch survivor, you think everything is fine and then BAM your torch is being snuffed out)) But every time we all sat together I could feel the glue forming between us, an alliance of you will, this would ultimately prove to be the foundation for great new friendships and help us during our survival over the next eight days.

Breakfast was started with a prayer.  Three teams formed into a giant circle holding hands praying. It was a powerful moment, starting the morning off on a wonderful note.  After breakfast we chatted it up with several other members, slowly making our way upstairs to gather our things as departure time closed in on us all.  Funny thing about embarking on an unknown journey, nervousness does take hold of you whether you realize it or not.  The unknown is a tricky thing, it can paralyze to the point of inaction or spur you on to some of the greatest triumphs you may ever know.  In eight days we would all have an accounting for our performance.

After our luggage was gathered, we were introduced to our interpreters.  Caz and Marcinae (Im guessing on the spelling.) Walking directly up to Caz extending my hand he warmly accepted my handshake as I introduced myself.  I was very glad to meet this man for I already felt as though I knew him. John C. and John G. along with my wife had regaled us with wonderful stories of his caring attitude and generosity towards their group a mission trip last year.  He was an intern then, but handled himself like an old veteran.  We reminisced for a few minutes and after showing him pictures of my wife in Mellier,  he instantly remembered who she was stating; she was fantastic with the school children and a very caring person.  He then raised an eyebrow, leaned in towards me asking how I felt about a woman traveling to such far away, unknown places before myself? My retort; If you have met and befriended my wife then you learn very quickly once her mind is set there is no stopping her. He chuckled and said yes this may be true.  Five minutes with this man, my guard was completely down.  My first sense of safety crept in and I instantly knew we were in fantastic hands.

It was time to go, time to leave the Port-au-Prince Hilton.  The KIA truck was loaded with all our luggage and supplies for eight days, the Toyota was loaded with 13 willing and able bodies ready for an adventure.  The gate opened to the compound leading us out to an alley we had not seen previously, our eyes were once again opened to a strange new world of adventure and uncertainty.

The alley way was congested with people cooking food, grinding metal, fabricating gates and repairing stereo equipment that here in the United States we would have discarded like yesterdays newspaper.  The alley was no wider than a single car leaving us to squeeze ever so carefully through its bowels. As we made our way into the street (slowly) it was extremely congested, more so than the day before.  The previous day had been a holiday so many shops and businesses were closed.  The shocking moment for myself and some of the crew was the streets had been very congested the day before which left us in awe at the amount of people moving to and from their destinations today. In hindsight yesterday was merely a fraction of the population that now lay before our eyes.  Travel was slow, hot and bumpy. Once again there were times the smells became a little overwhelming.  These people moved about their day with a huge sense of purpose.  Constructions sites were a buzz, markets were humming and everywhere you turned the city felt alive!  My head hung to the glass like a voyeur trying his hardest to experience every moment without being noticed.  Traffic in Haiti still bewildered my sense of safety.  Horns honking, cars moving where they pleased, it was a very gentle ballet of automotive synchronicity. In America many of the movements  or automotive “bullying” that we participated in would have resulted with someone being on the end of a broken nose. Yet here people just waved you by, (and not with a middle finger in the air) waved thank you or stared blankly with no emotion at all.  All by the honk, beep or blast of a horn.

Our team had one stop to make before our final destination. We were hoping to acquire a few more sledge hammers for the work that lay before us.  Our van pulled into a large concrete fenced yard and to our surprise the place was not a run down dilapidated structure as we all had envisioned.  In fact the structure resembled that of a Home Depot! A home depot with parking attendants and an U.N. military vehicle with soldiers parked within its walls.  John, John, Caz and Paul went inside for a short excursion inside the man store.  Myself, Cody and the rest of the crew remained outside with our vehicle.  Personally in my humble opinion, once you have seen one Home Depot you have seen them all.  I was more interested in the heavy traffic of dump trucks (by the way we found out Haiti is where all retired Mack trucks wander off to die) tractors, excavators, and everyday vehicles whizzing by on the street outside.  A few more jokes were cracked, a couple of comments about the heat and before long we were off with our newly acquired toys.

The drive was long and hot. (have I mentioned it is relatively hot here?)  A combination of paved roads, dirt roads and just plain old pot holes left us feeling as though our kidneys were now no longer usable for transplant. (mental note, change donor card upon arrival home) Once out of the city en route on highway one we passed by several areas still heavily impacted from the quake.  We also passed by the largest tent city on the island.   Interesting really; tents, shacks scattered everywhere across the open plains, then an

 occasional house under construction with a few completed homes scattered about.  Homes and shanties in desert/shrub like conditions where one would never think to build or create a homestead.  When John asked Caz about the housing situation, Caz stated the government had given away the land to residents looking for a new start and willing to build upon the site.  The site was hilly and dry but the upside was it overlooked the ocean.  Either these people were completely crazy or evil geniuses.  Genius in the fact that 20 years from now they will own beautiful homes overlooking some of the bluest ocean any human could ever lay their eyes upon. Once again being resilient is definitely not a Haitian weakness.

We arrived in Leveque almost two hours after departing the guest house.  Hot, tired and sweaty we all clamored to get out of the Toyota van.  We had parked in what appeared to be an alley.  A home on the right, a long white tin roofed 1950’s era building on the left with an enormous two-story, brand new concrete structure directly behind them both looming over the site.  We quickly learned the 1950’s era building on the left was in fact the very building we had come to demolish.  This was exciting!

We quickly gathered up, unloaded all of our equipment, hauling the majority upstairs to the second story of the new building.  This building was a new school built by a British team for the church.  The upper floor had not yet been put into operation, leaving it as our new primary residence complete with kitchen for the next eight days.  Our team had originally been scheduled to live at a new church built down the road in the town of Thomas. This would have left us commuting every morning to our job site in Leveque.  When the pastor discovered this plan he vehemently argued for our location change hoping a new team and project could meld into his community creating everlasting friendships while sharing the word of God.  He was wise beyond words.

Having moved into our three rooms. One for the kitchen, one as sleeping quarters for the men, one for the women.  We all gathered back downstairs, meeting the pastor while introducing ourselves to 5 construction workers, our new future Haitian friends. We traveled thousands of miles and there seemed to be no time like the present to get started.  Energy was high, we surveyed the building, 40x 100, cinder block with stucco/concrete overlay, tin roof, two small rooms leading into one big assembly area.  The building had several mid line cracks and a portico that had damage to three of its four columns.  We devised our strategy and came up with a plan of attack, a few of us could hear the sound of tools calling our names. Hats pulled down tight, work belts on, hammers and pry bars in hand.  Ten Americans in one foreign country with a single goal in mind.

Time for one 63-year-old earthquake damaged church to come down!

To be continued……

Haiti Mission Trip 2012: part 2 We are guests…

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The Guest House. (checkpoint Charlie)

June 7th 2012

We arrived pulling through an all steel gate with an attendant standing by ensuring no one wonders onto the property unexpected.  The compound is filled with trees lining a dirt/cobblestone drive leading to a retaining wall some 30 feet high.  To the right a new project is being built consisting of concrete and cinder block. (shocker)

To the left the guest house.  A two-story building that in its day (around the 80’s I am guessing) was a top rate place to stay.  My first impression walking down a pathway into a covered porch area was that of disappointment.  (this would change later) It was not what I had expected after looking it up online.  But hey we aren’t here to lounge and relax, our group came to work and work was all we talked about for the last month.

We immediately banded together unloading the trucks, and introducing ourselves to the guest house hosts.  Tom and Sara. The two of them quickly gave us a run down of the facility, showing us to our rooms.  Men in room 3, women in room 5. A bathroom/douche at either end of the hall with two toilet/water closets nestled in a narrow hallway around the corner.  A table with community computer and wi-fi at the top of the stairs. (our last link to the world for 8 days). The men walked into room three and all of us quickly obtained a bunk bed best suited for ourselves.  There were two other teams expected that afternoon and I was looking forward to meeting them, hoping to glean some information about the area and what to expect.  I am not one to let too much bother me but I was nervous in this strange land so far from home.  Feeling a little like a cornered animal, no place to go, run or hide.  Any information that might calm my nerves would be more than welcome. Being as though I was worried and nervous I couldn’t help but wonder how my son was doing, but to my surprise he was strangely calm and relaxed.  Excited for what the next 8 days lay in store.

We met with Sara again who had arranged for us to go sight-seeing that afternoon.  We talked about going to the Baptist mission, or off to some of the more challenging neighborhoods taking in the sights and sounds, possibly seeing more tent cities.  In the end we opted for lunch and a swim at hotel  Ibo-LeLe in the province of Petionville, Port-au-Prince. Located around 1400 feet up the side of a mountain this hotel boasted some of the best views of Port-au-Prince and the surrounding area.  Sara and Tom decided they would go with us as lunch and a swim away from the compound sounded enticing. It was also a nice way for them to understand and learn a little about this feisty 10 person team from California.

We loaded into our 10 person Toyota and headed off up the mountain.  Strange thing about climbing and winding through the narrow and sometimes steep roadways.  Conditions seemed to improve. Living conditions, housing, stores, streets, everything seemed a little neater, a little nicer, a little more affluent for a devastated country with no means.  HMMMM???

At one point while turning a street corner the stores seemed nicer, painted, organized, and then we rolled up on a two-story, freshly painted grocery store surrounded by a giant stucco/plaster wall.  Both entrances were guarded by men with shotguns.  Presumably to keep residents out without the means to pay for items. The method or mode of transportation seemed to change as well the higher we climbed.  Gone were the 300,000 mile abused Tap-Taps.  In their place was still late 90’s early 2000’s Honda’s, Toyota’s and Nissan’s, but also a mix of Mercedes, Land Cruisers, Range Rovers and even a few Porsches were spotted!

Could this be the actual visual translation of the rich live on the hill and the poor suffer the plains? Before I had time to ponder these visual cues we had arrived at Ibo-LeLe.  Walking down the entry way it was very reminiscent of 1960’s Cuba portrayed by Hollywood. Very open, and inviting, straight from a James Bond movie.  We all made our way out back to the pool area where we found a shaded area to sit and enjoy our lunch.  There were three levels to choose from, one in the open sun on top, one completely shaded in the middle and the lower pool level area.  Before we could settle into a few chairs we were told the middle level where we were was closed.  Looking around I noticed some men in black suits eyeing our presence.  They were sharp and wore ear phones connected to radios.  Behind us sat a table of roughly ten people who had been enjoying lunch. All talking had stopped and they to were staring directly at us.  My alarm bells began ringing, and we all quickly moved to the upper level.  I said good day to one of the “suits” who gave me a casual smile in return.  While enjoying our lunch we learned the ten person table was in fact a private party for the Minister of Agriculture.  Sweet in country less than 6 hours and I had already crashed a political party! HA!

Lunch took around 2 1/2 hours and all of us quickly learned the meaning of Haiti time.  My wife warned me that; Haiti time meant I needed to move slower, take my time because nothing in done in a hurry.  Well except driving of course.

We never went swimming as lunch took the better part of our afternoon.  The views were spectacular, and all of us took the opportunity to grab some pictures from the upper deck of the hotel.  If you squinted your eyes and pretended you could almost believe nothing had ever happened and it was the way the country was supposed to look. Yet as we stood there I was finding it shameful to be treated so well when so many had nothing.

Cody and the crew were settling into all they had seen and experienced when we weaved our way through Port-au-Prince earlier. We laughed and joked, shaking off the nerves associated with sensory overload,  but nothing could prepare us for the moment our eyes would gaze upon the National Palace.

After lunch we made our way down the hill leaving upper class behind, winding through narrow streets filled with garbage, street venders, people and cars, eventually making our way to the bottom where organized chaos reigned king once again.  Rounding one final corner we came upon the National Palace grounds.  It was pure devastation.  We had all seen pictures, we had talked a good game, but I personally was not prepared for what I saw.  It was destroyed beyond belief.  A symbol of the country’s strength, prosperity and security, leveled beyond repair.  It massive domes laying sideways like a drunk man trying to stand under his own power.  Walls sheared off, floors collapsed, sections flattened.  This once mighty building left in ruins for all to see.

In that moment for me personally I understood why the country was struggling to survive.  Imagine if the White House had been flattened. This symbol of America unites millions each year who come to see it, gaze upon its historic and valued walls.  How can a country move forward without one of its main symbols of recognition?

Designed in 1912 by architect Georges H. Baussan its design took second place in an architects national competition.  It was awarded the winning nod because the first place building was deemed to costly.  The budget for the new palace was set at $350,000 and construction began in 1914.  In 1915 the under construction palace was set ablaze by a mob that ousted then murdered President Vilbun Guillaume Sam.  This assassination led to the United States of America occupying Haiti which opened the door for the U.S. Navy engineers to oversee the Palaces completion in 1920.

There have been several attempts to start work on the palace since the earthquake with the latest taking place in 2010.  Only the middle rotunda has been cleared and all construction has been halted.

In my opinion a country needs to start somewhere.  Mobilizing your people through strength and pride can be done with a symbol such as the National Palace. A place for its government to unify and build solidarity. It gives a country hope; hope that progress on that level can trickle down to its people.  People who I would soon find out have immense pride for their country.  Band that passion, that love and a stronger country cannot help but emerge.

It was a long hot trip back up the hills through the streets to the guest house.  We were all tired from our long flights and a few of us were looking forward to a swim in the guest house pool before dinner.  We all knew tomorrow the group would ship out to our assignment.  We all had no idea what we were in for and the thought of a simple swim, some dinner and one last night in a bed seemed to be the order of the evening.

God bless this country, because from what we had seen so far its people are amazingly resilient.

To be continued…..

Haiti Misssion trip 2012 part 1

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Everyone needs a great adventure! Living life in the same general confines day after day can become mundane at best. This last week my son and I took the adventure of a lifetime. We traveled to Haiti on a mission trip.

Haiti, officially the Republic of Haiti, is a Caribbean country. It occupies the western, smaller portion of the island of Hispaniola, in the Greater Antillean archipelago, which it shares with the Dominican Republic.

In 2010 a 7.0 earthquake struck the city of Leogane, approximately 16 miles west of Port-au-Prince. The devastation to the country was massive. Nearly 220,000 Haitians killed (although government estimates were higher) millions left homeless with no electricity, running water or sanitary services. Billions of dollars in aid were raised, tent cities were built, the dead were buried and the people of Haiti were left to grieve.

June 2012

Mission Impossible

Good morning Mr. Phelps. Your mission if you choose to accept it, meet with ten other like-minded individuals looking to spread gods word and lend a hand to an impoverished country. Appoint a leader from within the ten, who will represent you, your families and the church with the utmost character, honor and dignity. Have that leader appoint jobs that best suit the team. Meet at SFO on the afternoon of June 6th, with clothes, food and enough tools to effectively demolish a building riddled by earthquake damage. Once all is in place load the plane with your team under the assumption you may never return. If you are caught or captured the association will disavow any knowledge of your being. Good luck Mr. Phelps. This note will self destruct in 5 seconds……

Our team.

John C.-Leader code name: Precious

John G.- Co-leader code name: Hammer

Mason- code name: Bieber

Paul- code name: Bubbles

James- code name: OSHA

Cody- code name: Gun Show

Heather- code name: Chicken Head

Anne- code name: The Annimal

Jan- code name: Naj/Cornrow

Maggie- code name: Rosie the Riveter

We met up on the morning of June 6th, pumped and ready to go. Our minds on fire at what we assumed lay before us. We had two teenagers on the team, Cody and Maggie, who were looking for more than just the average “community service credits” to complete high school. More is definitely what they received.

We laughed and joked all the way to the airport. We met Mason and Paul at SFO as they came from another town far away from our own. Having waved goodbye to our loved ones we passed through security and set out on our journey.

First leg; 9 hours of traveling.

Day rolled into night and night back into day. We arrived in Miami on time and drug our tired, sorry butts through the multiple terminals until we settled on gate 24, our new home for the next hour. The tantalizing smells coming from a coffee shop across the way filled our senses and before long we joined the throng of local business travelers drinking coffee, eating pastries and pretending our minds were in the same time zone.

While boarding our flight for the last leg of our journey, I quickly noticed a different mood or demeanor aboard this plane. Gone were the happy, laughing families headed to Miami for a week at South Beach or Disney World. In its place were weary Mission group travelers and grumpy looking businessmen. The flight was quiet and uneventful, we all found a certain irony in the “corn muffin” snack we were given en route to Port au Prince.

Landing in Port-au-Prince it was evident we were no longer in the United States. Uniformed personnel everywhere, passengers ushered like cattle from one place to the next eventually landing in line for immigration to check our documents. Having heard many a horror story about this process I watched intently as the officer checked documents, asked questions, occasionally rolling his eyes and waving on to the next victim. There were only two of them and both seemed like a DMV worker on a bad day.

Finally it was our turn, grabbing Cody we walked up, papers in hand ready to do battle with the icy stare of the immigration agent. He looked me in the eye, stared at my documents, looked at Cody, stared at his documents, stamped them both and waved us through. Not a word passed between us. Seriously? I was shocked! It was nothing as we had been warned. In and out in 15 minutes.

Now here is where you learn the importance of keeping an eye on your bag, like you are told in every airport in every major metropolitan city in America. In Haiti, you need to be the first to grab your bag as it comes off the line. If you aren’t the first to your bag there is a Haitian in a red shirt waiting to grab it for you. Once this happens they want money for handling the bag. It’s that simple. Any job no matter how small means an income for these people. Just a dollar, that’s all it takes. One dollar. If you say yes to grabbing the bags, ten of them will argue over whose claim it is. Its quite shocking at first, but what would you do to feed your family in a country the government has basically left behind?

Luggage gathered we were met by Jackson our church appointed liaison, who had a crew of his own handling our bags. Once identified as being attached to our group the other baggage handlers moved aside out of respect and allowed us all to travel unimpeded to our awaiting vehicles. Arriving at the vehicles we were greeted by two more members of UMVIM (United Methodist Volunteers In Mission) with great big hugs and giant Haiti Hello’s. For our group it was a welcomed sight and tensions eased a bit after the bombardment of hustling for bags from men just trying to earn a buck.

The ride through Port-au-Prince to the guest house was eye-opening to say the least. Devastation, filth, and concrete dust hung in the air. Everything here is built from concrete as wood is a premium. Also concrete handles the bombardment of seasonal hurricanes better than wood products. The roads through the main city were filled with giant pot holes and piles of garbage, abandoned cars and street venders. Some roads had pavement, others were dirt, while some where a battered combination of both. City streets were filled with people, cars, tap-taps and motorcycles. There appears to be no traffic laws as drivers went where they wanted when they wanted with nothing more than the tap of a horn. In Haiti the horn is used the way it was originally intended, to warn you of an upcoming vehicle. Much different from here in the United States where it is considered an insult associated with poor judgement. While stopped trying to wedge our way between another vehicle and motorcycle our vehicle was bum rushed by a handful of children and a few adults. The children with their hands out saying; hello friend, god bless you friend, may I have a dollar? The adults selling bracelets and necklaces or water. We had been warned not to give anything, no matter what for fear of the chaos it would evoke. Yet every fiber of your being wants so desperately to help the children.

The immediate area was dirty, crowded, and smelled of sewage in some spots, but there seemed to be a strange harmony, or rhythm to the controlled chaos surrounding us. We wound our way through the street and alleys, collapsed concrete buildings and fences, eventually driving by a “tent city” that remained in effect. The tent city was at one time an organized neat row of fabric buildings but now were relegated to disgusting shanties and I found it hard to understand how people could live that way. That of course is the ugly, privileged, I am better than you American coming from inside; in hindsight you make the best with what you are given and try to forge ahead. Its human nature. Our driver told us many have deserted the tent cities and are finding better housing but for every family that leaves there are many more taking their place. Crime is rampant inside the tent cities and gangs are claiming areas as their own.

The smell of burning plastic, paper and rubber hung heavy over the area as well. Our diver apologized to us for all we had seen along with the smells. I thought it odd he was apologizing, but what I failed to think about at the time was; this was his home. He remembers the way Haiti used to be, a place of pride for himself and many of his countrymen. It must be sad to see his own people suffering day after day.

The streets climbed upwards, they grew more narrow. Still lined with merchants selling their wares, people bustling about, make shift repair shops, fabricating materials in ally ways the place was alive with activity! It was exciting. In all the dreary colors one thing repeatedly stood out and continued to stand out throughout the trip. The bright, clean pressed, sharply put together uniforms adorned by school children walking in groups around every corner.

I checked in on Cody from time to time during the drive. He was quiet and reserved looking at everything that passed our way. He Had Maggie with him so they were both sharing the very same experience. I was glad they were together, our families have known each other for many years and that simple familiarity goes along way in a foreign place.

We drove by entire blocks of housing crumbled to the ground, tarps covering some with people still living in what was left of their homes. It continued endlessly up the hillside as we rose. Yet there they were, school children, neat, clean and fresh as a daisy. Bright yellow, Blue and grey uniforms all markers of the schools they attended. it was awesome! A smile and wave would get you the same greeting in return. One last turn of a corner and we had arrived. Mission accepted…

The guest house. (to be continued)

Feeling broken

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Where did you go?

Who have you become?

I feel as though I don’t know you anymore. As though a stranger has newly entered my life, yet nothing could be further from the truth. I find myself filled with remorse, anger, compassion and hatred all at the same time.  Realizing I shall no longer defend your outrage. I can no longer bear the brunt of destruction you leave behind. Cleaning up your emotional toil in both cumbersome and tiring. You are like a pebble tossed into a pond.  The original hit was you, then slowly you sink to the bottom for safety, while leaving others to ride the waves, praying they don’t drown, hoping to survive.

What made you this way? The person I remember has always been a little angry, somewhat gruff, yet once alone you were charming, and funny.  Somewhere, somehow you made a conscious decision to change for the worse.  You can continue to place blame, to point crooked fingers, but in the end it rides squarely upon your shoulders.

You claim all is not fair, life is not fair, you bellow that nothing is ever done correctly, and you regale how much better life would be without you.  Then flipping as a switch you are back to normal.  On/off, on/off, the effects fleeting at best, but back to normal none the less.  Your emotions can be felt as the constant ticking of a time bomb.  There is no one left to defuse you.

To this I say; There will be no more sleepless nights worrying about your state of mind. I shall portray that of mediator no more. You shall never yell at someone I love again with out serious repercussion.  I will no longer defend absurdity under the guise of being elder. You have chipped the very last fragment of love from my heart. If you wish to be gone from this world than so be it.  You are gone in my eyes, your soul has left my heart, I am empty when it comes to you.

Feeling broken…….

Maybe you were right after all,  Life is not fair.

Faces from our past….

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They leave behind families who know nothing of how, or why. Often misunderstood they rise to the challenge everyday and wish nothing more than the ability to return home to the country they love. Proud, brave and sometimes terrified, they perform under stress as no other. Some becoming what legends are made of, others lives are changed forever. 

It takes a special person to perform their particular duties and as Americans we should show nothing but respect not only for those who return, but for the fallen as well.  It has often been said that our WWII veterans were the greatest generation.  They sacrificed all for our country.  If those men and women set the standard then I believe all fallen soldiers should be held with the same regard.  None of them wished to perish, none of them woke up one particular morning thinking today is my last day. None of them asked to be subjected to the horrors of war, to losing fellow soldiers and thier friends.   They all knew the job that laid before them.  They all knew the risks associated, and yet each and every one of them stepped forward with honor and integrity, putting aside personal feelings of dread to complete a task for you, for us, for themselves and for our country.

Can you say you would do the same thing?

Wont you join me today as I hang my head and humbly say a prayer to all soldiers lost in many theatres across the world over multiple generations? 

It is after all Memorial day-not national BBQ day.

To all soldiers in every branch of service I say;  Thank you for your service to our country and may God bless you, and your family.

Remember the fallen, respect those who remain. 

I can’t

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I hate the phrase “I can’t”! Really, it should be stricken from use in all societies! Think about it, I CAN’T! It really, truly means “I won’t”. It means you made up your mind there is no possible way to participate, take part in, or just do what you have been asked.

Children use this phrase the most. After careful examination of the issue or task at hand most usually find out they “can”. In our house nothing drives me crazy more than a child that says “I can’t”. Nothing drives me even crazier than a parent that says; its ok honey I understand. Which empowers the child to fail on a consistent basis because it is now a learned habit!

What if our entire civilization centered on that phrase? What if all we knew was failure? What if every time something needed to be done, we all stood up at once and said “I can’t”?

Every society is filled with individuals that continue to rise to the challenge. People who know nothing but success. We worship them, we sit back in our Lazy-Boys, turn to our spouses and usually spout some useless dribble like; I could have done that or if I had been born with a silver spoon in my mouth I would have succeeded also. But what is the real issue here? The real issue is that you have resigned yourself to living the life of “I can’t”.

Now I suppose there is the argument between “I can’t” and ” I won’t”. There are many of you out there that admittedly “wont” act when called upon. “Wont” try something new. “Wont” go that extra mile out of fear. But I argue this, “Wont” is not the same as “Cant”. People who claim they “wont” attempt something usually know their limitations. Most individuals I have run into through my 17 years of working side by side with type “A” personalities will use the “wont” not as an excuse, but because at some point in there lives “I can” allowed them the opportunity to try. They wont, because they know just how far they can push themselves; this comes from experience, having tried different measures of success numerous times in the past.

I know there are a thousand excuses for “I can’t”. A thousand hypotheticals; If someone asked you to jump off a cliff wouldn’t you say “I can’t”? My answer would be; no I would say “I wont” jump off the cliff because I know it would be detrimental to my health. Having learned the meaning off pain from falling out of a tree house as a child.

So don’t bore me with that crap.

I speak from experience. I used to be the guy who sat back and said; I could do that, without any follow through. Then one day, a long time ago I decided to become a firefighter. Everyone I knew told me it would never happen. I was uneducated, to old (they only hire 18-22 year olds you know), fat and out of shape. I heard all the excuses. Just about the time I was ready to spout an “I can’t”, I woke up and told myself “I can”. I can do anything I put my mind too. I can succeed at what ever is put before me. There is no failure when you have tried and given it 100% effort. Win lose or draw you could, you did, you learned, you survived and by not caving into “I can’t” ideology. You succeeded.

So my question is this, what kind of world would we live in if there was no such phrase as “I can’t”? If we all lived by the rule of “I can try” at least once.

Once……..

On vacation?

theycallmebetty1 Comment

 

Vacation.  The feel of sand between your toes, waves crashing upon some forgotten shore, the serenity of being one with your surroundings. Also one with an ice-cold beer..

or

Sweat pouring from your brow as you traverse a narrow trail on a ridgeline at 8000 feet.  The air is crisp and so are your thoughts because at this height you feel closer to heaven.  To your left unparalleled views, to your right a crevasse that would surely scare even the most steadfast of climbers. But up you go, you are living life to the fullest, you have one week of vacation per year that’s all yours and you are living it up! Beaches are for the weak.

or

Really? One more monument to go, man my dogs are barking!  Cant everyone else just go on without me? I know this is the trip of a lifetime, but do we have to use my entire lifetime up right now? Ok I am coming, just one more monument; right?  Then we can go back to the hotel bar and start self medicating this foot pain away!  Never knew I was going to take a week off to walk a thousand miles while sightseeing  our nations tributes to history! What a moron, I wish I was at a beach some where.

Is this what vacation means to you? Does any of this sound familiar or ring true? Well these were actual examples of vacations I have been on in the past.  Times that were special in their own ways.  Moments I will cherish and remember always.

So where did Betty go this past week?  What kind of vacation did I embark upon?  Was it mind-blowing fun, thought-provoking, or calm and relaxing? Nope! It was none of those things at all!  It was hard work, “Survivor” like, mentally taxing and filled with all the challenges a parent could possibly handle!

I went to the fair!  Yep that’s right boys and girls Betty packed up her things, loaded up the kids and all their animals and headed to the fair!  Why you ask?  Well let me enlighten you; here in good old Redneckville USA we take great pride in our animals! Some would even say we love our animals first, family second!  Now hold on a minute it’s not like that you crazy fool! Kids around these parts are all part of a national organization (no not the Nazi youth movement you filthy animal) called 4-H.  In 4-H kids learn about raising animals for commercial markets along with developing breeding programs, ultimately enabling or teaching them the ability to carry on farming.  As kids get older and enter high school many of them join FFA or Future Farmers of America.  With hard work and acquired skills there are endless scholarship possibilities for these young go getter’s.

So we packed up our little 4-Hers, loaded up their animals and headed to the local fair for a week of washing. trimming, showing, and eventually selling their animals at auction.  The kids receive a check for all the hard work which is placed back into the bank to start next years project.  With a little luck and a lot of hard work a kid could have enough money saved by college to pay for a years worth of school.  Throw in a few scholarships and you can plainly see the advantage to this program.

I am the leader of the pig group (insert snort, chuckle here) and we arrived with 6 clean and happy pigs!  They laid around and let thousands of people gaze upon their little snouts.  Our kids from the group did a great job of enticing young ones to step up and pet the pig ( a phrase that means something entirely different in other circles) they also explained how pigs are raised, what they eat, where they sleeps and why they like to cover themselves in mud. The fair always reminds I take for granted my country upbringing as I answer questions from parents and children who have spent their entire lives inside the city limits.  It really is a bubble we place ourselves inside.

Back to the fair…

So the fair.  What can I possibly say about spending my week’s vacation at the fair.  I know I have said this before but I am going to say it again: (old guy moment) In my day the fair didn’t cost you an arm and a leg!  In my day you didn’t need to give blood just to purchase a corn dog!  When I was a kid I could go to the fair with 40 bucks on Monday and be using the last of it on Friday. That is a whole week of rides and corn dogs, cinnamon rolls and soda for $40.00!  Today $40.00 will get you 4 corn dogs and two beers then you better pony up at the ATM so maybe just maybe you might have enough extra cash to buy your way off the grounds.  Got the kids with you, just leave your wallet at the main gate cause your cashing in your IRA’s to pay for this excursion!  $29.00 dollars for a carnival ride wristband! Times that by four and you can see how this trip can rapidly force you to file chapter 11 bankruptcy protection. Speaking of carnival rides, one thing that hasn’t changed over the 37 years I have been going to the local fair is the carnival ride operators or “carnies”.  These toothless gems of salesmanship and lack of hygiene still rule the roost.  Long hair, beards, toothless grins, scrawny beat up demeanor, most looking as though they just popped out of a heroine coma long enough to pull their shift on the Zipper.  What would a carnival area be without them,  and yet we trust our children with their safety.  If you saw any one of these gents strolling down the street you would cross to the other side and not make eye contact.  You would lean over to your kid and whisper “remember when I told you about strange people to stay away from? Theres your example”.  STRANGER DANGER-STRANGER DANGER-STRANGER DANGER!!!!

I am sure Carnies are really nice people deep down inside, heck catch one right between coming down off the coke and mellowing out on some refer and you got yourself a free prized stuffed animal to take home!  Whoop Whoop!! It’s nice to see some things never change…..

Besides the animals, food, and carnival rides our fair still has the charming buildings filled with award-winning arts and crafts.  I have always found other people’s creativity or lack there of, interesting.  There are hog calling contests, horse shows, sheep shows, goat and cattle shows.  Rabbitts, chickens, turkey, and quail.  It really was a great week of people watching, and developing better interpersonal skills.

Definition: I drank beer and bullshitted with other parents for an ungodly amount of time.

The best part of all?

Watching the kids smile, make new friends,  have fun and create memories that will last a lifetime!

 

Betty’s Words of Wisdom

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A vacation doesn’t need to be on a desert island far, far away; or some destination you have always wished to visit.  A vacation can be as simple as pulling back from current responsibilities, relieving some mental pressure, regrouping your thoughts and allowing you brain to rest. 

Betty is back, more to follow..    🙂

Betty’s Words of Wisdom…

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Never underestimate the power you hold within you to persevere, adapt and overcome.  Saying you can’t means you have already lost the battle.  Carry on that is all…

Stay at home dads

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CNN Headline April 30, 2012

Stay-at-home dads: More men choosing kids over career!

Really? More men choosing their children over a career? What is this world coming too!!

Among fathers with a wife in the workforce, 32% took care of their kids at least one day a week in 2010, according to the U.S. Census Bureau, which looked at families with children under 15 years old. That’s up from 26% in 2002.

Holy cow stop the presses!!! Did I read that right! 32 freaking percent took care of their children ONE WHOLE DAY A WEEK in 2010!!! ONE * WHOLE * DAY * A * WEEK!!!! I am flabbergasted! Shocked! Speechless!

Well HURRAY for all men across the country! That is right guys, put down your beer cans, drop your poker cards, shut off Monday night football, switch of NASCAR because 32% of you are putting in the effort at least one day a week! 32% of you are carrying the overburdened workload so the other 68% may continue roaming freely! Traveling through life without a parental care in the world! Continue down life’s road as nothing more than smoking hot sex machine sperm donors! Why? Because you fellas (32%) are caring for your children ONE WHOLE DAY A WEEK!

And up from 26% the year before, well…

Good for you!

Now for the what should have been the main headline.

Of those with kids under the age of 5, 20% of dads in 2010 were the primary caretaker

Still a pathetic number. Listen I get it! We live in a biased society that thrives on male success while underscoring the vast achievements of women across this great nation. Salaries are still skewed in favor of male gender. Women still don’t hold a major market share in leadership roles. (Although I just finished an interesting article in Forbes covering the rise of women in powerhouse positions.)

It is assumed; no it is expected that when a couple starts a family the woman will automatically stay home to raise the children and take care of the house. She birthed them, so she’s raising them; and if a man does stay home he is automatically labeled a deadbeat. Of course the number one excuse always thrown out there is; My wife makes more money than me so it was a logical choice. Although I don’t fault that explanation, don’t use it as an excuse! Would you hire a babysitter with a short temper, no patience and sleep apnea to watch your children? Of course not! Your decision as a couple, as a family is always based on wants and needs. Yes you need the extra money the leading breadwinner (male or female)in the household can bring, but do you want to raise your children? A resounding yes is usually the answer! If you didn’t want to raise your children; let me rephrase. If you felt uncomfortable and ill-equipped to handle raising your children, it wouldn’t matter how much money you or your spouse earned, you wouldn’t take on the challenge.

Now lets address the other portion of this article that chaps my hide.

Choosing kids over career!

I am not so dense as to misunderstand the sentiment. You are definitely choosing one for the other. But for some reason it still chafes me when I read articles of this fashion. Raising children is a career choice. You are the CEO, CFO and human resources officer all rolled into one! There truly is no greater calling! Oh I have seen those ridiculous stories about cost of living, salary vs overtime, and benefits all leading to a “mom” (never a parent or dad) earning $240,000 a year if someone was to pay her.

Why are we as a society so shallow that we need to put a cost on raising our children? As if raising our children were taking this dream salary straight from our pockets! As if having children has barred us from financial prosperity and we should all be upset with our little bundles of joy! Poppycock!

So to all you lazy, deadbeat, sperm donor dads that make no effort at all! You should be the ones making up the 32%. One damn day a week is not asking too much! Get off your ass and go see you kid. Good bad or otherwise, man up, take some responsibility and rejoin humanity. Just because you know how to have sex, apparently don’t know or understand the premise of a condom, or chose to have kids without choosing the responsibility associated, doesn’t mean you’re granted permission to skip out on your kids.

To all you dads that make an effort with your children while working 40/50/60 hours a week. Let me just drop this little bug into your ear. You get one chance! Your children grow up so fast! They look up to you, and look forward to seeing you when you get home. Put away the bad mood, financial blues, and teeth grinding. Put a smile on your face and spend some quality time with your children. Mold them, love them and show them the way to a better life. Better than you could ever have achieved for yourself. Its your primary responsibility, make the right choice, its your duty as a dad. You accepted it the minute you agreed to have children. You embraced it the minute your child was born. Dont let time and the trappings of life weaken your resolve.

To all you dads who are the current 20%, primary care givers! My dream is to see a day where that number is on par with women. A world where the position is split 50/50 and men do it with absolute dedication and pride. A world where commercials about household products, baby food, children’s clothing and all things associated with caring for a family are shown with dad in the lead role as well as mom. Our children love us, our children need us and yes our children want us in their lives every bit as much as mommy! There is no such thing as perfection in child rearing. If their was both parents would stay home raising their children to the highest standards of education, humanity, ethics, and compassion. Since that’s not possible its our job as parents to fill those voids, doing the very best we can with the tools we are given. But understand this; as a dad you are valued, as a dad you are worthy, and as a dad you are more of a man than most.