Lying Little Signs.

I was recently passing through a nearby city where we drove by a business I used to work at. It isn't something that was unusual, far from it; we've gone by the place countless times. I haven't even worked there in years, furthermore this wasn't the first time I have seen the message posted on their sign. What it was though, was the point where I could take it no more.

The sign was a liar.

Let me start at the beginning; I was the top of my class in college and enrolled in a program that had already ceased being offered - in effect the last of a breed. I had just graduated and as part of a requirement had to sit down with the school's director of career services beforehand which inevitably started several wheels into motion. Prior to my graduation I had worked for the school in a variety of capacities as well as being hired by some fellow students and staff for odd jobs on the side. All this added up to a point where a local computer repair place not far from the school received my resume on behalf of the career services director they found I came both highly recommended and perfectly suited to their needs.

I was contacted for an interview, one I agreed to gratefully and attended. The details were fairly straightforward and exciting for me. They needed someone to take several dozen towers bought in bulk, identify what worked/didn't and then systematically bring them back to life to be resold. It was right up my alley as the kind of thing I was particularly talented at as well as what I had gone to school for. I loved hardware, I hated to see someone who couldn't say 'this is where the problem is,' and instead shrugged before swapping everything out with new parts without any appreciation.

The pay itself wasn't great but I hadn't expected anything major just out of school. I had graduated with various degrees, certificates etc. including an A+ accreditation but had not had the money to pay to take my A+ certification exam itself. One of the agreements of my accepting the job was that they would pay for me to get that very certification along with a variety of other certifications.

When I showed up for my interview I did so by being early, politely and dressed respectfully. Now, I will admit for the record that I did at the time have long hair and a goatee. However (and I must stress this) I kept that hair clean, well groomed and typically worn in a tight braid that ended about the middle of my backside. My goatee itself was likewise maintained, trimmed and neat. Both I was assured would be permissible for my job although I would have to purchase a wardrobe of dress shirts, ties and pants.

I did exactly that, even buying tools and things to use on the job. I even agreed to leave my current job at the time, one that I had held all through school along with my work for the school with less notice than I preferred but more than they had initially wanted me to give them. All in all I made a lot of concessions to take what seemed to be my first real job in what looked to be the beginning of my career. I even conceded to the awkward notion of being hired through a temp agency as a trial basis before becoming officially part of the staff.

The first day of showing up for work I was blindsided by the demand to shave and cut all my hair off. Something I didn't prefer having to do but as I responded at the time; "you can tell me what style you would like and that is how I'll cut it if that is what it takes for this job." My wife didn't enjoy the news herself either but we bowed to it and moved forward.

In short order I was cackling like Victor Frankenstein in a back corner with an army of revived machines cleaned and purring to life eager to be put into use. They struggled to keep me fed with new corpses to reanimate, autopsy or salvage. Before long I was pressed into service riding along to do service calls and then eventually sent out on my own. I was traveling across not just adjacent states but sometime 2 or 3 states away to do warranty work - even showing up quite to my surprise to be asked why I wasn't in the infamous little geek squad car. Little did I know that Best-Buy's Geek Squad didn't actually come out and fix things; that was what people like us were paid by them to do.

Things weren't perfect but they were going forward. The problem was I had already been witness to too many things that left me feeling dirty some of which I had to refuse to take part in. When a customer brings a machine in to get fixed there was a bench fee for them to even look at it. It was a mandatory requirement that you bring your restore discs, documentation etc. with it when you did. And, if it turned out repairs were more than you wanted to spend you could waive paying the bench fee and instead surrender your machine for parts. It would be given new life by me or parted out - any number of things.

This is where things started to get dark for me. If we didn't have the restore disc for a unit in the boss's collection then we were told to call the manufacturer and tell them we were the original owner of the unit to request a replacement. We were blatantly asked to commit fraud. Then came the infamous Microsoft Product Key. I was painstakingly instructed how to carefully remove a product key's serial number sticker and replace it on another machine. After which I was required to call Microsoft and claim that our machine's key wouldn't work because we had had to replace a hard drive or some such. [Side note/fun fact - You can only replace so many components on your PC before the operating system stops recognizing that it is the same system. Microsoft can authorize your key to work on your machine or issue a new one but stripping a valid key off one machine to reuse on another, especially for resale is a massive violation. Any vendor can purchase a license/keys to use instead, even at a discount.] The worst part of it all was that at the end of each day at work I was the one with my hand and name on those units. If anything ever happened once they ended up in a customer's hands it would all come back to me.

I started carrying a memo pad in my pocket recording every serial number, every product key, every detail, dates etc. on everything I touched. I wanted to keep the job and make it work. I wanted to get my certification and become exactly what I had hoped to be; a computer technician. But I refused to tell anyone that I was the consumer who owned the device. I refused to lie to customers or withhold my advice when they asked me. I did every job asked of me in the way it was worth doing; the right way.

One day after being gone all day (I was typically handed a pile of parts and service orders, shoved out the door into a car and told not to return unless the boxes were all empty. This was generally coupled with no map to where I was going or itinerary so I had to get very good at improvising my plan of attack.) I returned to receive the news that things had been slowing down. One of the two co-owners and the professional face who handled all the high end side of things was going to be having surgery so other technicians were being shuffled about. Unfortunately that also meant that since I was the last one to be hired I was the first one to be asked to leave. And, since I had been brought in via a temp agency there was no need for anything more than being told that and that was it.

Suddenly it all just stopped. I then discovered that since I hadn't officially been an employee there I couldn't even claim it for resumes etc. Next I saw the lot next to the shop get cleared and replaces with an improved parking lot, a new fleet of cars - even a small storage building transformed into a little business for one of the owner's friends. While I looked for work at the unemployment office a case worker even informed me with glee that a local computer repair place was looking for someone just like me!

Imagine my surprise. I had been hired to do a job just long enough to squeeze every benefit they could from me using false promises and then let go. Then I find things weren't so bad after all; quite the opposite. Now they were looking for a fresh young student hot off the assembly line to toss into the meat grinder. I smiled and politely waived the offer aside. "Something tells me that they wouldn't be interested in me," I explained.

But the biggest problem I cannot get over, like I mentioned at the beginning was their sign. It reads, in rather sloppy placement; We Fix Computers Here. Which, I can attest is a bare faced lie. The entire time I worked there I witnessed (even personally ordered at times) virtually no machine to ever be fixed as per the definition. I saw people lied to in order acquire their property. Customers were convinced to purchase new computers. There was even machines that were made of entirely new components and returned to the customer with a hefty bill. But almost nothing actually repaired. The only exception being the work I did in a small corner in the back. However even that I cannot call the entirety of the work being repair.

If someone brings me a problem and they ask me to fix it; I want to be able to hand them back what they brought me with the problem solved or an explanation as to what went wrong. That is why people bring you something to work on; they expect it to be fixed. Every time I see that sign I can't help but shake my head and ask how they can lie to people in such a manner.

I won't name them, nor do I generally go out of my way to bad mouth the business in question. But if anyone asks me I discourage them from using their services. You can make money without abandoning ethical, moral or legal behavior. You can also be a computer technician by just being the person people can trust to call when they need a problem solved. I'd rather keep that trust myself, I guess for others the feeling isn't necessarily mutual.

The Reality Of Ridiculous.

The Reality of Ridiculous.

Have you ever felt ridiculous? Ever had someone point out that you looked ridiculous? Perhaps you have, yourself told someone else that an idea they proposed was ‘simply ridiculous?’

We’ve all heard the word in use in our daily lives at some point or another. Everyone on the planet by virtue of living among our fellow examples of humanity and/or members of society has experienced feeling or being made to feel ridiculous. Many of us have less than favorable memories stashed away in our mental vaults that we’d rather pretend didn’t exist that involve that very word as a center piece.

What does the word even mean though? If you look it up in a dictionary it might say something like: ‘deserving or inviting derision or mockery; absurd.’ I suppose on a technical level that is an appropriate explanation of the term itself. But, to me, the real true meaning of it is something a little different. In my opinion ridiculous is more along the lines of meaning any identifiable or noticeable difference perceived as being separate from conforming to the greater general majority.

I’ve had more than my share of first hand experiences with the word ridiculous over the course of my life. I won’t lie about it, for a long time I let people make me feel ridiculous on a regular basis. For example as a child I had a pair of denim overalls the spitting image of some my father wore every day to work. I would put them on and help him with things around the house/yard/garden. For me I took pride in my overalls, they made me feel good about myself.

Then one day I wore them to school oblivious to how other kids may perceive them or react. I quickly discovered that I had just painted myself as a prime target for ridicule. Regardless of the fact that our school was a small rural district among a collective of small rural districts that made up – you guessed it; a rural county. The majority of students all had grown up on a farm, around a farm or completely immersed in farm culture. But that didn’t matter; I was the one kid who showed up one day wearing something completely different than anything else the other kids were wearing. So they made me feel ridiculous, and I in my ignorance let them.

Years later on in my education, somewhere near the end of elementary and perhaps the early days of junior high I recall attending my first school dance. It didn’t leave me with a lasting desire to make a long tradition of repeating. Once more I was oblivious with regard to my attire and showed up in dress pants, shirt, complete with tie and vest. My first clue was when my cousin arrived at my house in infinitely more casual clothes.

When we reached the dance itself I found myself instantly engulfed in ridicule and feeling the full brunt of what that can impart onto you. To make matters worse I had no concept of how to dance or any comfortable facsimile thereof. Some friends of mine convinced me of trying to make use of some physical comedy gags I had improvised like waddling in place like a penguin and calling it ‘penguin dancing’ as well as sticking one foot spaced far in front of the other almost in a straight line and rocking back and forth like a rocking horse.

Ever heard the phrase most often used to try and console someone after they have reached new heights of ridiculous; they’re laughing with you instead of at you? I heard that one a lot – almost in a chorus stereo format style even. You can honestly tell a difference even as a kid between good spirited humor and people making a mockery of you. The entire rest of the night I spent being a repository for people’s pity or more pointed proclamations of being ridiculous.

As I grew up I eventually discovered the truth of the matter; that feeling ridiculous is something that solely rests with you. Some other kid once tried to mock me by pointing out that my T-shirt didn’t match a flannel shirt I was wearing over it. In fact, they (as I recall) tried to claim that I had to be color blind. Truthfully, I am not color-blind at all but I do happily concede to being color-stupid. I can tell one color apart from another without much trouble, but when it comes to instinctively knowing what two colors compliment and what ones clash I am woefully ignorant. Which I must point out doesn’t really matter much to me.

In retaliation and armed with my burgeoning understanding I started making it a point to wear mismatched color schemes of the same sort – often resorting to the most obvious pairings I had available. I would put on a bright blue shirt and then throw on a vibrant red flannel with it. In the face of any attempt to make me feel ridiculous I would simply smile and reply with comments along the lines of ‘I like how I look,’ or ‘what does it matter if I don’t match,’ etc.

Over the years as I grew up I found more and more that no body could make me feel ridiculous unless I allowed them to. I also started to see more and more the unmistakable association between what everyone else expected of you based on conformity and those they directed ridicule towards. Even as an adult it continued – and I don’t foresee it is something that will ever completely vanish from society.

That doesn’t mean that we should keep propagating it. That doesn’t mean we need to live in ignorance of how we allow it to affect us. It is our choice alone to permit it to make us feel bad or deny it any power over us.

I worked a job at local manufacturing plant for years holding a respectable job operating machines that were responsible for providing every other aspect of the production process with the raw materials they needed to build about everything they made. It wasn’t easy, it was long hours working from just before midnight to just after noon constantly moving and trying to pay attention to hundreds of moving strands of fiberglass and dozens on spools of woven fiberglass matte cloth as it was being pulled into a heated metal die, coated in thick sticky resin and coming out as a solid beam on the opposite end. It didn’t take much to have the process come to a crashing halt leaving some horrible messes on par with a gooey Gordian knot still heated to triple digits and an entire plant of other people depending on the flow of the materials we made to enable them to keep working.

The very first day I showed up for that job, I did so wearing a comfortable pair of old overalls. Worked in them every night too and didn’t give a hoot what anyone else thought or said on the matter. Although it is a little difficult to make a grown man feel ridiculous no matter what he is wearing if you watch him run over to a river of moving fiberglass mattes and strands of fiberglass string to start sewing thing together while it is still moving to keep it from crashing.

Point of the matter is that if you spend your days letting everyone make you feel ridiculous then you’ll never give yourself the time to show those same people that it doesn’t matter if you don’t dress the same or act the same. Just be yourself, be comfortable with who you are and don’t ever feel guilty about finding out who that person is (or is going to be). You can even be ridiculous if you want to be – but never let anyone make you feel that way.

Because if you ever stop and take the time to sound that word out it tells you all you need to know about anyone who tries to make you think you are being it

Re – [explicative deleted] – you – us; they’re trying to reinforce the difference between you and the rest of ‘us.’ And in the process all they are reinforcing is that they are the omitted component of that word themselves. Why don’t we all make an honest attempt to pay a little less attention to what others are saying is ridiculous and a little more on who we are as individuals. There is plenty more value in people that we can prize as precious without pointing out where we think they don’t fit in.

Tea Thinking.

Tea Thinking

I’d like to illustrate a very simple point, one that I think too many of us overlook or outright ignore. To be blunt; every single human being on planet earth thinks differently from their counterparts. Each person has some method of doing an action, even something trivial during the course of their day that sets them apart from the next. Does that mean that the way in which they go about a task is better or worse than someone else? Is the way they think about a topic any more profound than the next stranger they meet?

No.

In fact, there is a reason the word individual is used so often to describe someone. Because, let’s face the facts here; we are all individuals. Period. Let me demonstrate what I mean by way of a very basic example. The following is how I make tea:

Tea Making Procedure -

First, I take out a small pan and turn on some hot water in the faucet. I rinse it out with hot water by swishing it about before pouring it out and refilling the pan. With my pan now about ¾ of the way full of hot water I place it on an eye and set the heat on high to let it start to boil.

While that is heating up I get me three tea bags out and remove them carefully from their wrappers. Placing them into a neat stack I collect their strings and lift the bundle by their tags. Holding those tags I begin to flick the bags themselves into a spin, allowing the strings to entwine until they form one tight strand almost like a braid. I then proceed to take the twisted length of string and tie a quick knot somewhere near its middle before sitting it atop the tea bag wrappers.

Once the pan has come to a good strong boil I hang the tea bags over it by grasping their tags and dip them in. Dragging them in a few circuits I circle them about allowing them to sink in and then wrap the trailing string around the pan’s handle. At this point I generally reduce my heat as well down to around medium or just bellow.

I allow the tea to continue to boil for the next 3 minutes, and take the time to place two cups of sugar into the bottom of a gallon pitcher along with a long handled spoon. Once those 3 minutes are up I remove the pan from the heat (making sure to turn it off mind you, safety first) and allow it to steep for about 5 minutes.

After those 5 minutes are up I then unwrap my tea bag’s tie off and lift them just over the top of the liquid. By this point my twisted bundle typically begins to start to spin while the swollen sacks drip dark fluid. Patiently I wait for the steady drip to slow until it becomes almost non-existent before I remove the tea bags and relocate them into the trash can.

The still quasi-hot liquid is then poured ever so carefully into the pitcher where it is stirred to mix with the sugar. Cold water is added to the pan and dumped into the pitcher before I place the pitcher directly beneath the faucet or continue to ferry water with the pan. In fairly short order the pitcher is filled and the stirring slows to a stop, leaving the only remaining necessities being a lid and storage in the fridge.

Now, I can honestly admit that my tea making technique is not the one on the side of the box. Nor is it the precise method my mother taught me regarding how to make it. I could explain away every reason behind some of my various steps (like the twisting and spinning of the strings to prevent hunting around for individual strands or how it helps me spin out the bags afterwards) but then I could be at this all day I am afraid.

There are countless other ways to make tea; possibly you’d find new ones being developed every day. And, for the record, my way doesn’t make my tea any better than another’s. You could even argue that my tea making technique has virtually zero impact on the end result. But for me it makes sense, it works and it is how I always do it. If I watch someone else I puzzle over their own process. I won’t deny I may occasionally offer advice or mention how I do it differently.

But despite how you do it, or the way you think about such things the truth is tea is still made. We all have our ways, our methods and each one of us looks at things differently. You may plan out your story one way or start a project in a manner alternative to another. But we all end up with some result. My way might work well for me but not for you, doesn’t make it better or worse – just different.

Kind of like how we all are.

Take it Personally, Just Don’t Keep it.

Take it Personally, Just Don’t Keep it.

I think it is an almost undeniably safe conclusion to admit, that by this point, everyone has heard the age old cliché; “Don’t take it personally.” It is typically the first advice cited to anyone who might even remotely ever have to bear the brunt of some rather blunt criticism, and even more so may be one of the most reiterated lines used for comfort(even if it mostly fails in that regard).

Now, I’ve been finding myself of late with a wandering mind as I’m left with little else to occupy me besides idle contemplation. In case you’re unfamiliar, I’ll give you the condensed version; I’ve been dealing with Carpal Tunnel in my right wrist and after only just recently having had surgery I’m still what you might classify as ‘on the mend.’ As such I find myself with ample time to consider many things, primarily in an effort to preoccupy myself.

Honestly, there is only so much Solitaire you can mindlessly play before it’s starts to remind you that you’re only doing it because there is little else available to you. And while you could read endlessly there is always that nagging whisper in the back of your mind to remind you that if you do you’ll eventually exhaust what supply you have of enjoyable material. Then there is television… if you’re fortunate to find anything enticing enough to interest you on.

No, for me the habitual ritual of daily writing was an enjoyable part of my day. It was one that helped to provide me with structure and a sense of accomplishment. I won’t lie, I do miss it. But as you reflect on things, ironically enough, some issues blaze with a light of their own and just refuse to be cast aside.

To be fair; I’ve been scribbling little tales and the like for a good long while. In all that time, you can rest assured that I’ve seen more than my share of scathing reviews; I’ve been the receiver of both praise and ridicule – even silent indifference. And that is to be expected, honestly. In fact, I’ve always welcomed any form of feedback, as it helps you refine your work.

However, I have learned one little pearl of wisdom from my experiences, and even if it lacks any value to most it might resonate with some so I’ll share it here:

It is always personal.

Take it personally.

Just don’t hold onto it, try to remember to let it go.

What I mean by that is quite simply, anyone who makes something does so by placing part of them into their craft. Everything they make is personal to them. It reflects on them. Want to insult a cook? Speak ill of their food. Want to see a child cry? Tear apart the first book report or essay they attempt by pointing out every grammatical error, misspelling or improperly cited reference. It may just be a trivial thing to you, but, try as they might nobody can completely separate their selves from something they worked on.

For example; I recently stumbled on a review of the first serial-styled bedtime story I wrote for my kids. It was apparently very poorly received by the reader. In fact, the summary of the entire critic apparently only merited 2-3 very very concise sentences. The tale was little more than a novice approach to a bedtime story for small children. I believed I had clearly established it as such and even had gone on to clarify that it was, quite simply, something designed to be read to kids as young as 5-6 even. It wasn’t high brow literature meant for debate or deep meaningful contemplation. The wording, the characters, even the plot was shaped to be easy for a child to grasp, to enjoy.

A child could readily notice that at the beginning the young hero is terrified of the dark but that by the end he has grown to overcome his fear. That, while basic, is character development. The central character changed because of the events of the story. But, apparently, one issue with the story was that there was no character development.

Now realistically, I could by all accounts just ignore this person’s opinion and relegate it to something that didn’t exist to me. I could just as equally allow it to fester up inside me until it ate away and tried to turn me into some angry net-troll strolling about to lay siege to any negative comments. Neither avenue seems altogether healthy to me personally.

But what I will do is take such criticism personally – allow it to both motivate and enlighten me. I can’t please everyone, nor do I care to try. However, I can decide that next time around I’ll make it a point to approach my work with a better eye for what I’m trying to do and how well it manages to meet that goal. I can use it; help it to keep me passionate and the try to remind myself that it was just one opinion of a single soul that I have never known.

They didn’t know me either. Perhaps in the future though another will stumble on to one of my little yarns and find something enjoyable because of this. Then I can take that new smile just as personal before setting it aside and moving on. Because, it’s always personal; just don’t let it stay personal.

A Latch Perspective.

A Latch Perspective

Sometimes it is the simplest of things that can really make us take the time to stop and smile. Take a common ordinary door latch, for example. Without a way to latch a door closed you might have a bathroom without privacy. Now even a little hook and eye latch – perhaps one of the least mechanically complicated devices known to man can remedy such a problem. And it isn’t hard to install or operate. It is the very example of a basic fix.

See about a year or so back we ran into a problem, the door to one of our bathrooms (the only one with a door as a matter of fact) busted on us. To be precise the door knob’s internal mechanism failed and left the bolt stuck in place preventing the door from being opened. At which point I had two macho options available; bust down the door or systematically dismantle the door knob and remove the mechanism. I went with the latter.

Later I managed to rig up a workaround for a time before eventually settling on adding a simple latch to the door. To replace the entire door knob would have required not only new parts but work to the wall and door as well to accommodate it. Trailers aren’t designed for easy repairs or standard replacement parts.

In short I fixed the problem using my hands, some stuff that was handy and basic hand tools. I check it every time I use it to ensure it hasn’t backed out or anything else. Some folks might put it out of mind until there is a problem but maybe I’m just wired weird. Anyhow, with my recent wrist trouble I had been concerned about potentially not being as able to fix things in the future. But looking at that latch made me realize how stupid that train of thought could be. Instead of worrying over what might be a problem, my perspective needed to be shifted. I had fixed that door, it wasn’t masterful – but it worked.

Therein lies the secret; sometimes you latch your perspective closed, you blind yourself. And a latch isn’t a complicated thing; you can fix it if there is a problem. It’s all in how you look at it.

Observations of a Patient Patient.

Yesterday morning my wife and I got up and drove into town to wait in line for medical help. You see the Department of Defense has established a program whereby various military units can engage in "Innovative Readiness Training" by performing medical clinics in communities. Now, what this amounts to is a rather unique experience for all involved parties. Civilians who might otherwise not have access to dental, vision, or even basic medical care can come and be seen for zero cost to themselves, and even be provided with things like glasses or medication. In exchange these troops get the real world experience of grueling day-long work to hone their procedures and the chance to discover various potential issues to better prepare them for future situations.

All around it is a beneficial thing for everyone. And, I for one cannot thank them enough for the tireless and dutiful effort each and everyone of them give. I witnessed a ceaseless giving spirit and boundless kindness in every single serviceman and servicewoman yesterday. They dealt with shortages, belligerent patients, late equipment(some even managed to get broken after arriving) all manner of trying difficulties. These were folks from all over the country, most had never even been to this area and yet they all were smiling and oozing compassion. Not once did I ever see a single fatigue-clad figure's face refusing to smile or show their bursting enthusiasm for their task.

Trust me, I have a unique perspective on the matter. My wife and I arrived at about 7:30 A.M. to get in line and were among the first 65-75 or so people to go in when the doors opened around 9:30. By the time we checked in the waiting area for Dental was already full so I opted to go wait for vision with my wife. Only then we discovered, oops, the vision gear was still en-route! Simply happy to be able to get any help at all my wife did her medical screening and then discovered we could get a special pass to return the next day for vision so I was told to that I could go on to dental.

But see, they had already filled up for the day. So I naturally figured that was that and I'd have to come back - it is first come, first serve after all. However much to my surprise I was told 'one more won't hurt, you'll probably be the last one seen anyway.' And honestly, I was. I waited patiently for about 15 hours total to finally have a military dentist extract a tooth. The whole experience wasn't anything overly fancy or complicated to be blunt. They took my vitals, did a quick x-ray and then inspected everything before numbing me up a little and - yank goes the sucker.

Yeah, I spent an entire day of waiting in a building with absolute strangers whom some of which were anything but patient or grateful. But at the end of the day I got the help I needed; no more and no less. It was worth every discomfort and I have nothing but respect for each and every soldier there. I honestly would like nothing more than to go back just to thank them, to shake their hands and tell them how much they mean to me. They will no doubt be busy and exhausted in the days to come, but then they will be also better prepared for anything that awaits them.

God bless them all, they are saints in the guise of soldiers. And I salute them for their selfless service.

For more information you can watch a short video here:

Innovative Readiness Training - Health Clinics in the Delta Region

The IRT Website can be found here:

http://irt.defense.gov/index.html  

And a local news story covered the morning opening that can be found here:

Military, medical professionals offer free health services to local community 

I cannot thank these men and women enough for all they have done and continue to do. And I can only hope that each person seen is as patient of a patient as we were. They deserve our respect, and our gratitude.

An Ugly Truth.

An Ugly Truth

For those of you keeping score at home, it’s been about 5 years and around 3 months since I was asked by the doctor not to return to work. After endless tests and no shortage of hardships I was told quite officially that I was disabled now. It wasn’t something I ever wanted to hear nor did I accept it without a generous helping of decreased self-worth. For what value does a man have for himself when he finds that he can no longer provide for his family?

Well, time passed and truth be told I came to accept the matter to a point. I even eventually came to terms with my own decision to forgo ever driving again. But you know what? One of the things I was both terrified of and regretted was the fact that I had to apply for disability. For one I was still a young man, I was sure there was no way they would ever take me seriously. Especially when I had to answer questions with phrases like ‘can’t stay awake,’ or ‘constantly too drowsy to think straight.’ I was sure that I would be one of those applicants that prompted a few chuckles from clerks before being stamped ‘DENIED.’

But you know something? I was approved the first try. To this day it has always been a daily fear I live with that at any time I’ll get the call that it has all been a mistake and the only thing keeping my head above water will be yanked away. It’s the honest truth, contrary to what some folks seem to think living on Social Security is anything but pleasant.

I have never been able to fathom where anyone can get the idea that any such lifestyle is glamorous or comfortable. Every month I have to make a judgment call between whether or not we can just squeak by with the toilet paper we have or if we can afford to buy more soap. Now let me stop right there to set the record straight on a fundamental matter. This is in no way shape of form me complaining about things. Far from it, in reality I am nothing but grateful to the blessing and support that I have received. Without it my family and I would, well, I shudder to even contemplate the matter.

The problem is quite simply one that has been bothering me tremendously of late. And it spans from two separate events recently that keep managing to pick at me like an irritating sibling on a long trip. One of them is the sudden appearance in the mail that my disability case is being renewed (remember that fear I mentioned?) and the other is that the Department of Defense is going to be staging some disaster relief training in our town to provide free medical help.

Now at first glace the two might not seem related. And in a way you might be right, however for me they both somehow have teamed up to tug at my thoughts. You see even when I was working I was never fortunate enough to have a job that would provide insurance. So I haven’t seen anything resembling a dentist in about 13 years. I only just last year saw an eye doctor for the first time in about 8 years.

The general consensus among most folks seems to be that since I am suckling the social teat as it were, that I should be able to just march in and have all manner of medical things done just willy-nilly. But when all the cards are placed on the table it turns out that it isn’t the case. Even with some subsidized help from the state for being low income and what not doesn’t allow me to do most of the things people think I can.

For example; I cannot even set foot in a dentist’s office. Won’t pay a lick for anything, not a single cent, I puzzle over where people get these bizarre ideas from. But let’s skip past some of these more standard notions and look at something far more basic. Take for instance something as basic as a commonly prescribed generic medication that compared to others is about as cheap as they come. Something like say Ritalin for example. Now it is a cheap enough medication, one that for a long while I had to pay for it myself and it cost me around $30-40 a month. A lot of other people with Narcolepsy have to take medications that run in the $1-2000 range I am not about to even estimate what that would do to anyone’s finances.

Even something as simple as Ritalin, which for me is lifeline to consciousness, is something that I have had to fight to even be able to keep taking. Taking it on a regular basis has allowed me to find a tedious balancing point in my life where I can maintain some notion of a normal life. If I have to wrestle and worry with them over even a cheap prescription that I have had to simply pay for myself then the whole idea of being handed everything on a silver platter goes way out the window.

So, where was I? Oh yeah, sorry I think I might have allowed myself to get worked up enough to bring a wave of drowsiness to disrupt my train of thought. There is going to be a medical clinic in my town as a training exercise for the military. Which is a Godsend for my wife and I, who is our sole driver and yet we cannot afford to even consider replacing her glasses so that she can see well enough to do so. Our expectations aren’t high by any means, she just wants to be able to see clear enough to safely read road signs and could care less what her glasses look like as long as she can do so. And me; well I just want to patch up enough of my teeth that I can maintain what I still have without an endless cascade of dental dominos making my life miserable. Neither of us is asking for anything fashionable or even a complete fix of any kind. We both just hope to find some solution that might ease our burden if even slightly.

Is that too much to ask? Does that make us a monumental drain on society? I don’t think so; in fact I honestly believe that the idea that our only hope is to attend a chaotic clinic and pray we are fortunate enough to make it to being seen is a pitiful shame. I can understand being denied treatment for outlandish or unnecessary things. But it is far cheaper to provide basic maintenance on a person just as it is a machine than it is to have to deal with the costs of it breaking down. Instead of fleecing the system as it stands those of us struggling with needs are left to suffer through them. And then we find ourselves living in fear each waking moment that someone somewhere is going to finally make the decision that keeping money in one pocket is worth more than helping those who can no longer do for themselves.

I worked for years, where every drive to and from work, let alone while I worked was a gamble that could easily have seen me removed from my loved ones. I could have fell asleep behind the wheel and cost myself or some one else their life. The fact that I am around to help raise my children at all is a miracle.

In my meandering minds way I suppose this has gotten a bit bendy, and for that I apologize. But the point I guess I am trying to make here is this; the truth is an ugly one. For the broad painted picture of people living it up on social programs is not altogether a reality. I am sure there are those who take advantage of the situation overly so. But for those who do not we find ourselves living month to month and juggling what can be sacrificed and what cannot. There is no savings account to fall back on and no real safety net of any kind. We live in a trailer with more than its share of problems, and our vehicle is a hand me down one that our family was kind enough to sell us. Without the compassion and charity of loved ones we wouldn’t have a home to live in or much of what we do. And without the aid of programs like Social Security my children wouldn’t be able to grow up and get an education to one day join the workforce themselves. Where I paid in if only briefly to such programs perhaps they will contribute enough to return some portion of the help we have received.

But I have lived through the stigma of shame associated with receiving the help that I have, and now I have to deal with the fear that without it everything I know will fall apart. My only hope is that some day things will get fixed for the better and some measure of truth will be understood about those living in these situations. If we have the ability to help those in need then we have the moral obligation to do so, don’t we? Honestly it is terrifying how many people seem to think the answer is simply not to, or that they receive way too much as it is.

He’s The World’s Greatest… And You Clearly; You Are Not.

Now, I may not attend as many of my children’s school events as I should. I have come to discover as they get older, and the size of the proceedings invariably becomes larger it quite simply becomes to taxing on me. Don’t ask me to explain it, because I can’t. All I know is the larger the crowd and the more noise/commotion involved the greater the odds are I am going to fall victim to the situation. Take my word for it, when facing the prospect of fighting a wave of drowsiness that is guaranteed to get the best of you and take with it some measure of your mobility etc, the last place you want to be is in a crowd. You then become at the mercy of anyone your with and reliant on their aid – in short it stirs up the feelings of being a burden. Especially if it means whoever you’re with has to miss out on things worrying about or helping take care of you.

Granted, I know without question that my loving and capable wife could handle the situation wonderfully (she has time and again). Be that as it may though, there is the lingering subconscious issue of how others will see you. Not to mention the possibility you might frighten the children present who may not understand why a grown man suddenly is acting very strange.  

For some time I tried to be there for everything I could before I started to realize the strain it was taking. There have been times I had to be escorted out or politely excuse myself to try to stubbornly try to hide my dilemma out of sight. Over time I have simply come to the conclusion that I must select my appearances carefully. So when my son was going to be graduating from Kindergarten after struggling with some issues of his own I decided it was a warranted visit.

Typically I try to stick to the smaller events that almost always guarantee a smaller crowd. When I considered my decision I failed to remember that this ceremony was not such an event. Specifically, if it means the use of the gym to accommodate the crowd I try to avoid it if possible. Call it sensory overload if you wish, but once I get into a large group of closely approximated people its murder on me.

But, I can safely attest that I was victorious in my visit. I managed to witness my son graduate, sing a few songs and basically be very proud of him. I should point out that one of the main songs they sang was one ‘The World’s Greatest’ by R. Kelly, which he really seemed to get into.

However, the whole experience wasn’t completely pleasant, and I’d like to point out something that particularly upset me. While I struggled in order to attend the program, I was utterly ashamed at some of the other self-proclaimed ‘adults.’ In order to maintain a safe environment for the children and a level of responsibility in the event of an emergency the school wisely limits entry to the building to a single point of entry. Upon entering the premises it is clearly noted that you are required to sign in and leave your I.D. This is not only a required safety measure it is a minor action that should be common sense to any self-respecting parent. We want our children safe and to know that if something bad did happen that at the very least a record exists to identify any visitors present.

Instead of bearing witness to such responsible behavior I had to set and continually remind myself to resist the urge to give my mouth any liberty. One such example was a grown man lamenting the need to sign in or leave his identification. This self-same individual went on to profess that he wondered if he should have surrendered his gun as well. Proclaiming that such practices meant that we were being treated like terrorists.

For starters common sense alone dictates that it is absolutely irresponsible to even consider taking a gun into a building full of children. I love guns, I own guns – but part of being a gun owner isn’t just the right to do so, it is the inherent responsibility it involves. While I have children and guns I have never left the two in close proximity. I cannot imagine the desire to take a loaded gun into a place packed with not just my own kids but others as well. But then again I am not a trained expert engaging in a duty to safeguard the lives of others either.

And yet, sitting only a few feet from me was an agitated man who was unabashedly claiming that he had a gun in a school full of kids to watch a kindergarten graduation. WHY? For what purpose would you possibly think to bring a loaded weapon into an event full of 6 year-old's? What could threaten you so much about listening to them sing and smile as they show how proud of themselves they are? And for that matter, even if you did do so; why in the world would you be ranting about it so everyone could hear?

This wasn’t the sole experience I had this morning that has bothered me all day either. It was but one, another example was being forced to listen to a man behind me lash out at a small child demanding to know ‘just what the #$!! is wrong with you?’  The child hadn’t even made a sound.

I am almost ashamed to call myself fellow parent alongside the likes of some these people. Whatever happened to acting with respect and decency in public? As an adult you are not only a role model for your own children but others as well. While watching my son sing his song I couldn’t agree more with the words; he was the world’s greatest in his behavior. He was polite, patient and respectful up there on the stage. I wish I could say the same for more of the audience, but then again perhaps it’s not that unusual. In any case I know that as my children get older I may have to check my impulsive ill-restrained mouth at the door along with my I.D.

I can only tolerate so much, and we were in a school after all. If we don’t behave ourselves then how can we ever expect our children to do so as they get older? I shudder to think what would happen to me even at my age if I behaved in such a manner in public if my wife or my parents found out. I would like to think that I was raised better than that…