Tag: kids

Haiti Mission Trip 2012 part 6: Who let the dogs out?

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Sunday June 10th

Awoke this morning around 4 am to the sounds of dogs barking out front.  It was a good thing  they woke me because there was so much sweat trapped in my cot that taking a moment from my slumber to put on a life-preserver was indeed a sound decision.

Laying there pondering what on earth these animals could have to bark about for hours on end I was at a loss when suddenly like a brick it hit me. The dogs are just having a conversation. We know dogs are very social animals and enjoy the company of others, so wouldn’t it make sense that after spending the day hiding from the heat just like we do, at night its time to socialize? So with that mental image I am fairly sure the conversation goes a little something like this;

Dog 1: (bark) Hey I am a dog!

Dog 2: (bark) Hey I am a dog too!

Dog 1: (bark bark) Get out of here, really?

Dog 2: (Growl, bark bark)Yeah man! I am really a dog!

Dog 1: (Howl) Where are you at brother?

Dog 2: (bark, bark, bark) I am over here man!

Dog 3: (bark) Hey are you guys dogs?

Dog 2: (bark, bark) Yeah man I am a dog!

Dog 1: (bark) I am dog too!

And well you can see how the conversation just blossoms from this point on.

I digress..

Sunday morning; there is no work for our crews today.  Instead we are going to worship with our hosts the Leveque congregation whose church we are disassembling.  Paul has graciously offered to give the sermon and assist with communion.  He is a little nervous, (he says he is not but it shows on his otherwise bubbly face) and rightfully so, it’s quite an honor to speak in front of another congregation and for myself personally the language barrier would have been hard to overcome even with our interpreter.

Another wonderful breakfast has been prepared by the magic chef Madame Lulu, afterwords we disappear into our rooms only to assemble moments later dressed in our very best clothes.  We all brought slacks, skirts, nice shoes and the group consensus was to wear our UMVIM shirts for the service.   All of us are excited to gather as one with the people in this community, it will become another moment of bonding, and hopefully forging our souls together.

Before walking downstairs people begin to arrive.  Families come out of the woodwork dressed in their very best, bright yellows, pressed whites, and shiny shoes.  The women have gone to great lengths with hairstyles, ribbons and jewelry.  The young girls are perfect, straight from a Normal Rockwell painting, if Norman Rockwell brushed in some debris and banana trees.  It is painfully obvious how important Church is to these people.  The only way I can explain the social order of things here would be to compare it 1800-1950’s America.  Church/God then family and work. In awe of their priorities when it comes to work, family and religious beliefs I find myself ashamed at how we as a society have let our personal desires, greed and lack of  morals lead away from the family unit.

Walking down the stairs we are met with numerous greetings of “Bonjour”accompanied by brilliant smiles.  The children are always happy to see our faces but Mason and Maggie’s seem to be the main focus of attention.  Everyone shuffles into one of the classrooms which has temporarily been transformed into a church.  Gone are the classroom desks and papers, in their place are 6 rows of pews hand placed and straight as an arrow.  In front there is a small podium and table with a cloth covering what at home would be the bread and communion chalice. In Haiti because of the many illnesses one can acquire, bread remains the same but wine/grape juice is in dispensable shot glass sized cups then covered for safety.

The service begins and it is glorious! Our group is given the honor of being seated in the first two rows with our interpreter sitting next to the pastor translating every word that is spoken.  Caz does a wonderful job translating along with singing! Before long we are all trying to sing the songs in French-Creole.  Failing miserably but trying just the same. By the way; Haitian sing! They sing while they are working, they sing while they are playing, and they sing loud to the heavens above while together in church.

An hour and a half goes by in the blink of an eye; Paul has done a wonderful job of spreading goodwill between our groups.  Handshaking, smiles and laughter precede the service as we all meet in the hallway out front.  Some of us break off playing catch with the children (frisbee, tennis ball, etc) , Mason and I put on a juggling act, while Paul turns on the bubble machines to the delighted screams of “bubbles” from all the children.  Slowly families begin to dwindle away, leaving us to mosey upstairs, undress from  our Sunday best, throw on some shorts and prepare for a Sunday excursion.

Because Sunday is a day of rest a Tap-Tap driver had been provided for us so we may go off and recreate for the afternoon.  The group has been given many beaches/restaurants to choose from for our excursion and the unanimous decision is a destination known as Club Indigo.  Having heard wonderful things about this place from our Hosts at the guest house, our group was excited to lay our eyes upon the crystal clear Caribbean waters while dining at an all you can eat buffet.  The ten of us also decided that Sunday should be a day of rest for the fabulous Madame Lulu and our two wonderful interpreters Marcanie and Caz. The word is spread and our offers accepted. We all gather at noon, swim shorts on, sun screen applied, back packs loaded with essentials, just add one crazy, cool Tap-Tap driver and shake! The perfect recipe for a perfect day!

Our Tap-Tap drivers name was (guessing once again so its Phonetic) Yalaylay. Hired to be our on site transportation at night should an emergency occur he was acquired for our daytime transportation to the beach.  Yalaylay was tall and lanky, friendly and charismatic.  Carrying himself with the cool laid back style one would expect from an islander, he quickly won over the entire crew and the sound of his name could be heard echoing across the compound both morning and night. Y A L A Y L A YYYYYYY!!!!

Our group loaded into the rear of the Tap-Tap, squeezing into every available space! Cody and Maggie sat in the front seat, Caz and I were the last to load and sat (barely) at the rear overhanging the pavement.  The ride was fantastic! Yalaylay cranked up the radio (Bob Marley) and took to navigating our way up the highway as best he could.  Some of us noticed right away when the truck reached traveling speed it would slowly drift to the right only to be brought back to center abruptly.  There were times I wondered what would happen if the steering actually failed on this ride? Then I would remind myself to relax, put my OSHA (my nickname) tendencies aside and enjoy the experience. 

OSHA: The United States Occupational Safety and Health Administration (OSHA) is an agency of the United States Department of Labor. Congress established the agency under the Occupational Safety and Health Act, which President Richard M. Nixon signed into law on December 29, 1970. OSHA’s mission is to “assure safe and healthful working conditions for working men and women by setting and enforcing standards and by providing training. (Wikipedia)

My nickname was earned after the first of several discussions in regards to safety both on the job site and with our teams’ personal health throughout the week.  As the appointed EMS team member and assisting John C with planning and organizing on site work during the day the name stuck.  I wore it proudly for the entire week, it was earned with simple questions such as these…

Remember team, if you are not peeing, you are not hydrated.  Pee checks are at breakfast, lunch and dinner.  (Little did I know one member would take this a little too seriously; but I will cover that later.)

When we are working on the building keep your head on a swivel, look up when entering, look down, and look all around.  We are here for a very short time and I am on vacation so no one gets injured. Understood? (This advise worked out well, only two major accidents. The team leader fell from a ladder my son was manning and apparently I couldn’t take my own advice ending up injured by Tuesday.)

 The highway headed north was littered with cars, pickup trucks and semi’s trucks or bobtails, all having been involved in head on collisions. (have I mentioned they drive crazy in Haiti?) Most wrecks looked fatal, and it amazed me this metal carnage was just cast aside, left to rot.  We traveled through a few towns along the coast, the weather was perfect, the sky was blue and the ocean looked amazing.  After an hour we arrived at our destination, a gate guarded by grounds personnel leading back into lush vegetation along a cobble stoned roadway.  Entering into the clearing Club Indigo began to emerge from under the palms.  It resembled the set of Fantasy Island; White plantation style open air buildings all facing the ocean with a grand entryway.  Slowly traveling by the front we headed into an open field where all vehicles were parked.  The U.N. comprised the majority of vehicles in the lot this day.  Both official and unofficial transports neatly parked rows, this appeared to be the main choice for U.N. soldier relaxation.  This of course kicked old OSHA into overdrive.  After hearing many stories about U.N. soldiers and their “above the law” attitudes I found myself lagging behind making sure our entire group stayed together as one. 

$40.00 dollars apiece was our one way ticket to beach and buffet! Strolling through the main area past the bar, along the walkway by the pool one could distinctly pick out different languages being tossed about the pool deck.  I picked up quite a bit of Portuguese, a little Spanish and of course French-Creole. But the main thing I noticed was no conversations were taking place in English.  Our group strolled along the beach until we came upon a coconut tree with a few chairs underneath.  Gathering a few more chairs to claim our territory, most of us were stripped to our swimsuits and in the water before the sand settled.  It was warm, clear, salty and beautiful.  We swam out to the buoys then back several times. Some floated around while others dove under looking for shells and fish; Standing in the water felt like a world away from where we were no more than 90 minutes prior. To be quite truthful it felt a little shameful. Who were we to come here and act like vacationers? We came here to work, to help the impoverished, to create a physical and spiritual difference in not only our own lives but the citizens for who we serve; The people of Leveque.

Before I had the chance to become too sanctimonious someone hollered; time to hit the buffet and all those feelings were temporarily dissipated! I needed to eat.  Funny thing about a buffet, it can be the best food you have ever eaten or it can be the worst thing to cross your plate.  You never hear someone say; oh the buffet was adequate. Until that moment we had no idea just how spoiled we become towards Madame Lulus food until we found ourselves faced with a buffet stock piled with the very same creations.  All of us looked at each other and grinned as we piled food upon our plates.  Sitting down at our table, salivary glands drooling, with one bite our palates quickly learned the difference.  As we slowly picked through our half rate grub, I looked up to see Madame Lulu smiling at me. She knew, she knew it was crap, she knew her food was the gold star this half way house for Haitian chefs aspired to become. She knew it and yet she still blushed as each and every one of us pledged our allegiance to this woman’s golden spatula.  We were all grateful for her presence and enjoyed being around her, and even though the food was poor (meaning she deserved to be served much better), there wasn’t one of us that weren’t glad she joined us for a much deserved day off.

We all had a fantastic afternoon, swimming and playing. Yalaylay, Marcanie, Caz and Lulu swam to their heart’s content while, singing, laughing and frolicking with us in the water.  We discovered Marcanie couldn’t swim, yet he bravely waded out as far as his fear would let him go.  Maggie tried her best to teach him to swim but alas Marcanie got no further than sinking like a rock.  At one point Caz snuck up behind him, grabbed him, and then drug him out deep.  Marcanie looked like Scooby Doo, legs and arms flailing as he walked across the water after Caz let him go! Cody never came out of the water continuing his search for shells he swam all day long!  He came up with some very interesting looking crustaceans which made their way home.  Maggie, Jan, Heather, Mason, John C, John G, Anne, Paul and I spent the rest of the afternoon switching between lounging and swimming. 

As I sat on the beach I jotted down a thought;

Sitting on a white sandy beach straight from the scenes of a Rogers and Hammerstein musical I have found myself gazing upon 13 other people all happily frolicking in the ocean.  9 of them are so very far from home. Yet they are here together these 13 people; they don’t speak the same language, they don’t all share the same passions, but they are becoming friends. No longer are they strangers or acquaintances, no longer do they wander this earth unaware of the other. They have been brought together, united as one.  For these 13 people now hold a bond that no one can change.

Haiti….

As for the 14th member of this illustrious crew (me); He feels extremely honored to have been given the opportunity to know them all.  He feels especially honored to know one of them in particular, for that person fills his heart with endless pride.

His son is showing signs of becoming a man, his sense of humor is developing, his timing and delivery are being perfected, and the ability to tie the two together at the perfect place and time is quite evident. These attributes are allowing him to meld into any situation with ease. A quality many never develop, leaving them often times misunderstood.  Watching him interact with the others from our team I feel as though he is liked by all, admired by some, and loved by only one.  His dad…..

 In the blink of an eye it was time to depart our little slice of heaven.  The thirty year old, slightly run down former Club Med resort had been a Caribbean delight for us overheated mainlanders.  We all changed, gathered up our belongings, took the last few pictures that needed to be taken and headed off to our waiting Tap-Tap. We were some of the last to leave due to the U.N. soldiers suiting up, loading up and departing about an hour prior. (A little scary considering they had all been drinking most of the day.)   This of course left us feeling like we received every penny of the forty dollars we shelled out to bask under the sun on this gorgeous stretch of coastline.

The ride home was fairly quiet although Heather’s hair continued to be a great source of fun. As we traveled down the road the red mane of hers would engulf all who unknowingly traveled into its path! She became fondly known as chicken head by the girls from Chowchilla or Cell block C. 

Anne, Jan, Heather and Maggie while living the dream in our concrete bunkers had taken to referring to it as the Chowchilla Women’s Correctional Facility thereby naming themselves the Chowchilla four or C-4.  Our nicknames were all earned on this trip and one of the reasons we bonded so well as a team. Our group’s sense of humor consistently played into making this trip what irreplaceable memories are made of. I miss that sense of camaraderie.

Arriving back at the compound we were met by the children all chanting Mason, Maggie and of course BUBBLLEESSSS! The generator was started, technology was charging, the kids were playing and each and every one of us found our own little spot to sit and reflect.  We all enjoyed another fantastic day together; another moment in time to be remembered forever.  Sitting on the balcony darkness slowly set in; once again we laughed, told jokes, and thought about the work that lay ahead. 

Tomorrow is Monday; let the real work begin….

Haiti Mission Trip 2012 part 5: Bonswa!

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Saturday 9th 2012

Another sleepless night! Currently three nights in a row and I am not sure how much longer my body can take this lack of sleep. The problem for me remains the same, Haiti never rests! Being a little Haiti naïve, I was under the assumption that being away from the main city life would be a little slower, a smidge quieter, yet nothing could be further from the truth! Behind our compound are houses hidden in the mango/banana trees that appear to be the collection point for those who never sleep! Music like that of a Caribbean polka pumping from the residence all to the hoots and hollers of its inhabitants!  Lying in my bunk sopping in sweat, cursing the heavens above because there is no escape from this dreadful noise! My ear plugs have eluded me in the dark, and I am afraid to wake the lucky ones while searching my bags with a flashlight.  As for all the music I uploaded into my iPhone for just such an occasion; I made the mistake of storing everything using the “cloud”, and since all my data functions are disabled to keep from being charged an arm and a leg at AT&T it can’t be retrieved.  So all I have are eight songs placed directly onto my phones memory. Eight songs for eight days, yeah I’m screwed! Somewhere around 1 am exhaustion gets the better of me and I pass out, only to be rousted from bed at 3 am by the sounds of two dogs barking at each other! This continues for around an hour and is immediately replaced by the wonderful crows of chickens singing to the rising sun!  Now if all of that weren’t bad enough for yours truly; Marcanie started snoring around midnight and never quit.  Snoring in itself is not so bad, living in a firehouse with 4-6 other guys for 1/3 of my life, snoring is something you get used too.  But this man (Marcanie) is the king daddy of snoring, the Gandhi of bear growls, Lord of the buzz saw, the champion tree chopper, I am pretty sure some of those sounds could not legally be registered on a decibel meter! Long story short, another rough night and the hot Haitian coffee could not be poured soon enough.

Upside; Cody and Mason didn’t hear a thing (ahh to be young and able to pass out at the drop of a hat) they slept right through it all.  At least some of us received a welcomed night’s sleep. Everyone else was awakened at one time or another, dog barking seemed to be the complaint of choice.

Breakfast was at 7am on the nose and it smelled heavenly.  We were treated to spaghetti? I know it sounds strange right? Spaghetti for breakfast! But it was the best spaghetti ever! Nothing like what you would envision spaghetti to be, it was spicy, with vegetables and no sauce over the top! There was fruit and cereal, coffee and tea. The food was perfect.

 We gathered our tools, marching downstairs to meet with the incoming workers at 0800.  Today is Saturday which means it will be another half day of work for everyone.  Our goal this morning is to expose the steel trusses by removing the tin sheeting from the roof.  A few of us have high hopes that we may actually have a truss or two on the ground before noon, but that may be nothing more than wishful thinking.  Caz, Marcanie, Pastor Charles and the ten of us meet inside the church. A quick safety briefing is given along with mentioning what our goals are for the day.  We collectively decide that Opening up the concrete windows to create air flow and removing all the tin sheeting on the roof is our goal.  Everyone is pumped. Excited and ready to go! Once the concrete windows are knocked out with sledge hammers we can begin on the roof.  The Haitian crew decides going onto the roof and removing tin from the outside is the best plan.  Mean while a different plan is taking shape which places ladders inside the exposed trusses as makeshift scaffolding, allowing us to work in the shade and not risk someone falling from the roof.  Yes the tins are bolted to the trusses but they are bolted on using J-hooks.  J-Hooks are just what they sound like; they are bolts in the shape of a “J”. With the nut outside on top of the roof, the “J” passes through the tin with the “j” portion grabbing a steel truss securing a piece of tin sheeting tightly.  This is where the four bolt cutters we brought with us come into play.  Instead of unbolting the hooks from above, we are having two crews safely move up and down the length of the building cutting “J” hooks from the inside using ladders as scaffolding. Safe, easy and fast it worked as planned! The tins came down one at a time, everyone (who wished to go up in the scaffolding) took turns cutting the “J” hooks as bolt cutting a couple of hundred of these things can become a little tiresome. It went fairly quickly and we finished before noon which allowed us ample time to formulate our plan for the beginning of the week.  The beams and trusses were next to come down starting Monday and we definitely were going to need some sockets or crescent wrenches for this project.  Realizing the deficiency in our tool cache Paul suggested that we head into Cabaret (the next town over)with an interpreter to retrieve these items from a local shop.  John G, Mason and a few of the Haitian workers wished to tag along as well.  It sounded like great fun and an adventure to boot. 

Cabaret (Creole: Kabarè) is a municipality in the Arcahaie Arrondissement, in the Ouest Department of Haiti. It has 63,450 inhabitants. During his dictatorship François Duvalier renamed it Duvalierville in 1961 and a megalomaniacal construction project was begun. The project failed, but the name was kept until Duvalier’s successor, his son Jean-Claude Duvalier, fled the country in 1986.

Marcanie took us across the street from the compound where we stood waiting for a Tap-Tap to drive by.  A few loaded Tap-Taps passed us by but finally after about ten minutes one happened to stop. It appeared to be loaded with too many people for our group to fit inside, but not thinking like a Haitian I was wrong. So with a long gaze and a long deep breath we all stepped forward to receive our first lesson from the University of Tap-Tap.  Pushing and shoving, jostling and contorting, we all squeezed on, in and even hung a little off to the side. It was unsafe, crazy and something that had my Spidey senses abuzz but it was exhilarating! We all loved the ride into town and couldn’t wait for another Tap-Tap ride back to the compound!

We arrived in the town of Cabaret to witness complete controlled chaos! In the center of town the markets were open, people were everywhere! Hustling, moving, buying and selling Cabaret was alive!  Our guides took us from tool shack to tool shack looking for a simple crescent wrench or some socket wrenches.  There wasn’t a free place to move or stand without running into, bumping or moving out-of-the-way of another person, vehicle or motorcycle. We traveled through side streets, down alley ways into areas where people were fixing cars and bikes, Marcanie took us everywhere and we talked with quite a few friendly and helpful individuals.  At one point we ended up in a two-story building that resembled a shabby apartment complex filled with building supplies. There were two men sitting in the front entry staring at us as we went upstairs and it was the only time I ever felt a little uncomfortable, on edge. It seemed as though they really didn’t want us inside. Just my opinion though, I could have read the situation wrong, but it sure felt that way.  In the end we arrived back at the first store we visited. (Isn’t it always that way?) Even though the store only had two crescent wrenches available it would be enough for the task at hand on Monday. While Paul haggled with the owner over the obvious inflated prices on our behalf, John G and I were drooling over the brand new Korean and Chinese manufactured motorcycles that were for sale in front of the store.  At one point the owner informed Marcanie we could purchase them for $1000.00 u.s. dollars.  I wanted so badly to purchase one on the spot, then cruise the streets of Haiti! Nothing would have been more exciting than traveling home knowing I survived Haiti’s traffic chaos on a motorcycle! But most importantly it would have been nice to go off on an afternoon cruise and discover a little Haitian culture on my own.  Before concluding our business with the local shop owner, the price had dropped to $950.00. I am pretty sure with a little haggling $800.00 would have left me the proud owner of a Haojin 125cc motorcycle.

The afternoon trip turned out to be quite an adventure! We had walked through Cabaret, met a handful of locals and strolled into a little store for a soda. I felt uncomfortable, out of my element and excited all at the same time. Slowly working our way through the crowds back uptown towards Tap-Tap central, our construction friends grabbed the first empty Tap-Tap we came upon. Ushering us inside and after back filling the Toyota truck bed with as many people as humanly possible we slowly made our way back to our temporary home in Leveque.

The entire group gathered upon our return for prayer and lunch.  Afterwards, Paul had made arrangements through a few of his new friends for our group with the assistance of an interpreter to go on a walk about. We heard of a village in the hills behind us and it seemed like a wonderful opportunity to stretch our legs while introducing ourselves to some of the local residents. Our walk took us alongside the highway past many shanties and half destroyed homes.  Residents sat or worked in their front yards under shade trees hiding from the heat of the day.  Most waved hello, some smiled sheepishly while others looked confused at our presence.

Turning left onto a washed out dirt road leading up a hillside, the road took us through groves of bananas and plantains.  The country side was a strange mixture of tropical beauty combined with modern-day refuse scattered about without care.  After witnessing the crowded, dirty streets of Port-au-Prince and the jammed hustle of local Cabaret this little excursion was a peaceful respite for our crew. After walking with and passing many locals we came upon a concrete irrigation/drainage ditch where many children were playing in the water.   There was one small pathway leading over it and we waited patiently as donkeys and motorcycles all carrying passengers made their way across. 

Once we crossed groups of small children seemed to arrive from nowhere. Running alongside us shouting, taking our hands, some would beg for food, some would beg for water, and others were just content to receive the attention we provided.  Around a mile in we encountered our first housing encampment. Built by a group called Samaritans Purse.

Samaritan’s Purse is a non-denominational evangelical Christian humanitarian organization that works worldwide to assist people in physical need alongside their Christian missionary work. The organization’s president is Franklin Graham, son of Christian evangelist Billy Graham. The name of the organization is based on the New Testament Parable of the Good Samaritan, in which Jesus uses a parable to teach people the second great commandment – how to “love thy neighbor as thyself”.

Samaritan’s Purse works in more than 100 countries around the world. International headquarters are in Boone, North Carolina, with additional U.S. facilities in Charlotte and North Wilkesboro, N.C. Affiliate offices are in Australia, Canada, Germany, Ireland, Hong Kong, Netherlands, and the United Kingdom. Field offices are located in some 20 countries across five continents.

The buildings were of many different sizes, some seemed to be small in the 14×16 foot range while others looked a little larger. There were central outhouses along with meeting halls.  At one end of the project sat rows of larger 20×60 building that for some reason reminded me of a Japanese internment camp from the 1940’s.  But they were all clean, neat and orderly.  Most were weather wrapped and it seemed every one that we saw had occupants.  Smiling and waving, we were always greeted with a smile and wave in return.

Moving farther up the hill while holding a small child’s hand I began to feel somewhat guilty.  We were walking into these peoples’ lives, staring at them, taking pictures as though they were some kind of circus attraction put there for our amusement.  Personally there were a few occasions where making eye contact was hard because of the guilt I felt inside.  My mind was racing, what were they thinking, how did they feel about themselves, about our intrusion, or the hand they had been dealt since the earthquake?  Were they grateful for the housing and assistance provided, or angry because many of the projects seemed unfinished? Had these Haitians truly been helped or hindered by the short-term assistance that eventually became less and less?  

At or around mile two we came upon another community erected by Mission of Hope. 

Mission of Hope: as an organization following Jesus Christ, we exist to bring life transformation to every man, woman, and child in Haiti. Mission of Hope was founded in 1998, and continues to serve Haiti daily by meeting the physical and spiritual needs of the Haitian population.

At Mission of Hope, we desire to serve the nation of Haiti, and see lives changed. Our passion is to see the hopeless find hope through Jesus Christ, and empower future generations through education to bring their country out of poverty. Mission of Hope website http://www.mohhaiti.org

The housing at the Mission of Hope complex was refreshing to say the least.  Houses were all neatly in a row with independent yards, fences and gates.  The inhabitants looked happy sitting on their porches and all welcomed us with large smiles and a hearty Bonswa! We arrived at a church and were warmly welcomed inside where we gazed at the simplicity of their building.  A place of worship built on rock in the middle of nowhere and it was perfect. We all enjoyed spending a few moments inside.  As we traveled onward through the project children swarmed us, grabbing our hands. Laughing at our faces and all of them wanted to play.  Taking a few moments at an assembly building we took pictures while playing with children.  It was nice, even Cody got into the action.  Everyone of us had a child taking very special interest in our arrival.  It was the first time during the walk I wasn’t feeling ashamed for my presence.

As we made the corner heading for home one of our guides pointed up the hill to a similar housing complex also built by Mission of Hope.  This one was strictly for the deaf community.  How wonderful to have an entire community of like-minded individuals living as one.  In America they would be considered handicapped and maybe in Haiti they still are but in this village no such phrase exists for they live, farm and work together as one. Inspiring.

While walking towards home I asked one of our interpreters Marcanie; Why if we say nothing to an individual in passing do I feel contempt coming from the person we passed? But if I smile and say Bonjour/ Bonswa (good morning/afternoon) as we pass every person lights up with a gigantic smile then waves?  Marcanie proceeded to tell me that by saying good morning or afternoon in passing you are showing a sign of respect towards that individual.  Out in the country is it expected to show respect not only for your elders but for all individuals as human beings or children of God.  If you choose not to say good morning or afternoon after making eye contact you are showing, superiority or you feel as though you are better than they are; which in turn is extremely disrespectful. Here in a country where hard times and strife seem to be an everyday occurrence, the simple principles that our country once lived by still exist.  Say good morning or good evening to a complete strangers in our country and you are looked at as though you are crazy. It is sad.

We arrived back to the Leveque Hilton to another wonderful meal prepared for us by Miss LuLu.  We prayed, we sat for devotional and then we once again partook in something that is sadly missing from our everyday lives.  Together like a family we sat on the porch and talked. Every single one of us, for three-four hours! We laughed, and joked, telling stories about our day, sharing our experiences, our personal feelings, the highs and the lows. It was pure bliss!

I want to build a patio and shade cover in our back yard so that after dinner, no one is allowed to go their separate ways, but instead all will meet for devotional time, laughing and talking about their day.  Just like we used too, as families before technology, dual working parents, after school sports and just plain old life got in the way..

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)

Haiti Bound….

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So it begins!!!!

2 hours and counting until my son and I leave the comforts of our humble abode, the loving arms of our family and travel just north of the equator, into the West Indies towards a little island country known as  The Republic of Haiti.

HAITI (noun)
The noun HAITI has 2 senses:
1. a republic in the West Indies on the western part of the island of Hispaniola; achieved independence from France in 1804; the poorest and most illiterate nation in the western hemisphere
2. an island in the West Indies

We will be traveling to the town of Thomas (pronouced To-mah) and working on a job site inside the town of Leveque (pronounced lu-VEK)

Never having been one to make a production out of saying goodbye. I feel the need to profess my profound feeling of pride as we (Cody and I) fall from societies “grid” for 10 days.  Helping people we have never known, making new friends, traversing a language barrier, working hard and hopefully coming back home with a feeling of accomplishment.

Leaving this country, should be an experience to say the least.  At 45 I am not what you would call a “well-traveled” man.  Unless you are referring to moving from state to state behind the wheel of a semi-truck.  Or traveling from north to south within the confines of our own state as part of the Operations of Emergency Services mutual aid response matrix.  If that is the case well then I am certainly “well-traveled” indeed.

Yet I am ready and willing to face the challenges that lay before us.  Excited to have our eyes opened to issues that have befallen a country strife with political corruption and greed.  Knowing the only source of revenue or aid comes directly from the churches.  A stream of assistance the government cannot control for fear of a people led uprising.

So with malaria Tuesday under our belt its officially travel Wednesday.  Our bags are packed well, our clothes have been treated, our snacks laid aside for the roughly 8-10 hour trip that lay before us.  We know not of what we will encounter or the problems that lay ahead.  Yet we are excited and raring to go!  As I sit here typing Cody is becoming one with his inner gamer for the last time. Clearing his head and preparing for the journey.  I too am doing the same but as we all know its writing that clears my head and readies me for the game.

I hope to find some service here and there, so I may blog about our journey.  If not there will definitely be a months worth of material when I return.

So without further ado….  In the skillfully crafted words of the late great Mel Blanc traveling through the wonderful medium of my favorite cartoon character Mr. Yosemite Sam!  Sooooo loonnnng suckers!!!  HAHAHAHAHAHA!

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……..

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..    🙂

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.

Dont poke a stick at the…..

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He travels down the stairs like an ogre, heavy and disheveled. Rubbing his bare feet on the floor there is no doubt where he’s been or where he is headed. Shoulders dropped low, slack-jawed and mopey; don’t make eye contact for he shall unleash vengeance upon all who gaze. The ogre heads to the basement hoping to find some suitable clothing for the day. He begins pawing at the clothes basket like a bear would a tree trunk looking for grubs. Left paw, right paw he swats what is not his out-of-the-way. An annoyance really, these clothes he cares little for, or where they may land. Finding a shirt and pair of shorts he then takes to climbing out of the basement with a gasp and a grumble. Those who stand in the kitchen run for fear of falling victim to his foul mood.

I ask him where he is headed? I do this for I am not scared, nor do I cower at his presence. I am like an old lady with a rolled up newspaper ready to swat the creature on the nose for snorting my direction. He mumbles something about being upstairs, followed by a mild tantrum in regards to his little brother not picking anything up in their bedroom. All of which had nothing to do with the original question, but I let it slide for now. He vanishes back up the stairs and I sit, listening to his heavy footsteps across the floor. I can almost tell you play by-play what he is doing by the foot shuffle that carries through the ceiling overhead.

The others have gathered again hoping to eat before oaf re-enters the kitchen. But this is not be. Slowly he comes back down, dressed and ready for school. The deep furrowed brow he held before seems to have lightened a bit, showing some of the finer features of his face. He pours a bowl of cereal, covers it with milk and sits at the bar staring intently. I ask what he is staring at and all I receive is a shrug. Let the ogre eat I say quietly to myself; let the ogre eat..

He finishes his bowl and walks towards the sink to deposit the fine china and utensils. As he passes a smile arises! It’s not much but the corners of his mouth did raise to an acceptable level. So much so that yes, it’s officially deemed a smile! We have turned the corner! Houston we DO NOT have a problem! It is going to be a good day! I calmly smile back, keeping calm as to not jump the gun on this one! Go easy Betty, go easy!

He finishes his morning chores, including feeding all the horses and comes into the house with a full-blown smile! Its like the sun shining right in our kitchen! The flowers all lean his way! The dogs drop to their bellies and bask in the warm glow! He shines! He shines brightly and his mother hugs him with equal warmth and affection.

The children gather at the rear door, lunches in hand, books at the ready. All are prepared for school and most are excited to go. Mom readies herself, one last sip of coffee and off they head into the world! All run towards the car as if it were a game of tag! They are excited for the oldest is driving them to school today. Something about a kid driving other kids that makes them giggle. Three are gone but one remains at the back door. He is still smiling, staring at me with rosy cheeks, hands in pockets, back pack slung across his shoulders. The warmth still radiating from his face, I can feel his love. I walk closer and he wraps his arms around me, squeezing with all his might. He tells me to have a good day, I do the same and with a wink he is off.

He is no longer the same ogre from earlier lumbering about dragging his club and grumbling. He no longer swats at things like an angry bear. What moment brought about the change? I believe it is an uninterrupted bowl of cereal that does the trick for this lad. As I turn and close the door I soon realize that I am the very same ogre prior to my morning cup of coffee. Hmmmmm???

The legacy continues..

Every 15 Minutes

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Steam rises from the hood as a faint wail can be heard off in the distance.  Sound is muffled, vision distorted he doesn’t understand the images placed before his eyes.  A kaleidoscope of colors passing through a spiderweb prism is all he can associate.  Looking to his right he finds a pair of shoes.  Not just any shoes but the Sketchers he bought his girlfriend for her 16th birthday.  Why? He wonders.  Why are they there on the seat of my car and how are they standing on their toes.  The improbability of shoes standing on their toes is more than his mind can process.  He shakes his head trying to clear the cobwebs but the alcohol in his system wont let it happen.  So he stares at the pink Sketchers in disbelief.  

The pink Sketchers he bought his girlfriend on her 16th birthday are in fact not standing on their toes.  They are still connected to her feet, feet that lead to her legs, legs that stretch through the windshield of his 2004 Nissan where she lay motionless on the hood. Dying.  The girl he loves is dying on the very hood that steam now rises from while a faint wail can be heard in the distance.

She cant seem to make it stop.  She doesn’t remember taking a nap, but now that she has found peaceful slumber she only wishes for what ever is dripping on her face to quit!  She dreams of water or syrup sliding across her eyes.  Swatting at the sticky substance she is not sure whether its real or part of her warm comfortable dream.  Then she feels it, starting out as a low uncomfortable burning, her dream translates it into fire.  Surrounding her, leaving her trapped yet somehow she knows better, fighting resisting the dream. Her eyes finally opened by the rush of adrenaline surging through her system, brought forward by the searing pain across her face. The sticky substance now identified is blood! She screams then screams again, taking in all the air her lungs will allow.  Her seat is covered in blood, the dashboard is covered in blood, her clothes are covered in blood.  Wait a minute; she thinks to herself.  Calm down and relax; is all she can say.  Her dads voice ringing in her ears for all the times she felt panicked and he calmed her down with those four little words.  Honey just “calm down and relax”.  She remembers getting in the car with her friend, they were headed to a friend’s house for a study group..  Wait her friend! He was driving them! She slowly turns to the left and its then her world is changed forever!

She now knows where the blood is from, oh sure some is from the head wound that burns across her scalp.  But the majority is from him.  He lies motionless against the door pillar, color gone from his face, lips barren and dry, a sandy glaze across the whites of his eyes he breathes no more. Still, lifeless, anything but the laughing energetic young man he was a mere 5 minutes ago.  She screams for him to wake, he doesn’t budge.  She slaps his face praying for a reaction! Anything! Anger and fear rip through her as she comes to realize he will never wake up, never move again, the charming, smart, dorky boy she had known since 5th grade was gone forever. She lays against him crying. Not knowing what to do or where to go, she cries.

The faint wail off in the distance is not a wounded animal, it doesn’t come from a piece of machinery or a child who has just been punished it comes from a shadow, a silhouette, an anomaly spread out on the pavement 25 yards away.  It twitches and writhes this anomaly of disproportion.  The top half in a serious battle with the bottom half. A losing battle from what can be gathered at first sight.  This shadow seems to be swimming on pavement, for it surrounded by liquid.  A red lake that ripples with the breeze it appears to be flowing to the lowest level it can reach.  Moving closer we see the shadow, the anomaly is wearing softball gear.  A bat off to the right a cleat off to the left stuck in the center of what appears to be a childs water-color.  Smeared across hot black asphalt lay various shades of red.  She doesn’t know why she is face down and can’t move her lower half.  She doesn’t understand why she is vomiting non stop. She feels a “fight or flight” reaction that she can’t control.  Like a trapped animal she howls, claws and fights against the chains that bind her to this place.  An abdomen that wont flex, a pair of legs grotesquely deformed, rotated and broken, she fights.  She has fought her whole life against those who said she couldn’t.  She has fought her whole life to achieve her small successes in school , at home and on the field of play, now she fights purely for her life.  She cannot move anymore yet she still fights.. 

He has shaken the cobwebs and moved beyond the pink Sketchers.  Trembling with fear he opens the car door and stands up to survey the origin of steam rising off the front of his car.  He cannot believe what lays before his still blurry eyes.  Two vehicles are heavily damaged, the front end on his car is folded up like a piece of paper, his girlfriend lay on the hood. Bleeding. Unconscious. It appears he has struck another car in the driver’s door.  A portion of the drivers head lays split open on the center post of the car.  It appears another occupant, most likely a female is crying and shaking the driver looking for a response.  As he walks around the front of his car, pulling out his cell phone he see’s a bloody pile of clothing fighting against itself on the street off in the distance.  It also appears to be a female and she has a bat, glove and is missing her shoes??

What has he done?  How did this happen?  It was only minutes ago he was at a party, laughing, drinking and having a good time with his girlfriend.  What is he going to tell his parents?  What is he going to tell her parents?  This can’t be happening he is going to college in 6 weeks!  What does this mean for his future?  It was only a couple of drinks right? He tells himself he is fine and there is no way the cops will ever know..

He makes the call to 911…

Every 15 minutes a person is involved in an alcohol related accident.  This is the premise of the Every 15 Minutes program held at high schools across the country prior to Senior Prom and Graduation.  Every 15 Minutes is a two-day program focusing on high school juniors and seniors.  The program challenges them to think about drinking, driving, personal safety and the responsibility of making the right decisions.  The program also focuses on the impact these choices make on family, friends and the community. 

The story I wrote above was about our scenario today April 26th 2012.  It is an re-enactment or compilation of many accidents I have responded to over the years.  For as the Every 15 Minutes program has an impact on the children and their families. Drinking and driving has an impact on all first responders.  The firefighters, the police officers, the ambulance crews and the hospital personnel who fight for your child or family members life.  People who are advocates for their survival.  These are images I carry with me always.  Images I can’t erase or just forget! People whose lives were changed forever from one poorly made decision. I remember them all and share them with you so you will remember to never get behind the wheel of a car after you have been drinking. 

Dont drink and drive. 

 All pictures are of high school actors who volunteered to help raise awareness to teenage drinking and driving. I am very proud to be a part of the Every 15 Minutes program and the lasting effect it has on our participants, their family members and the audience that witnesses the event.