Things I am Thankful for this Holiday Season

1. My family.

2. My job, Laura Baker Services is really a terrific company to work for.

3. The fact that two of our homes will be practically brand new in 2011. While it has been stressful for everyone, it will be great for the clients.

4. My management team. They continue to do their jobs at a high level and do a great job of ensuring clients have top notch care.

5. Each and every direct care staff. They are worth their weight in gold.

6. The kindness and giving nature people have during the Holiday Season.

7. Renewing relationships.

8. Seeing expressions of my kids face when they open gifts and talking about going to Grandma Kathy’s house.

9. Watching A Christmas Story, “You’ll shoot your eye out kid.”

10. Being able to spend time with my parents, sister, brother-in-law and my nephews.

11. The fond memories I have as a child of my grandfather at Christmas.

Princess Kendra

The other night I raised my voice to my five year old daughter for something that wasn’t her fault. Whenever I do something like this I feel bad. As she was getting her snack, I told her that it wasn’t her fault and I didn’t mean to yell.


As I’m tucking her into bed she wants me to read her a story (which is a ploy by her to stay up just a little longer). I told her ‘no’. Being the persistent person she is she asks me to make up a story for her. The following is basically what I told her.

There once was a beautiful princess named Kendra (she smiled when I said this). Kendra was a very kind and gentle princess and everyone liked her. Kendra lived with her grumpy old daddy. He always seemed like he was a grouch. One day, daddy told Kendra, “Kendra, I don’t mean to be such a grouch all the time. There is one thing that makes me not grouchy.”

Princess Kendra says, “What is that?”

Grumpy daddy says, “Your smiling face and sparkly eyes.”

The End

Kendra smiled, gave me a hug and I tucked her into bed.

Butch

I was watching ESPN last night and they did a story about Butch.  Butch is a man in his 60's with cerebal palsy.  One of Laura Baker's main philosophies is to encourage clients to have hopes and dreams while supporting them to make them come true.  Click on the link below to watch the story.  Sometimes we ask ourselves, why do I do my job?  Why am I here?  When you watch this video, you will not question why you do your job or why you work at LBSA.  You will see a man who lives his hopes and dreams.

http://espn.go.com/video/clip?id=5757413

Odds and Ends

I realized I haven’t written on my blog in a long time. I’ve never really had enough stuff for one longer type of entry so I will write lots of little things that are on my mind.


I have this really cool light saber application on my phone. I’ve chosen to follow the light side of the force. Being a Sith Lord does seem like kind of a cool idea but the whole murdering innocent people isn’t appealing.

Expect Brad Chilldress to be fired at the end of the year. Granted, Brett Favre has played like crap but the Wylf family has done nothing but give Brad the players needed to win the Super Bowl this year.

I get so tired of situation comedies portraying men as bumbling oafs who can’t tie their shoes without their wives telling them what to do and how to do it. Many of us men aren’t doofuses (is that a word?) and have the ability to take care of our children and cook all by our selves (although the portrayal of the wives in those sit com’s might be true. I said might Jody, MIGHT be true….can you help me tie my shoes?).

My family has done a good job of adjusting to Northfield and hardly ever being together as one unit. I continue to struggle with this.

Northfield is a nice town to live in, especially if you live in an apartment where you have no lawn to take care of, can’t grill on a patio, and your kids can only go outside if you are with them.

My parents visited around my birthday and are ready to move here. I told them I know of an apartment they can rent.

The first two days of school this fall, my step-son came home and told us that he sat by himself at lunch both days. I told my wife to pack the house up as we were moving back from whence we came.

What’s great about having your own blog is that you can say what-eva you want. So my intentions aren’t to sound like I’m complaining…wait a sec, if you don’t like what you are reading, then read someone elses blog. My wife works 2 to 10. So this means I get up at 5:15 am (I looooove mornings) and be to work by 6:00. Hell, that’s earlier than I had to get up when I lived in Waseca.

Norman Rockwell just rolled over in his grave

Three families conveyed at my friend Marcus house on Saturday. Usually when we all get together adventures ensue. Today was really no different. As the boys, ages 11 to 17 began playing football, Dan and I stood watching, wondering if we were going to get to play. A short time later, we joined our respective teams. A short time after that, we were both sore and breathing like we had just run a marathon.


The next activity consisted of Marcus throwing a hula hoop in the air and us trying to throw a football through it. The kids each wanted to try. I proclaim to my wife that ‘I didn’t want to take turns’. I hear her respond and say, “I know Mitch.”

After the hula hoop, Dan’s son Nate was talking about ‘bombs’ he had made out of vinegar and baking soda strategically placed in a plastic bottle. I encouraged him to make one. The first one sprung a leak and didn’t do anything. The next one took many trials of throwing it on the ground, hitting it with a baseball bat (when I hit the bottle it flew into the side of the neighbor’s house, thankfully she wasn’t home). I pick the bottle up and it is quite frankly as hard as stone. Alex places it on a fence post and barely strikes the bottle and we hear a deafening explosion (not really but it sounds cooler that way). I watch the bottle fly at least 30 feet straight up. Upon inspecting the bottle, the bottom was cracked and basically worked like a rocket. Alex was covered in vinegar and said he got some in his mouth. Which I found extremely funny because it happened to Alex.

This wasn’t a picture out of a Norman Rockwell painting for sure.

If you think about it, maybe it was. I can’t see Rockwell painting a picture of vinegar bombs, but I can see a picture of the friendships, the companionship, and the camaraderie. Reasons we all continue to get together.

Moving

First off, let me say that I hate moving. All of the lifting and grunting and swearing, trying to get items down a flight of stairs. I just absolutely hate it. I realized with this move was that I’m not 30 anymore. I tire out a lot easier and faster then I used to. Getting older stinks. I think I took a break every three and a half minutes.


The adventure started on a Friday morning in August as my friend Dan and I drove to Owatonna to get the U-Haul truck. As I walked out to the truck my jaw dropped. This was the biggest U-Haul I had ever freaking seen. As I was pulling away from it’s parking spot, I happen to glance in the passenger side rear view mirror and realized I was about to scrape the truck next to me. Oh crap, this is going to be a long day. I call my wife and tell her how big the truck is. She says, “You told me to get the biggest one they had.” I didn’t realize it was an 18 wheeler (o.k. so it wasn’t but it sure seemed like it).

By the time we got to the old house it was about noon. Fearing I might die of starvation, myself, Dan, and my stepson Landen went to get some lunch (I left the truck at home). Upon returning, we joked that when my wife calls we will tell her that we were going to start loading right after our next beer, which I would have calmly informed her would be my sixth. After the tears of laughter were wiped away, we decided to get to work.

We worked steadily until about ten pm that night. Dan left about 4:30 but my other friend Marcus and his girlfriend Heidi stopped by to help. Marcus just kind of stood around proclaiming his awesomeness at everything but I did manage to convince him to pick up a box or two.

The thing with moving is that when you think you are almost done, you realize you are not even close. What was difficult about this move was much of our items in our garage was going into storage as there is no room in an apartment for bikes, camping gear etc. I had to try and save the last few yards of truck space for these things since we had to unload them first. My wife and I thought we should try load the deep freeze that night but didn’t want it to be unplugged on a truck all night long. With a stroke of genius I thought we could use an extension cord and plug the freezer, while in the truck. The deep freeze motor whirred with excitement.

By this time the only thing left in the house was a few mattresses and a tv (we still had cable), and my ps3. That night I slept very little.

Dan arrived the next day with his son Nate to help us. The last time I saw Nate he was maybe 13 or 14. He is now 17 and practically a full grown man. We set out for our destination chugging along in my 18 wheeler. I didn’t want to run the air conditioner as it will use more gas that I will have to pay for. By the time we arrived, sweat is pouring down my face. I ask Dan if he likes my ‘rig’ to which he says ‘yeth, yeth I do’.

My friend Melissa was watching the three girls for a few days which was a big relief as I couldn’t imagine moving with a one year old running around. About an hour after we started unloading, Melissa brought the girls to where we were. I missed them like crazy. As we continued to work and unload, Kendra and Kaylie said they wanted to help. It was a steamy hot day but thankfully there was a breeze. Kaylie helped for quite a while but took several breaks to help her mom put stuff away. Kendra, all five years old and 35 pounds worked like a Clydesdale. She would grab something she could carry and run to the door, drop it off and run back. After some time, her face started turning red from the heat and the work. I say to Ken, “Honey, you look like you are roasting, why don’t you get a drink of water and sit inside where it’s cool for a while?”

Kendra says, “But I want to help my daddy.”

Suddenly I feel like I’m 30 again.

Moving

In a two week period, my wife works over 110 hours between her two jobs. I drive an hour each way to work. These are the choices we have made in order to keep our family intact. Time leads to tough decisions, decisions that rip you apart inside, decisions that leave you feeling like an emotional wreck.


My wife and I have realized we needed to make a change for several months but for myself I was hesitant because of how the change will impact my kids. We have been contemplating moving to Northfield and are now moving forward with this. For my step children this will mean they will have to switch schools and my step son might miss playing football this fall. My step-daughter makes friends easy and I’m sure she will be fine. Changing schools is something I never wanted to make my kids do.

I’ve always said I didn’t want to be a weekend father. For some people this is perfectly appropriate and fine but this wasn’t the role I wanted to be in any of my children’s life. Moving to Northfield means I will no longer have Ethan on an every other week basis. Truthfully, I think he will be o.k. Truthfully, it is going to take some time for me to be o.k.

I feel like I am abandoning him, I’m worried he will think we don’t want him around. When we told all of the kids about the move, each of them had some questions, except Kendra who just wanted to play at the park. Ethan started crying and said he feels like he has to choose to live either at his mom’s or with me and my wife and the kids. I told him that is a choice he shouldn’t have to make and don’t want him to think he has to make that choice. I told him he is part of the family and always will be and want him to move with us but know this is something he doesn’t want. I told him I will make the decision for him and that he will stay at his mom’s. 

I feel like there has been a death, I feel like I am grieving. I’m not sure if what I am feeling is even appropriate. They say time heals all wounds. I sure hope so.

C

There’s a client who visits the main building once a week.

I hear her talk to Dixie.
I hear a soft knock on my door, knowing who it is
I turn around and am greeted by C.
“Hi C,” I say with a smile (it’s really hard to not smile at C).
“What are you doing?” is her standard question
I usually say, “I’m working”

C tells me I need to shave.
Today C asks me for a hug.
I hug her from my office chair and notice I am almost as tall as she is standing.
Her warm, friendly smile paired with her sweet nature
And her hug
Help me to remember
Why I do this job.

Heroes for My Son

A friend of mine recently gave me a book titled, “Heroes for My Son.” Unfortunately, these heroes don’t wear capes but are much more important than fighting crime (which I didn’t think was possible.) I wanted to share one of the stories that I found very moving.



When Dick and Judy Hoyt’s son was born with cerebral palsy, unable to walk or talk, the doctors told them to just ‘put him away’.

No, they decided.

They’d push him, pull him, they’d carry him along.

But he’d never be left behind.

When the public schools said there was no place for Rick, his parents found a computer that would write his thoughts from the head movements he could make.

At ten, he spoke his first sentence. “Go Bruins!”

In high school, Rick learned of a five-mile charity run for a newly paralyzed teenager.

Rick told his father they had to do something to send a message that life goes on.

Even though he wasn’t a runner, Dick never hesitated.

He’d run the race, pushing Rick’s wheelchair the whole way.

They finished next to last. It was a victory.

That night, Rick typed out these words: “Dad, when I’m running it feels like my disability disappears.”

Dick’s mission was clear.

He kept running, Rick always out in front.

234 triathlons, 67 marathons, 6 ironmans.

Rick Hoyt still can’t walk

But with his father, they both fly.



While there are many people with disabilities that probably don’t want to have disability disappear. But that sentence made me wonder what can I do to help people feel like their disability has disappeared?

Lemonade Stand

My five year old daughter has been asking me if she can have a lemonade stand since last winter. A few weeks ago it was a fairly warm day and I asked Kendra if this is something she wanted to do. She responded with a very enthusiastic ‘yes!’. We talked about what we would use for a table and we agreed that the old school desk would work just fine. I asked her what she should put her money in and she thought her toy cash register would work (but she had to take out all of the play money to make room for the real money).

She was worried she wouldn’t be able to pour the juice so I told her I would help her with this. After waiting for a few minutes and no sales I encouraged her to wave to cars as they pass by. She asked me why no body was stopping and I said to her, “it just takes time.”

A few minutes later a call pulls to the side of the road about a block away and slowly creeps closer to us. I tell Kendra that they might be coming to buy juice. She stops moving for a second and watches the car approach. With each passing inch, the more excited she gets until they are maybe 15 feet from her. It was at this point where she jumps up and down several times. I see her excitement and I smile to myself as I was reminded what it was like to be five.

She charged 25 cents a glass but these kind people gave my beautiful daughter $2. As she hands her customer the juice, the kind lady says to Kendra, “You sure are a good salesman!” I found people readily gave her much more money then the required amount. Typically it was $1 for two glasses (which was a 50 cent tip).

Eventually, sales slow down but we decide to count her money. She had over $11 bucks. I talk to her about what she is going to buy with her money. She loves the Littlest Pet Shop toys and I figured she would purchase this. She tells me she wants to buy fireworks. Slightly surprised, I tell her she can buy whatever she wants.

I glance at the pitcher of juice and there is about one glass worth left. I say to Kendra, “Jeez Ken, isn’t anyone going to buy the last cup?”

Kendra says, “It just takes time daddy.” I laugh out loud and she says to me, “That’s what you said to me.”

Yes Kendra, I did say that to you. I gleefully bought the last cup. The juice was warm and due to sitting out in the heat was sort of gross, but it was still the best juice I have ever had.

Amateur Baseball part 3 PLEASE READ PART 1, THEN 2 FIRST

The next few innings ran seamlessly together. Ole continued to strike out batter after batter. His one mistake was when he threw a fastball (that wasn’t very fast) to the clean-up hitter who hit a monstrous home run over the centerfield fence. Not since the time I drove his pick-up (I was about 13) had I seen him so angry.


It was the bottom of the 6th inning and the score remained 1-1. I was the 9th hitter and I was to bat first this inning. I hadn’t tried to hit a ball traveling at 75 mph for many years, I was nervous, so much so that my stomach was in knots. I took some practice swings and I remembered being ten years old, playing little league for Swanville. My cousins are also on the team and grandpa is in the stands watching. Before the game gramps tells me if I strike out I will have to sleep in the ice fishing house. I never thought he was going to make me sleep in the fish house. I was more worried about letting gramps down. Sure enough, on this day in little league, I strike out. I let gramps down. I felt so horrible that I walked back to his home and was hid in the fish house until my cousin Joe found me. As a child gramps was my hero. As an adult, my dad is.

“Batter up!” the umpire yells which brings me to the moment. I step into the batter’s box and focus on the pitcher. “Don’t drop your shoulder,” I tell myself. As the first pitch travels towards home plate, it looks like I’m going to be hit in the head. I step back in time but the ball curves at the last second and crosses the middle of the plate. “Strike One!” the umpire yells. I look at the catcher somewhat bewildered and say out loud, “That was a nice pitch.” The catcher chuckles to himself partially because of the unwritten rule of baseball that I just broke. The next pitch was a fastball down the middle and I swing as hard as I can (which you are never supposed to do) and I hit a slow foul ball towards the first baseman. Understanding I need to swing sooner, I prepare myself for another fastball. I dig my shoes into the dirt, the count is no balls and two strikes. The pitcher fires the ball and I was right, it looked like another fastball. I step forward with my left leg, and swing the bat. “Strike three!” the umpire yells. The pitcher threw a curve ball that broke to the outside corner of the plate at the last second.

Angry at myself, I walk back to the dugout hanging my head. As I take my seat alone at the end of the bench Ole tells me to “shake it off” and that we will “get them next time”. I was so angry that I couldn’t pay attention to what the other two batters did that inning. I was ten years old again, hiding in the fish house.

My dad has always said I play sports better when I am angry. As we take the field, I find myself in that place, not uncontrollable anger, but more of a controlled focused anger. The next few innings in the field the infielders make some wild throws but I was able to recover enough to catch the ball and get some of them out. One throw I ended up doing the splits, which I didn’t know I could do. Ole started calling me stretch (I grinned each time gramps called me that. I thought it was cool gramps created a nick name for me).

It’s now the bottom of the 9th, score is tied 1-1 and I’m up to bat again. For a brief second I’m nervous, but this feeling quickly disappears as I am now only focused on one thing, hitting the hell out of that baseball.

The pitcher delivers the first pitch, it was the same curveball that I struck out my first time at bat. I hit a high foul ball towards the first baseman, which actually lost the ball in the sun. I caught a huge break. As the second ball is released from the pitcher’s hand, time suddenly slows down, the pitcher’s arm is moving in slow motion. The ball is spinning counter clockwise and as before looks like it’s going to hit me in the head. The ball continues to travel towards my head, “Wait for it” I think to myself. I squeeze the bat a little tighter. As the ball breaks and begins to curve towards the center of the plate I swing the bat and I hear the sound of the ball making contact with the wooden bat. As I begin to run towards first I notice the ball is almost crawling towards the third baseman. He picks it up with his bare hand and fires it to first. As I’m about to touch the base with my outstretched leg, the first baseman jumps into the air. I see the ball sail past the first baseman and I’m able to get to second safely. I’m annoyed with myself I didn’t hit the ball harder.

Ole is the next batter and before he knows it, the count is zero balls and two strikes. He’s waiting for HIS pitch, no doubt. The pitcher throws a fastball and Ole hits a deep line drive to center field. I stay on the base as there’s a chance the center fielder will catch it. The center fielder runs to the chain link fence and stops in his tracks, he is getting ready to time his jump. He leaps into the air as high as I’ve ever seen anyone jump before and for a second I can’t see the ball as it looks like it is inside his glove. I then see the ball come out of his glove and land on the other side of the fence. Home Run!

I cross home plate and turn to watch Ole touch the base after me. The team hoists him on their shoulders, and brings him back to the dug out. I look in the stands and see grandma standing clapping her hands. My Uncle Bruce who is three, standing as well watching and imitating grandma. I see my mother, who looks an awful lot like one of my daughters, one year old crying from all of the cheering.

As the team begins to disperse, Ole and his family are getting into their car. He turns to me and says, “Do you have someplace to go, stretch? If you don’t you can stay at our house for a while. I won’t even make you sleep in the fish house,” he says with a wink and that mischievous smile of his.

Amateur Baseball part 2 IF YOU HAVEN'T READ AMATEUR BASEBALL, SCROLL DOWN AS THIS MIGHT NOT MAKE SENSE

Ole was the first player to bat. After two pitches, he was behind in the count no balls and two strikes. The next pitch was low, one ball and two strikes, followed by an inside fastball that looked like it could have been a strike. The pitcher on the opposing team stares angrily at the umpire. The count is now two balls and two strikes. The pitcher winds up and fires a ‘heater’ down the middle of the plate, a perfect strike. Gramps cocks his bat and swings. The crowd comes to their feet when they hear the sound of the bat meeting the ball. The ball sails over the leaping right fielder. A sprinting Ole makes it to second before the right fielder has a chance to throw the ball to the cut-off person.


The next batter hits a deep fly ball to the center fielder who catches it without a problem. Ole tags up and is now on third base. The next batter hits a two hopper to the first baseman, who rather then throwing the ball home, steps on first for the second out. Ole safely touches home plate for the first run of the game. The next batter strikes out swinging and he was so angry he threw his bat. He receives a tongue lashing from the manager that was so much laced in profanity that you would think it was right out of a Quentin Tarrantino movie. After the first inning, Swanville 1 and Grey Eagle 0.

Amateur Baseball

So through a series of interesting events, I have come to learn that at Target Field, there is a restaurant called Town Ball Tavern. The term ‘town ball’ refers to amateur baseball teams located in various towns across Minnesota. Outside of Town Ball Tavern there apparently are pictures of amateur teams embedded into the brick, so it looks like it is part of the structure. Anyways, someone got in contact with my aunt and uncle as there was a picture that had the caption across the bottom “Morrison County All-Stars 1946”. As it turns out, my grandpa was on that team and he is on the far right in the front row.


My grandpa, from my understanding, was a great pitcher. He tried out for a minor league team, but he didn’t make it because, “my hitting wasn’t too sharp.” I guess back then there wasn’t the designated hitter rule.

Grandpa lived and breathed baseball, even in the last years of his life. There is a picture, when he was probably 85 or 86, of him throwing out the first ceremonial pitch at my cousin’s amateur game. When cable tv arrived in the 1980’s, baseball was on all the time at grandpa’s.

Baseball is part of the Olson bloodline, unfortunately I didn’t inherit those skills (I could never hit a curveball). I was watching my cousin’s amateur team one summer and I think five or six of the people in the field for one of the teams I was related to in some way.

Since I first saw the picture the other day, I wonder what it would have been like to watch him pitch. In my mind I see grainy, black and white footage that eventually comes alive with color as I had to use my time machine to travel back to watch him.

Grandpa is throwing his warm up pitches. He obviously looks much different than I remember him. He is still shorter then average but is so much younger. After grandpa throws a fastball during warm ups, the catcher takes his hand out of his glove and shakes it as if his hand was hurting.

The first batter comes to the plate and steps into the batter’s box. Grandpa fires a fastball that grazes the outside corner for a strike. Second pitch gramps tries throwing a knuckle ball and the hitter fouls it toward first base. The third pitch, grandpa hangs a curveball and the hitter hits it down the first base line. The ball takes a bad hop and hits the first baseman in the head. He is o.k. but his bell is rung a little. Grandpa’s team had exactly 9 people to play which leaves them a man short. The manager asks the crowd if anyone has any experience playing baseball (this wouldn’t happen today). No one muttered a word. I reluctantly raise my hand and said I played when I was younger but in recent years have just played softball. By the expression on their faces, I could tell none of them knew what softball was. The manager finds me a uniform and surprisingly it fits perfectly. The manager asks me what position I play. I tell him in my day I was a pretty good first baseman. Perfect, he tells me. I am quickly introduced to the other players. Grandpa shakes my hand and says, “Olson, Ernie Olson but everyone calls me Ole.” I extend my hand to shake his and I say, “Mitch, nice to meet you Ole.” He looks up at me as I’m at least six inches taller then him and he says, “You are tall, is everyone in your family as tall as you?”

I trot over to first base and stretch my legs out. Ole comes up to me and asks me where I learned to do such funny things with my legs. I tell him that I’ve always done this. He shakes his head and walks to the pitcher’s mound.

There is a man on first and the second batter is up. I position myself over first base as the runner is leading off and I get the feeling Ole will try to pick him off. Sure enough, Ole zings the ball over to me and we catch the base runner off guard. I catch the ball and slap the tag on the runner before he can get back to the base. I hear the umpire yell, “YOUR OUT!” Gramps and I, together, got him out. I feel myself getting choked up for a second but quickly my competitive juices take over and I focus on the game.

Ole strikes out the next two batters without breaking a sweat and now it is our turn to bat.


TO BE CONTINUED….

Mascots

The NCAA is making the University of North Dakota change its mascot, the Fighting Sioux unless two specific tribes in North Dakota vote in favor of keeping it. Last I heard, one tribe had voted in favor of the nickname and another was deadlocked. Personally, I see both sides of the issue. I can understand how the Sioux tribes don’t want the connotation of ‘fighting’ attached to their name and I have never thought of the Fighting Sioux mascot as negative. However I am not Native American (my wife is) so I can’t claim to fully understand the feelings involved. The only similar situation I can compare to would be the Vikings and people of Scandanavian descent. If one were to read about the historical Vikings you would come to learn they weren’t exactly role models for how to live your life in today’s society. In college I took an African-American culture class and one of the lectures had to do with the negative portrayals of African-Americans in advertising, everything from Uncle Ben’s Rice to Aunt Jamima (the syrup, spell check didn't have this word). Until that time, I didn’t think of those images as derogatory because I didn’t know/understand/realize how this was stereotyping a particular culture. As with the African-American’s in advertising, the term Fighting Sioux may certainly be a misrepresentation of Sioux Native Americans (I don’t remember my Native American History). If this is the case, then the University of North Dakota should change the mascot. However, as someone who attended UND, I would rather it somehow be possible to retain the name. The more I think about it, a mascot that represents a university and is in some way derogatory towards a group of people is almost frightening if you think about it.




Tragedies:

At different points in our lives, tragedies have affected us all, sometimes directly and sometimes indirectly.

I’m reminded of tragedies every day when I drive home from work on Highway 3.

A friend of mine has a daughter who recently tried to commit suicide. All I could do when I saw him was to tell him I felt I needed to give him a hug.

Tragedies happen at LBSA in various forms from time to time. My thoughts and prayers goes out to the people affected by the most recent tragedy.

video games

I was going to publish a post about why the video games listed are in my top ten list but quite frankly, it would bore most of you to tears.  I would be happy to have a short discussion with anyone who might be interested in hearing my reasons. 

Bits and Pieces of Stuff

I was watching a documentary about Hank Gathers the other day.  Hank was a college basketball player for Loyola Marimount in the early 90's.  He was the last player to lead the nation in both scoring and rebounding.  The show had talked about how a complete basketball player he was, except for shooting free throws.  In hopes to improve this, he decided before the season started that he was going to shoot all free throws left handed, which is unheard of. 
During his last year in college he collapsed during a game.  After being examined by doctor's it was determined that he had a heart condition.  He started taking medication but he had said it made him feel sluggish and it affected his game.  He took himself off of the medication and a short time later he collapsed during another game and died a few hours later. 
His childhood friend Bo Kimble also attended the same school and was also on the basketball team.  In tribute to his friend Hank, during the NCAA tournament, Bo shot free throws left handed.  Hank's brother was interviewed for the documentary and he said that when Bo shot his first free throw, grown men were crying like babies. 
The level of sacrifice Bo showed to his fallen friend and teammate goes far deeper then scoring points and winning. 



Fate:

My second year of college, I was walking to a class questioning what I was going to do with my life.  I was majoring in public relations and didn't see myself fitting into the corporate world.  As I'm walking up the stairs I see a sign that said, "Social Work Department."  I knew right there what I wanted to do with my life. 

I transferred schools and began taking social work classes.  One of my professiors was tough as nails but really pushed her students to learn.  She also made you think about stuff, made you examine your own opinions and question if what you would be doing is in the best interest of your clients.  On top of that she was hilarious and I always thought she should be doing stand up comedy. 

Some of you may have read my blog I wrote about ADHD a while ago.  She was the instructor who encouraged me to finally get tested, so for that I am always grateful.

The other day, I'm typing away at my desk and I thought of her.  I'm not sure why.  I did an internet search and got her email address and emailed her thanking her for some of the things I mentioned above.  This is the response I got, "What a day brightener! It couldn’t have come at a more needed time. My middle daughter was killed in a car/pedestrian accident two weeks ago, and it is a little hard to be at work. But it helps to know that perhaps what I do matters in the long term. Thank you more than you can know."

I'm not sure why I saw the Social Work Department sign when I did, not am I sure why I thought of a professor I hadn't seen or heard from in many many years.  In both cases, to me it doesn't matter why, I'm just glad it did. 

Thank God for Macaroni

On Saturday, we had macaroni and cheese for lunch.


I would be the first to admit that I haven’t been a good parent when it comes to getting my kids to church. Saturday my wife and I took the kids to a Catholic church. This would be the first time my children had attended a Catholic mass.

Kaylie asked my wife why people were dipping their hands in water and ‘rubbing’ it on their forehead.

We were sitting towards the back and Kendra asks me what that big box is for (the confessional) and I tell her that’s where people go to say all of the naughty things they have done.

She looks at me with those wide blue eyes and says, “Are you serious?”

Because Sunday was Palm Sunday the church handed out palm leaves and of course the kids asked what they were for. I explained the story to them but I told them it was when Jesus was going to Galilee on a donkey (not sure if it was Galilee or not). Other people held their palm leave throughout the service, my kids shredded them into little strips.

Ethan leans over to me and says, “Jeez dad, we almost take up a whole row.” He was right, two adults and five kids DO almost take up a whole row.

Kendra asked me why people were sitting with their eyes closed and I told her they were praying. I then tried to explain that this is where people talk to God. I encouraged her to try it. She wasn’t sure what she should say so I told her to say thank you for some things. Kendra leans over to me and whispers, “Can I thank God for the macaroni?” Smiling, I tell her that would be fine. She also thanked God for ‘church’.

At the Catholic Church, before going into a pew, people genuflect or go down on one knee. Landen asks me why those people are ‘squatting’.

I was explaining to the three older kids that people will make the sign of the cross at different times throughout the service. It was kind of humorous to see an 11, 12, and an 8 year old practicing, making sure they did it right.

We made it through the service without any meltdowns or crying spells (and the kids did pretty good as well).

As we were walking out of the church, I see Landen rolling on his heli’s (shoes with wheels in them) and I think how lucky I am to have such honest kids.

Another short story

He stood waiting in line to have his luggage checked by security. He could feel the perspiration forming on is forehead. As it began to run down his face he wiped it away with the sleeve of his shirt. He didn’t exactly feel warm, he thought it was maybe just nerves. He made it through security without any problems and he smiled to himself knowing he fooled the security guards. As he boarded the plane, he greeted people as he normally would. His training emphasized to him that if you appear friendly you are less likely to be seen as suspicious. He took his seat in an aisle seat by the wing. He was supposed to have the window seat by the wing but he reasons that it probably doesn’t matter as he has seen a bomb similar to the one strapped to the back of his leg blow up a school bus.


He is hoping no one will be sitting in the other two seats next to him. One thing he hated about air travel is being forced to sit in a small space next to people he didn’t know. “This trip, I guess it doesn’t matter,” he thought to himself. He began to grow impatient as the plane was supposed to have taken off already. There were still plenty of open seats. He tells himself to stay calm as if he has a meltdown now, he won’t succeed in his mission. He breathes a sigh of relief when he hears the plane’s engine revving. It should only be another few minutes before they are in the air. Just as the stewardess is about to shut the door, a mother and her small daughter board the plane. He thinks to himself, “With my luck, I will have to sit by that brat.” He has come to dislike children. They are full of snot and don’t adhere to boundaries, they ask a lot of questions, never listen to their parents. This time it won’t matter as she will be dead like the rest of the passengers.

As luck would have it, she takes her seat right next to him with her mother sitting by the window. He watches the mother out of the corner of his eye fasten the brat’s seatbelt. He notices how she pulls on the seat belt to make sure it is fastened. This reminds him of a trip he took with his wife and daughter two years ago and how his wife checked the seat belt the same way. In many ways his life was less complicated then. He will be the first to tell you that he was never a great father. People always told him how much his daughter looked up to him. He failed to see this. It was probably more like he didn’t want to see this.

This trip was three months before he left them. He has been training for this mission for the last year. He has no regrets about the choice he made. He is not even sure where his wife and child are living and quite frankly, he doesn’t care as his dedication to his mission over rides everything, all attachments, all emotions, and all feelings.

He is nearly asleep when he feels a slight tug on his shirt, “Do you want some?” the little girl says while holding a small bag of fruit snacks in his face. He isn’t sure why but he said ‘sure’ and she told him to hold out his hand so she could pour some. She told him the Dora ones were her favorite but the Sponge bob ones were good to. He noticed she poured nearly the whole bag into his hand, “That’s too much” she says and takes all of them out of his hand but one. She notices that the one in his hand was Sponge bob and takes that as well but replaces it with a Patrick.

He hopes that she will be quiet after this. As she replaces the sponge bob with the Patrick, he notices how small her hands are compared to his. Her little fingers touch the palms of his hand. He remembers holding his daughters hand while they walked to the park. He never understood why his daughter always had to hold his hand every place they went. It drove him crazy. He remembers this day, it was July and when they arrived at the park the scent of grilled hamburgers permeated the air, he could smell the lake, and he feels the wind in his face. He didn’t want to be here. He hates the chaos of life, he hates the chaos of the park.

“We are going to see my daddy,” she says to him which brings him back from the park. He doesn’t have a chance to say anything before she says, “He has been in A-Rock. My mommy says he is a hero.”

“Do you have any kids?” she asks him. The way she asked the question reminded him of how his daughter used to ask him questions.

“No. My family is dead,” he says without any emotion in his voice. He is obviously lying but during his training he learned to consider them dead. Further, he was taught to deny weaknesses. Family equals emotions and emotions equal weaknesses.

He remembers the day he left his family. The day his wife and daughter became dead to him. He hadn’t been at home for almost a year. He walked into his home and thought how much it didn’t feel like home anymore. His wife is crying begging for him to hold her. He stands in front of her not looking at her, not touching her even though her face is buried in his chest.

“You are dead to me,” he says just as he was taught. She looks into his eyes and doesn’t see a soul, does not see the man she married. As he walks out the front door he hears a loud, “Daddy! I knew you would come back to us.” He coldly tells her that he has to go away for a long time and she will never see him again. “No daddy, don’t go stay with us. We can go to the park, daddy. Please daddy, don’t go, I will be a good girl, I promise daddy. I will pick up my toys and I will do good in school. Don’t go daddy.” He says nothing. She runs after him and grabs onto his leg.

“Let go.”

“Daddy, I love you.”

He aggressively peels her from his leg, pushes her away and tells her to go in the house.

“How did they die?” she says to him, looking him directly in the eye. He hadn’t really noticed her face yet but the look of sadness in her bright blue eyes overcame him. Before he could say that he didn’t want to talk about it her mother told her that wasn’t a very nice thing to say.

“I was hoping you had a little girl so I could play with her,” she says as she faces forward burying her face in her sponge bob stuffed toy. “At daycare, no kids play with me.” He could tell by the reflection in her voice that she is almost ready to cry. He wonders for a brief second if the kids at his daughter’s day care play with her.

The dinner cart brought him his food. Crab salad sandwich for his last meal. He wonders why prisoners get to choose their last meal and he gets crab salad. He notices the little girl eating her macaroni and cheese with an extra small fork. “Do you want some?” she says and before he can answer she says pointing to his sandwich, “What is that, yuck! It smells like poop.” This made the both of them him laugh out loud. He noticed her smile and the sparkle in her eyes. He had forgotten what it felt like to laugh.

He spent more time watching her out of the corner of his eye. Her straight blonde hair just past her shoulders. She was wearing a white dress and brown sandals. Her legs were barely longer then the seat she was sitting on and he noticed how her feet dangled off of the end of her seat. Her Dora backpack sat on the floor under her feet and she would frequently touch her foot to the backpack to “Make sure it was still there” she told him. Her toenails were painted a bright red. She saw him looking at her feet she says, “I painted them all by myself” she leans into him and whispers, “Mommy helped.” He couldn’t help but smile.

He whispers back, “I won’t tell anyone.” He realized this was the most words he had said to her.

He pretended to look out the window but was actually trying to see if the little girl looked like her mother. He could not see any resemblance so he figured she must look like her father.

The plane began making the final descent to San Francisco. He was supposed to detonate the bomb when they flew over the San Francisco Bridge. Perspiration began to run down his face and he suddenly felt sick. He got up to use the bathroom and as he shut the door he thought how much he hated the size of these bathrooms. He threw up his crab sandwich into the toilet. He felt dizzy and almost collapsed face first. He tried to remember his training, how he was supposed to deal with the anxiety prior to the event. He is drawing a blank, he can’t remember anything. As he was trying to compose himself he saw in his mind his daughter and the little girl swinging on the swings at a park. He was sitting on a picnic table watching them and smiling.

As he returned to his seat he noticed she had a camera, the kind that shoots out the picture right after a person takes it. “Mommy, take our picture,” she says and before he has a chance to say ‘no’ she leans into him and the mother snaps the picture and hands it to the little girl. She watches it develop and shows it to him when it is finished.

“Do I look pretty?” she says.

“Yes you do,” he says to her

The plane has been gradually descending for the last fifteen minutes. He leans over to look out the window and can see the bridge approaching. He reaches down to the back of his leg and feels the bulge that is the bomb. The napkin he used to wipe his face off looked like it was held under a water faucet. He touches the trigger for the bomb, one push of the arming mechanism is all he needs to do and his mission will be a success.

“Here,” she says, handing him the picture, “You can have this. My mommy says to share things with my friends.” She looks up at him with those big blue eyes and says, “Are we friends?”

“Yes, we are friends.” Knowing at this point he would not be able to complete his mission. Also knowing he would be considered an outlaw in his organization. If they found him they would kill him.

“My name is Kendra” she says.

“My name is Richard.”

As the plane comes to a halt on the runway and people are getting ready to leave the plane he tells her, “Kendra, I do have a little girl but I haven’t seen her in a long time. When I think about her I get really sad. I would like it if someday you and she could play together at a park.” She smiles from ear to ear and the memory of that moment will forever be burned into his brain.

He pulled his baseball hat over his head to cover his face as the organization has ‘people’ all over. He quickly rented a car with an organizational credit card. He drove to a pier and stopped the car and put the gear in park. He holds the picture in his hand looking at it, a single tear runs down his face.

When Kendra sees her dad, she runs up to him with open arms yelling, "Daddy!".  Her father picks her up and holds her close to him.  He didn't realize how much she had grown in the time he was gone.  Kendra tells her father about her friend Richard she met on the plane and how crabby he was at first but they are best friends now.  "He has a little girl daddy and some day Richard said we could play together."



When the fire department put out the fire they noticed the charred body inside of the destroyed car. After what seemed like an eternity, the ambulance removed the body. As they loaded the body onto the stretcher, a paramedic saw something in his hand. The paramedic looked closer and the only part of the picture that wasn’t burned was a little girl with blonde hair, a white dress, and sparkly blue eyes.

A History Lesson

LBSA was giving away some books that have been in their library for a very long time. The other day I saw a book titled “Residential Facilities for the Mentally Retarded”. By the looks of it and by the title I assumed it was a rather old book, I checked and it was published in 1970. I grabbed it thinking that in my spare time I’d like to read through it to see how opinions and beliefs had changed over the years. For those of you that were around in 1970 (I was born in 1972), I’m sure you would agree that many of the philosophies and practices relating to people with developmental disabilities is different. If this book were to be published today, I highly doubt it would have this title. Much of what I will put in the blog will be direct quotes from the book. Any commentary I add inside of a quote will be in ().


“Deviance, of course has existed since the beginning of human history…There must have always been some people who were noticeably less adequate than others. The Greeks called them idiots (which was probably the politically correct term back then) and the Romans labeled them morons.”

“Even today we emphasize how the retarded are different, not how they are similar.” Is the author serious? I read this sentence several times and I have to tell myself that this was 1970. If we look at all of the things we are supposed to be doing as an agency i.e. active treatment and normalization then we will probably find this statement to be completely false. When I think of the people that live on campus, I don’t identify them as developmentally disabled people, I think of them as people who just so happen to have developmental disabilities. I don’t give our clients ‘special’ treatment, I treat them just as I do anyone else.

When I tell people what I do for a living sometimes they say, “it takes a special kind of person to do that kind of work.” I then usually ask if they have ever worked in the field. If they say they haven’t I tell them that our clients are just people who have their struggles just as we all do but they may need more help in some areas. Don’t get me wrong, it does take a special kind of person to work in this field, in fact I’ve always said that a great direct care staff is worth their weight in gold, but it bothers me when someone who has had no exposure to people with developmental disabilities just assumes people with disabilities are treated the same as they were 50 years ago.

In reference to an early researcher in the field of developmental disabilities the author says, “The objective of Seguin’s training regimen was to establish contact with the environment, first by systematically training the senses and muscles. Then he worked the child through an orderly progression from simple to complex activities, from concrete to abstract notions, and from instinctual to moral control. The theory was that the nervous system, awakened and developed, would bring behavior under control of the will and, consequently, of the moral world.” I can’t say that I necessarily disagree with his approach. While I don’t know if we think of what we do in these terms but I think of BSP’s and occupational therapy is geared towards some of these same ideas. What the author fails to mention is each client needs to have things individualized to their needs. We can’t take one approach and expect it to work with all of our clients.

“Charles Davenport, one of the first American proponents of eugenics described it as “. . . the science of the improvement of the human race by better breeding. The fundamental idea is an appealingly simple one: to create a better breed of people, those with desirable traits are encouraged to propagate. Those with undesirable traits should not propagate. Because the mental defective possesses undesirable traits he should not reproduce.”” While the subject of sexuality and people with disabilities can be a touchy subject, when I read what the author wrote, I was wondering if Adolf Hitler had similar thoughts when he had millions and millions of Jewish people killed. Many states passed sterilization laws as a result of this idea. “By 1926 . . . 23 states. When voluntary sterilization for the retarded becomes part of the culture of the United States, we should expect a decrease of about 50 percent generation in the number of persons as a result of all methods combined to reduce mental retardation.”

I’m glad I live and work in 2010.

A Day in the Life.....

Tuesday’s are always stressful as I get to work late and have to leave early. Yesterday I left at 2:55 but when I got about a block away from LBSA, I realized I forgot my cell phone. I wish I wasn’t so dependent on the darn thing so I could have continued on my way home, but I couldn’t so I had to come back to work and retrieve it.


When I arrived home I was opening up the garage door and my wife passes by me and gives me the relevant information regarding our baby, who has a bad cold. We say good bye to each other and she leaves. I quickly shut the garage door as I can already hear Ivy ‘squawking’. Hurriedly I then take the garbage can to the curb as I know if I don’t do it now, I will forget to do it later.

I enter my house and greet my five year old daughter who always runs up to me and gives me a hug. Kendra has a cold but it isn’t as bad as Ivy’s. I sit down on the couch next to Ivy and pick her up. I can tell she just wants to sleep but she can’t. As I’m trying to figure out what I can do for her, the other kids are arguing over who is going to play playstation first. Once that is settled, I send Jody a text message asking when Ivy needs a nebulizer treatment next. Jody informed me that at 4:30.

At 4:30 I give Ivy her nebulizer treatment which settles her down enough to go to sleep. However, the other kids are being way to loud so Ivy is unable to. I’m worried as she hasn’t eaten much all day and attempts to give her some water have been in vain.

Between 4:30 and 5 I get four different children asking me what we are having for supper. I cheerfully answer ‘tuna sandwiches’. On nights when there is just one parent, we usually have easy meals.

Ivy is at the age where she needs to see Jody or I at all times. As I begin to make the sandwiches, I bring Ivy into the dining room and play music on my computer for her to try to get her relaxed. She loves music and I have found that John Denver’s greatest hits works best. Kendra asks for a cough drop and the only ones I saw were Hall’s. I ask Ken if these are the ones that mommy gave her earlier and her reply is no. I call Jody and get the location of the correct cough drops.

When we finally sit down to eat and I put Ivy in her high chair, I’m ready for a nap! Ivy doesn’t want to eat the jelly bread nor does she want to eat applesauce, two of her favorites. When I start to eat, I notice my son is basically finished eating but he sticks around the table and continues talking with us.

Landen reluctantly agrees to do the dishes, which is a big help to me. I need to have a smoke so I ask Kaylie to talk to Ivy while I do this.

For some reason, after supper the other kids seem to engage in non-stop arguing. I usually have to play referee. Although there are some days, I’d like to go into the garage and shut the door and come back inside when things are calm.

It is now about 6 pm and Ivy is extremely tired so I take her to her crib, located in my room and lay her down. She tosses and turns for a few minutes before she falls asleep. I see an opportunity for myself to take a ten minute cat nap. I lay my head down on my pillow and about four minutes later, Kaylie comes upstairs and needs something. I make sure the baby monitor is on and help Kaylie. I then go back downstairs and finish cleaning up the kitchen. I look at the clock and see that it is 6:30 pm. Only another hour and a half, I thought, until the cavalry is home.

I needed to make up some work time for today so I then spent 45 minutes reading t-logs and working on a presentation for my management group. I had to cut it short as I Ivy wakes up. I tried giving Ivy some formula and she drank about an ounce and a half. I was almost excited (even though she usually drinks about 6) but I was very worried about her at the same time.

I feel Ivy’s forehead and she feels warm. Her temp is 100. I send my wife a text asking if she is going to get motrin on her way home. I’m now worried that Ivy’s temp is going to go higher and higher. I take it a few minutes later and it is down to 98. I can never get an accurate reading. However, she still feels warm. I remove her pajamas hoping that will keep her cool.

I send Kaylie to the shower and change Ivy’s diaper. It isn’t very heavy so I’m worried she is getting dehydrated. I hear Kaylie call for me (we have to make sure her hair has all of the conditioner rinsed out).

I hear Kendra coughing and get her another cough drop.

Every Tuesday night, TBS has a three hours of the show The Office. I sit on the floor of my living room with Ivy cradled in my arms and tune in for a few minutes. At this point I’m tired, I’m exhausted and I’m a little crabby. I’m really ready for the Cavalry to arrive. The boys are listening to an Eminem song on you tube and tell them to turn if off. A few minutes later I hear four of my kids standing around the computer singing, and I’m not sure if the title and artist is correct, Fireflies by Owl something or other. Here I sit with my sick baby in my arms, listening to four angelic voices coming from the other room and I think how lucky I am.

At 8 pm I ask the girls to get a snack. Kendra chooses goldfish crackers. I’m not kidding it takes her FOR-EVER to eat a snack. Kaylie will eat a snack and brush her teeth without me having to ‘prompt’ her. When Kendra finishes, her brother is already in the shower so I tell Ken that she will have to skip brushing her teeth. I then get Ivy’s nebulizer set up and turn it on and I ask Ethan to hold it close to Ivy’s face while I put the other girls to bed.

By the time I finish the nebulizer treatment, about 9, Jody walks through the door. The boys give her hugs and they are sent off to bed. Jody and I are talking on the couch and I hear the boys arguing upstairs and I tell them to knock it off and go to sleep. I then realize that we have some movies that need to be returned so I get in my truck and return them. Upon returning home Jody and I watch another episode of The Office before we go to bed.

I sometimes suffer from insomnia and it takes a lot of effort for me to go to sleep. I also think I have restless leg syndrome so if it isn’t insomnia, my feet are driving me mad. Ivy is sleeping and I lay watching tv for a bit. Knowing I have to get up at 5:30 am the next morning I shut the tv off and try to go to sleep. I can feel myself drifting off when Ivy begins to ‘squawk’ again. I will now be awake for another two hours for sure. This happened an additional two times throughout the night. Although one of the times she woke up, I got her to smile.

I think I finally fell asleep between 2:30 and 3. Today, I am extremely tired and a little cranky. But you know, I got to hear my kids singing (and get along for 3 minutes) and I got to see my baby smile at 2 am.

It was a good day.

An original short story written by me

When I finished writing this, I showed it to my dad and he was worried that this is the direction I see my life going.  I of course responded with no not at all.  The only non-fiction piece to this story is the names of my wife and kids.  I think the inspiration for the story was I was thinking about how my grandfather dealt with lonliness after his wife died.  Anyways, I hope you enjoy.  Oh, and to my boss, I wrote this at home.  I didn't use company time.  :) 




As he bends to sit on the steps for his last cigarette of the night, his knees loudly crack. Damn softball injury he mutters to himself. His lower back hurts daily now and has a hard time sitting for any length of time. He doesn’t remember when it started hurting this much.


He lights his smoke with his zippo and takes a long drag. He pauses and looks down at the lighter. Jody gave me this lighter for our 10th wedding anniversary. He flips open the cover and inside he reads the inscription, just as he always does with each smoke, “All my love, Jody”. It’s been almost ten years since she died but it feels like yesterday. Even though they grew old together, things sagging and drooping he always thought she was as beautiful as the day he first laid eyes on her. He always loved her smile and laugh. His goal to himself was to hear her laugh each day. Now there’s no laughter, just sadness and emptiness.

While he takes another drag he tells himself he should quit tomorrow but is also quick to say “to hell with it” out loud to himself. Just another empty promise he makes. He feels his whole life has been full of empty promises to himself. He was always going to “do it tomorrow”. He always had the best intentions but tomorrow never came in the way he had hoped.

He puts the smoke out in the folger’s coffee can. He notices his thin knuckles looking weak and bony. He remembered a time when his hands were strong and was in great shape. “Gunshow” he says to himself with a half smile. “That used to be my nickname.” He wonders what ever happened to his friend Marcus. Last he heard, ten years ago, Marcus moved out east to Boston, or was it New York?

Glancing around the garage he sees the piles of old leftover bikes and children toys. He sees the pedals missing from the boys bikes. He starts to say he would fix the pedals tomorrow but before he has a chance to emotionally beat himself up for not fixing it sooner, he realizes the boys are in their 30’s and live 6 hours away. His girls are all married living on their own with families. “My kids don’t want to be bothered by an old fart like me,” he says. He misses his children dearly and longs to be a bigger part of his grand kids lives. But is to stubborn to admit his mistakes to them.

He sees the worn baseball gloves and remembers playing catch with his kids so many years ago. Or was it last week? He has a hard time distinguishing when things happened anymore. He picks up the swords he made for the kids on a camping trip in northern Minnesota and remembers the looks they gave him when he showed them the swords. He sees the dozen old bikes that haven’t been ridden in years. Some of them almost look brand new, with the exception of the tires falling away from the rims. “I’ll get rid of them tomorrow,” he says half aloud. He remembers the hours he spent trying to fix these same bikes with his now dusty tools and how frustrated he became when he couldn’t get it done right. More failures, he thinks as he remembers all of the swearing he did when it came to the bikes. He wishes he could turn back the hands of time to experience that frustration one more time, to see his kids as small again. To hear them ask a hundred questions about everything. To see their face light up when they smile, to feel their hugs one more time before they go to sleep after a ‘rough’ day of playing.

He regrets how things turned out with his kids after his wife’s funeral. He said lots of hurtful things to them. Many of which he didn’t mean. Each time his phone rings, which is once per week at best, he hopes it’s one of his kids calling to just say hi.

He finishes his smoke and goes back into the house. Locking the door behind him, “I wonder how many times I’ve locked that door over the years?” He’s tried to keep the house the same way his wife did when she was alive. This was a struggle for him as he’s never been one for housework and some days it was hard to get out of bed. If he didn’t get hungry, he’s not sure he would. One week when he had the flu he stayed in bed. After five days, his barber called him wondering if he was o.k.

As he goes up the 12 steps to his bedroom, he stops on each step to rest and to glance at the pictures hanging on the walls. Second step he sees his wedding picture and remembers how beautiful Jody looked on this day. He closes his eyes and remembers the smell of his parents back yard, watching Jody walk down the aisle holding each of the boys hands. Their eyes meet and he held her gaze for what seemed like an eternity. The environment around them disappears for a few moments as she is the only thing that matters. Another step and he has to rest. He glances at Ethan’s picture. He was so small when he was younger. He remembers talking with him before he went into the Marines. He didn’t want Ethan to enlist but Ethan was raised to think for himself. As he got on the bus to leave for basic training, he wanted Ethan to know how proud he was that he chose to serve his country, he wanted the best for him. He started to open his mouth to tell him but couldn’t as he was fighting back tears. He never forgave himself for not saying this to Ethan. Ethan died in Iraq two years later fighting for our freedom. The letter I got from the government said he was a hero. Ethan was a hero in many ways. Another step, and rest. Landen, the star athlete, is a social worker working at a homeless shelter. His wife is an accountant. The last time he talked to Landen, he was telling him about one of his clients who didn’t have any money to feed his family. Landen gave him some money but the client bought drugs and eventually died of an overdose. Landen has always been a big teddy bear and he took this hard. Next step and rest. Kaylie made a lot of his hair first turn grey and then fall out. He regrets so many things he did and said to Kaylie. He always hoped she knew how much he loved her. Next step and rest. Then was Kendra, with her sparkly blue eyes and long blond hair. She was the spitting image of him, only in the female form. The two of them used to be two peas in a pod. Lastly he looks at Ivy’s picture. Sweet beautiful Ivy. His relationship with Ivy is what he has the most regrets about. She grew up hardly knowing her father as he was almost 45 when she was born and his heart had already started to turn to stone.

He usually didn’t rest much before the next step as it was a picture of Jody taken about three years before she died. Her hair had turned white and wrinkles had formed around her eyes and mouth. When he looks at the picture he doesn’t see these things. He sees the beautiful woman he married. “Shit I miss you honey. I love you. Good night. See you soon.”

That night he dreamed he was camping, a favorite pastime in his younger days. He was trying to pound the tent steaks into the ground and kept missing the steaks with the mallet. He becomes angry and frustrated as this is something he knows he can do.

He glances up towards the woods and sees Ethan walking towards him. In his dream, Ethan is 11 but is wearing his formal military uniform.

Ethan takes his hand and leads him into the forest. They say nothing to each other and eventually walk to a slow moving stream. He glances at the water and sees a large catfish swimming upstream. He imagines the catfish’s whiskers scrapping along the bottom looking for crawfish. He looks up and he sees Jody standing next to Ethan. Tears rolling down her face, looking as beautiful as ever. He held her gaze just as he did the day they got married.

His alarm startles him at 7 am and he almost falls out of bed. When he composes himself and realizes what he saw wasn’t heaven and was just a dream, he begins to cry and climbs back into bed. About a week later his barber called.

  

Adventures in Camping

Usually each summer, unfortunately it hasn’t happened the last few years, I go camping by Moorhead with two of my college roommates (Tom and Brian) from anywhere from 3 days to a week. This is a glimpse into some of the adventures we have had.


We camp at the same place each year and the old guy who owns the land usually camps with us. J.B. as he is known, tells the best stories. He is also one of the smartest people I have ever met. He has a rough looking exterior but is really a big softy. J.B. reminds me of santa clause, complete with the white beard and a belly that wiggles like a bowl of jelly. I told J.B. once that he should write a book and title it, “Everything you’ve always wanted to know about anything.” J.B. quickly responded with, “and still get nothing done.” Perfect. In the summer, J.B. puts his ice house on his land and spends three nights a week camping. He was showing us once how he put a mirror on the ceiling of his ice house. When we asked him why, he said replied, “so when I’m ice fishing I don’t have to climb out of bed to check my bobber, I just have to look at its reflection in the mirror.” Brilliant if you ask me.

Prior to leaving for the first camping trip I, at the last minute, threw my bb gun in the trunk of my car. I wasn’t exactly sure why as I really had outgrown shooting bb guns. The second year we camped, Brian purchased a better bb gun, equipped with a scope. This started the friendly competition of seeing who could bring out the coolest toys. I once brought these collapsible hot dog roasting sticks. Brian would not shut up about how cool and awesome they were. Finally I just gave them to him just to get him to stop talking about them. Brian totally played me as he later told me he did this on purpose.

Tom, who is a chiropractor, always gets grief from the three of us that he isn’t a real doctor (it’s all bells and whistles you know) usually brings his portable table and adjusts our backs. One night, after a few beverages I made a reference to Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat and called him Dr. Tom and his magic table.

Tom usually arrives a day or two after me and Brian. We take care of getting the groceries and present Tom with a bill for his portion. Generally, we triple the amount as a handling fee. After all, he’s a fake doctor, he can afford it.

We usually fish for catfish and use frogs for bait. One year we were going through frogs like crazy so we had to ‘hunt’ for more frogs. I used my bb gun and Brian used the flat side of an ax. Picture this, two almost 30 year olds walking through weeds as high as our waist, bent over hunting for frogs. After several hours and two frogs, we realized it was just easier to pick them up with our hands. I will say it was more fun using the gun and ax though. This is what I love about our camping trips, there is always an easier more efficient way to do things but we generally go for the fun factor, at first anyways.

I’ve never really known how to clean fish and Brian has tried to show me several times. I usually just act like I don’t understand how to do it. When I catch a fish I hang it up and leave it, knowing that Brian will eventually clean it, never complaining, never protesting. All the while I’m smiling to myself. As he cleans the fish and I usually say something like, “B, I think I got another fish and I bet it’s bigger then the one you are cleaning.” Brian will watch me reel in my line and when it’s almost to shore I say, “oh I guess the fish let go of the hook.”

We pride ourselves in the food that we cook. The most memorable meal was when we made beer can chicken. Simple recipe is you take a can of beer, have a good swig out of it and put the can up the back end of a whole chicken and cook it over an open fire. The beer boils and steams the chicken from the inside. Best chicken ever. The second time we tried this, Tom wasn’t able to camp so Brian and I EACH had an entire chicken to ourselves. Another time we wanted to fry some catfish but realized we didn’t have any flour. What we did have is Dorrito chips. So we tried breading the fish fillets in crushed Dorrito’s. Unfortunately, this didn’t turn out so good. We later found out that the oil we used to fry the fish in was rotten and had we eaten the fish we would have become sick. J.B. still laughs about this.

I pride myself in finding ways to torment both of my friends, especially Brian. I think it is because he is a great sport and takes it all so well. Once, when I saw Brian heading to the outhouse, I waited for him to sit and I then took my semi-automatic bb gun and fired 16 bb’s at the side of the outhouse, laughing the entire time. Brian’s only remark was that it was a good thing none of the bb’s went through the wood.

One year we were feeling more adventurous and thought we would canoe up the river and thought it would take maybe two hours. Eight hours later we arrived at J.B.’s. (One year Tom and Brian came, with Brian’s boat, to my house for the fishing opener. We were in the middle of the lake and the motor stopped working. Brian started to paddle us into shore as Tom and I sat and watched and commented on how great a job he was doing. After a while I tell Tom how romantic this is as it’s like we are in Sicily. Without missing a step, Brian begins to serenade us with an Italian song.)

There was a movie I watched a few years ago called, “What Dreams May Come” with Robin Williams, based on the book by Richard Matheson, and in the movie it talks about how when we die, in heaven, we create an environment to be as big or as small as we want and to look however we want. When I close my eyes and picture sitting by the fire, I see Tom and Brian laughing, I see the reflection of the fire on my wife’s face, my kids near by playing. I see the stars above the tree line, I listen to the river, I hear the tree tops swaying back and forth in the wind. We have good conversation, we eat great food, and I feel peace. This is my heaven.

Conquering Fears

One thing I had always wanted to do in my life was to sky dive. As I sit here and type I wonder if it has something to do with wanting to fly like superman (see a previous blog entry). I did some research and found a place about 90 minutes from where I live.


So in the early part of May one year, I and two friends headed to this particular airport. Did I mention is that I am deathly afraid of heights? When I was in my teens, I was at the Metrodome for a Vikings game and each time I ventured towards the aisles, I would almost freeze and unable to move.

When we arrived to the airport, we went through the five minute orientation. We were each going to do a tandem jump (you are strapped to a dive instructor) and we told them that we wanted to video tape it. The instructor’s told us we could choose if to either video tape it or take a different plane and go almost twice as high (3 miles) and have a longer free fall. We obviously chose to have a longer free fall.

The flight pattern we took reminded me of a circular stair case. (I can remember looking out the window thinking, “holy crap, we must be about there.) The dive instructor shows me a gauge on his wrist and says we are about half way there. My heart sank to my feet.

I remember it was a sunny day, not a cloud in the sky but it was a little cool for May. When the pilot announced we were high enough to jump this guy at the front of the plane throws open the hatch and ice crystals suddenly surrounded all of us. This same guy takes two steps back so he can lean against the wall on the opposite side of the hatch and takes off running and dives out the open door of the plane. Truthfully, even if I wasn’t going to jump, it was worth it to see this. My brain had a hard time registering that this person just willingly ran and jumped out of a plane. When I saw this happen, I was frozen and couldn’t move. All at once the people on the plane stood up and began pouring out of the plane like ants coming out of an ant hill. As we moved to the hatch, I don’t remember my feet moving at all (I was already strapped to my instructor) so I’m assuming he did all of the walking.

As I’m standing in the doorway of the plane, I was trying to remember the instructions, cross your arms, rock forward and back and count to three and then fall. I didn’t have a chance to remember this as my instructor was already rocking forward. I put my hand above the hatch so he would slow down to give me a chance to compose myself. He finally told me not to do that. I obliged and waited for him to basically push us out of the plane.

What I remember about the initial part of the free fall was that it was really cold and for the first few seconds it was difficult to get any oxygen. We fell for about a minute but it seemed like about six seconds.

When the chute opened I looked down and saw a tractor driving in a farmer’s field. My first thought was that some child must have left their toy tractor out in the yard. Again, it was hard for my brain to register that this was a full sized tractor, much larger then I. Then my instructor showed me that our chute had brakes and when he pulled them, I swear on everything that is good and holy that we hung in mid air.

At this point I couldn’t wait to get my feet on the ground. It is very odd watching the ground approaching you, our brains aren’t wired this way. Once we landed, I had to sit and compose myself for a few minutes.

Was I glad I did it, yes and I would do it again and enjoy it more this time. I am still afraid of heights but surprisingly, sky diving has helped to take the edge off in many situations. I think I would call this a pretty hard core version of exposure therapy.

The friends who I did this were telling me that they thought it was cool that I was trying to beat my fear. I didn’t see it this way.

Each of us has different fears (my other one is rats, if I see one, I will scream like my five year old daughter) that we can either avoid or conquer. Our clients each have fears of all varying degrees. Our jobs as staff of LBSA is to work on their client’s fears with them, to be their instructor guiding them on the free fall, pulling the chute at the appropriate time, pulling the brakes, and if they need to, taking them back up in the plane.

Alone in the Wild

A few weeks ago I was watching a show on the National Geographic channel about feral children who had been raised by wild animals from a very young age.




All of these children, once rescued, failed to develop intelligible speech because no one taught them how during their brain’s development and by the time they were rescued, it was almost ‘too late’ for them to develop speech. Aside from the horrible conditions these kids had to live in, what’s interesting to me is how their brains re-wired themselves so they could learn how survive. These kids did whatever they had to in order to survive. I realize its comparing apples to oranges but adults, if placed in the same situation, wouldn’t have the brain flexibility to adapt in the same way. I know if I was forced into that situation, I wouldn’t adapt the way kids would.



Disassociative Identity Disorder, formerly known as multiple personality disorder, occurs when a child has been the victim of serious emotional and physical abuse. The child’s brain creates the other personalities as protection from their true self. DID can only be diagnosed in children (or adults who suffered from abuse as kids). Again, as with the feral children, the brain adapts and re-wires as a survival mechanism.



I was watching another show on Discovery Channel called Alone the Wild. The premise of this show was a guy went into the Yukon all by himself for 90 days with no human contact. He was also to make a documentary and do all of the camera work himself.



When I first started watching the show, I thought to myself how much fun that would be. A three month camping vacation sounds like a good time. Then I thought about my family and wasn’t sure if I could do it.



Each week, the viewer could see further deterioration of his mental health. To the point where the final few episodes all he basically did is cry. His biggest struggles were missing people and not having enough food. He had a rifles to hunt and had the opportunity to shoot a moose but didn’t because it wasn’t moose season.



He also talked about the voices he would converse with. I first thought he was developing schizophrenia brought on by stress but later learned that this is common among people who don’t have any human contact for a period of time.



He lasted alone in the wild for 50 days and when he was ready for the experiment to be over he used a satellite phone to contact a producer. After seeing his state of mind when he made that phone call, I realized there is no way I would be able to do what he did. The last few minutes of the last episode showed him in a hotel room and he admitted it was great to be back in civilization, he already missed his campfire.



If he made any mistakes, which who am I to ‘judge’ that he made any, it was to shoot that darn moose. The other mistake he made was failing to adapt to his environment. Maybe he couldn’t because of his adult brain lacked the ability to be flexible? Maybe he was trying to retain some connection to society or people when there wasn’t any? While I’m not saying he should have started to behave like a wild animal, he was trying to hold on to a civilized life in a non-civilized environment. I think his adult brain adapted as best it could.



He talked quite often to the camera and I wonder if there was point he was expecting the camera to talk back to him. On his website he says that the psychologist didn’t realize how draining it would be to talk to the camera.



I wonder what kind of training he went through prior to doing this. He was obviously trained on how to survive in the physical sense but I wonder if he was trained for the psychological aspects of it. If I had to guess, I would say not based on his rapid mental decline.



From his web site, the star Ed Wardle says, “The isolation was the most difficult element of this adventure. With no contact I immediately began to lose direction and reason. Without food I lost concentration and the ability to think straight. I worked hard from week one to keep myself motivated and keep going and by the end I was spending hours every day just convincing myself to carry on one day at a time. When I was traveling or doing something physically hard I had a military voice superimposed on my thoughts keeping me going and getting me organized, other times I had a female voice that would tell me to be sensible, breathe and take it easy on myself. They helped and I could feel them getting stronger and more necessary as time went on.”



Interesting that he referred to the voices as ‘they’ as if they were real people.

An Open Letter to My Father

An Open Letter to My Father

Dad from you I learned about a work ethic
Dad from you I learned to stand up for what I believe in
Dad from you I learned perseverance
Dad from you I learned to be strong in the face of adversity
Dad from you I learned to work towards your dreams.

I appreciate how you influenced my development into a ‘grown-up’.
I have a question for you though,
WHY?
Why did you do it?
Why did you raise me to love the Vikings?
Why did you raise me to bleed purple on Sundays in the fall?
Why did you instill in me hope,
The hope that each year is going to be ‘our year’?

Favre aka Moses brought a glimmer of that hope
Shortly after I thought to myself that Moses will take us to the promised land,
I knew we were doomed.
Doomed to always be the bridesmaid,
Forever waiting for our turn to dance.


Your #1 son


Mitch

PS Go Vikes!

My Walk with ADHD

When I was in my third year of college, I had to write a research paper. This was the most painstaking process I’d been a part of in my academic career. After my professor read my paper she asked me if I have ever been tested for a learning disability or ADHD. I can remember thinking that she didn’t know what she’s talking about. Two years later (I was on the 8 year plan for a bachelor’s degree) I was struggling with many of my classes and this same teacher suggested I look into getting tested. This time I reluctantly agreed as I knew if I didn’t figure something out, I would probably flunk out of school.

What I remember most about the six hours of tests I took (research suggests that for an accurate diagnosis of ADHD there should be many many tests done) is that I was asked to recall a series of numbers and I was tapping a pencil on the desk so often that the test proctor took the pencil away from me (so I stuck my tongue out at her).

I’m not sure what all of the tests were designed to measure, but what I eventually came to learn is that I do have ADHD. As I read more about ADHD, I learned that people who go undiagnosed often have a low self esteem as they don’t feel as smart as their peers. I knew I wasn’t dumb but couldn’t understand no matter how much I studied, I couldn’t get the grades I had hoped for. In high school, I always heard the teacher say, “He’s not living up to his potential.” When I discovered I could get basically the same letter grade with minimal amount of studying, I gave up trying to get A’s and B’s. In 9th grade algebra, my teacher sent a deficiency to my parents because I had a C.

My psychiatrist started me on Wellbutrin, which is an anti-depressant that has some stimulant (i.e. Ritalin) properties. The doc told me that it might take up to six weeks for it to work. Since it was such a slow process, I didn’t know if it was working. I felt pretty much the same. I was playing softball that summer and when a hitter was coming up to bat for the second time during the game, I remembered exactly where they hit the ball the last time. I couldn’t believe it. Before I was diagnosed I used to tell myself that I just have to pay attention more. When I couldn’t I became frustrated.

Eventually my doctor changed my medication to Ritalin. The best way I could describe how Ritalin helped was twenty minutes after I took it, it was almost as if a wave of calm splashed over me. Silly small things that made me furious before didn’t seem to bother me. I definitely felt less high strung.

Recently, I ran out of medication, concerta, and was forced to go for a day or two without taking it. What I came to discover was that I didn’t realize how much my medication helps me get through the day. I was in a meeting listening to someone, and I probably only heard every 5th word and had to fill in the rest of the information by guessing. Self-motivation is completely non-existence when I don’t have my meds. To get off the couch and get something to eat takes about as much effort as it would to walk to Canada (in my mind) I also have a hard time putting thoughts into words. I have all of these thoughts going on in my head but because they are changing so quickly I can’t concentrate enough to put together a sentence. Medication or not, when I get nervous this still happens and find myself apologizing during meetings as I know I’m taking a long time to get my thought out. Other times I find myself wanting to make a point and I completely lose my train of thought.

My wife definitely notices when I haven’t taken my meds. A small part of me likes how I feel when I don’t take my meds as I’m more silly and spontaneous with my children. However, any disruption to my ‘world’ completely upsets and angers me and it’s very difficult to keep that in check. The negatives that accompany not taking my medications far outweigh the positives.

My forgetfulness drives me and everyone around me crazy. If you ask me where my keys are, I wouldn’t know unless I put them in the same spot (which I do). I have a brain full of useless information and facts, while I’m not positive, I’m pretty sure this is due to my ADHD. Certain kinds of insignificant trivia I do very well at. For example, I might not know who discovered America, but I could probably tell you what they ate for dinner the night before. I’ve never gone out and tried to learn this stuff. As strange as it sounds, I learn much easier if there’s no pressure to learn the information. I sometimes feel like Cliff Clavin from the show Cheers when he says, “It’s a little known fact that…”

I feel sometimes that I am ADHD. That everything about who I am is as a result of ADHD. My likes, dislikes, everything. I enjoy playing video games. Why? Because of the charge my brain gets when I do well or when I figure out how to get past a certain part. I have loved sports my whole life. Why? I enjoyed the charge I got when I do well or when the team wins. To some degree, I think my ADHD affected my performance for the worse in high school. I also think taking medications affected my performance for the better after college.

ADHD isn’t something that you ‘catch’. It’s basically how your brain is wired and I’ve had it my whole life. People don’t out grow this, although I wish they did. If there was a cure, I’d sell my first born to get it, o.k., so that’s a little extreme.

My point with all of this is to not gain sympathy. We all have our crosses to bear. I guess my point is to make the reader aware of the struggles people with ADHD have. I’m lucky actually as there are things that are much more debilitating then ADHD. I have ADHD and I find ways to cope, I find ways to adapt, I find ways to accept it for what it is. Most importantly, I have learned to be comfortable with myself, walking hand in hand with my ADHD, not letting it lead me (unless I see something shiny) but going through this journey of life together.

Tuesday Top Ten

Here are the top ten reasons why I drive 50 minutes to work every day:

10. seeing LLS smile.
9. the chance of being called the big boss cheese
8. hearing my assistant laugh
7. talking about the Vikings with CR
6. the kitchen staff (they always take care of me at lunch)
5. When CL comes to get her check on pay days
4. listening to ST
3. working with a great Admin/OSSMT team
2. Seeing staff grow and change
1. Knowing we all have one common goal, to support the clients to ensure they have as much independence as possible

For Ivy

I look at your face, I see you smile.
I watch you explore, learning about the world you live in.
I hear you cry and feel your sadness.
I see your small fingers, small toes.
I watch you try to crawl.
I watch you learn to eat.
I sing to you.
I watch you roll over.
I watch you sleep.
I laugh with you.
I hold you in my arms
And I feel love.

Competition

For those of you that don't know, I am probably one of the most competitive people you will probably ever meet. I will say that my competitiveness isn't nearly as bad as it used to be and I probably inherited my competitiveness from my father. I also see its ugly face, to some degree, in some of my children. I think about why I am this way and it boils down to one simple reason. I absolutely hate to lose. I was involved in sports in high school (this isn't a blog about how 'great' of an athlete I used to be) and I think because most of the teams I participated on weren’t very good my hate of losing started back then.

If a psychologist analyzed my hate for losing they'd probably say it's because I have a fear of failing. To some extent, they would probably be right. Our environment has some effect on who we are as people and both professionally and personally my environment has helped to 'shape' this belief. As I get ready to watch the NFL playoff games today and tomorrow, I was thinking of a something I wrote for a radio station recalling a football game I played in high school (my story won me box seats to a Twins game). Again, this blog isn't intended to brag about any athletic achievements as there really weren't any. This was my one shining moment in my athletic career.

The score was tied 0-0 and there was less then a minute left in the game. I was feeling frustrated as we hadn't passed the ball much during this game. (If you ask someone who has played wide receiver, they will say they are wide open every time there is a pass play.) Furthermore, I was wide open every time we tried a pass play. We stood in the huddle waiting for the coach to send in the play. I glanced at my black shoes and noticed that one of my laces needed to be replaced. The coach sends in a player who whispers the play to the quarterback. The quarterback then tells us the play, "21 counter bootleg right pass on one". My heart stopped beating for a second as this play had one purpose, to score a touchdown and the ball was going to be thrown to me.

We came to the line of scrimmage and I feel a wave of calm wash over me. I check with the line judge to make sure I was on the line of scrimmage. I glance over to where the free safety is supposed to be and he is inching closer to the line of scrimmage. He thinks it's a running play. I look at the position of the cornerback covering me and he's standing on my inside shoulder about seven yards away from the line of scrimmage. As the quarterback stands behind the center he glances in my direction and we make eye contact for a split second. I turn my head forward and look at the conerbacks feet. The center snaps the ball to the quarterback who fakes a hand off. The cornerback rushes in as if he is going to tackle the running back. I run my z route (which looks like half of a lightning bolt) and the free safety is no where to be found. I make my cut and head towards the corner of the end zone. I look back at the quarterback who lets the ball fly. I keep running so as to make sure I have a chance to catch it, never taking my eye off the ball. Time slows, players move in slow motion and I hear nothing, no noise from the crowd or from either team. The ball hangs in space for what seems like an eternity. At the last second I throw my hands up and catch the ball and pull it to my chest. Time returns to normal and I hear the crowd cheering. I had just scored the winning touchdown with no time on the clock.

A few years ago, an LBSA client won the gold medal in the 400 meter dash for the Special Olympics. If some of you aren't familiar with this race, it is one of the hardest races to run as it's basically a sprint but it requires a great amount of endurance. I wonder, as he came around the last turn on the track, if everything slowed down for him, if everything moved in slow motion. When he crossed the finish line, I wonder if he felt the same level of excitement I felt. When I learned he won the race, I remember how excited I was for him. He was proud of his medal and wore it to work the following Monday (can’t say I blame him for that). I also remember thinking that this wasn’t Bob (name has been changed) the client who won the Special Olympics, this was Bob the 35 year old man who I work with that won the 400 meter dash.