Thanks,
David
Sex Wax and a Magazine
It all started with a magazine and sex wax. The year was 1996 and I was on a family vacation in Myrtle Beach. 1996 was the year I became a Surfer. I had an allowance of money burning a hole in my pocket and wanted to spend it. We ended up stopping at one of the first surf shops we passed. As I got out of the car alone, I walked as fast as I could to the front door of the shop. As I walked through the door, it was like the gates of Heaven opened and I was the very first “customer”. Clothing on the floor, surfboards in the back, dressing rooms with surf posters aligning the wall; I was “home”. As I made my way to the dressing room with a pair of Billabong board shorts and a matching Billabong T-shirt I was amazed at the fact grown men were on boards and riding giant waves. After a quick check in the mirror, the shorts fit and t-shirt was ready to be purchased. As I made one quick glance over the store, I walked to the counter. I put the shorts and shirt on the counter and the clerk asked if there was anything else. Of course there was something else. A Surfer magazine caught my eye and I quickly and very gently placed it on the counter as if it were the Bible itself. There was a display of sex wax on the counter and not being a surfer I had no idea what this was, but I had to have it because it said “sexwax” and I was a curious 15 year old horny boy. And so it was done, I made my way out of “heaven” and back to the family van. I sat in the back in awe of what I had just purchased. As I put on my headphones and pressed repeat on No Doubt’s Tragic Kingdom. I thumbed through the Surfer Magazine and with each turn of the page I became more of a surfer. Fifteen years later, I still have the very same shirt and very same board shorts that I purchased as a kid. One problem, I have no idea how to surf.
Thrift Shop Stick
The year is 1999, I am fresh out of US Army Basic Training and stationed at Ft. Stewart, Ga. Ft. Stewart is about an hour away from Tybee Island the premier surf spot for soldiers stationed at Ft. Stewart. Choppy waves every day and nothing breaking over waist high unless there is a hurricane. It’s the weekend in my first unit; we have just had final formation for the weekend. As I travel upstairs to my barracks, a guy in my unit calls me outside and says “I’m gonna paddle out tomorrow morning if you want to come.” An olive branch to the new guy? I wonder if a surfer knows the presence of another surfer? I say “yea”. Saturday morning we set out for the hour long drive to Tybee Island. As we pull up, the smell of the salt is in the air. The wind blows a little offshore. We make our way to the beach and again it was like I stepped through the gates and into heaven. Now don’t get me wrong, I have been to plenty of beach in my time, but now I was a “surfer” and was in heaven. My friend paddled out on his body board and I being the 18 year old “surfer”, paddled out with nothing underneath me. We approached the lineup and gave our head nods. A set rolls in and I begin to body surf. (I gotta start somewhere right?) A couple of sets later and I’m done. Fast forward to Sunday, I take the day and I go exploring Savannah. As I pass by a Play It Again Sport, I find in the window, like a lost little puppy dog, a surfboard. She’s nice and tall and made by Ron Jon. I make a U-turn and pull into the parking lot. I make my way into the store and admire her. I have no idea what I’m looking at but I have to have her. She measure about 7’6’’ 21 or 22 inches wide and about 2 1/8’’ thick. She’s perfect. I paid 175.00 for her and walked out and gently placed her into my 1999 Dodge Neon. We shared many moments on that long drive back to the barracks. I had goals and aspirations with her nose sitting next to me in the front seat. We dreamed of catching our first wave together and winning many contests later. Fast forward a couple of years later. I’m out of the service and making my way down to West Palm Beach with my wife. My board is strapped to the roof because after watching Endless Summer, I figured out surfboards go on the roof. So we make it to Wet Palm and we end up at Jupiter Beach. Finally, after catching nothing but dust, she’s finally ready to be christened by her long lost mate. We paddle out, we wait, I fall off, I get back on, I fall off, etc. etc. etc… When I say I fall off, I don’t mean standing up falling off, I mean fall off lying down. I never caught a wave; I never sat up on the board. Nope just fell off, couldn’t even lie down on the damn thing. She’s a bitch and we were not meant to be. So she sat in the garage, and at that moment, I became a kook. As the surfer gods would have it, she was meant for someone else than me. I donated her to a family friend and she is ridden with joy every day since I let her go. We shared a brief moment in the water, but as any first love, your heart only gets broken until they find their true love. She found hers and I’m still searching for my perfect mate.
Now that a bit of the back story is complete, onto the present. As well all know from reading the last two posts. I’m a kook. For those of you who are new to the surf lingo and culture let me explain to you what this word means. www.dictionary.com lists kook as…n. an eccentric, crazy, or foolish person. In the surf world it means that I, the “surfer”, have no idea what I am doing in the water or for that matter on a surfboard and I should get out of the water as soon as possible. Well folks, I haven’t been in the water on a board since my debacle in Jupiter Beach Mother Ocean America Florida
On Any Given Thursday
Wife: “Hello?”
Me: “Hey I got shot, I’m ok, I love you.”
Wife: “Are you kidding?"
Me: “No, I’m not kidding, I got shot in the leg, I’m okay, I’m going to the hospital, someone will be there soon. I love you.”
Wife: “I love you more”
You see, before that day, I had just about given up on everything, my wife, surfing, my career, my education. I was done, ready to throw in the towel, ready to call it quits.
We go through life thinking that everything is peachy keen. Not knowing that in a matter of 30 seconds a loved one’s life could be over. Luckily, I zigged instead of zagged and I’m here to continue to share my story.
I tell you that story, to tell you this story.
I have been in recovery since that day. Each day that I wake up, I am thankful for what I have no matter how big or how small. As each day passes, I am remembering details about what happened and what I was thinking. After I was shot I fell to the ground. The bullet entered my upper right thigh and broke my femur causing me to fall to the ground. As I laid on the ground waiting for the ambulance, I remember thinking about the sea. I could hear the waves crash. I saw a perfect right point break every single time. I smelled the salt air; I saw the seagulls flying overhead. Most of all, I saw myself on my stick at one with Mother Ocean
Something New, Something Borrowed
Inspiration.
Dictionary.com defines inspiration as n. (1) an inspiring or animating action or influence. (2) something inspired, as an idea. (3) a result of inspired activity.
Surfing inspires me. All aspects of surfing inspire me. Whether it is seeing professional surf the massive waves of Teahupoo or seeing a little kid stand up on their first wave. As a father nothing inspires me more than my children. I have four kids. Spending the better half of my marriage overseas due to military commitments tends to produce four kids when you return home. Anyway, like I said, nothing inspires me more than my children. And this is why one in particular inspires me.
Come with me to our dinner table earlier this month…
We had all finished dinner, and my oldest, Madison was talking about what she wanted to do for her summer vacation. She has and will always be years ahead of the rest; as well as a water baby. When she was nine months old, we dunked her in the pool so she would get used to the water. Anyway, were sitting around the table and she tells me she wants to take surfing lessons.
I know, I know, how is a kook, like me supposed to teach my oldest daughter how to surf. Isn't that what parents that know how to surf are supposed to do? Are they not supposed to take their child out and put them on a longboard and push them into a wave? Kook or no Kook. Surfing and all aspects of surfing are my life and because of that, I wanted to pass on my passion and share surfing with my daughter. She is and will always be my motivation and inspiration. A couple of days later and a trip to a strangers house, via Craigslist.com. My daughter was the proud new owner of a used, 5ft Softie Surfboard.
If you have never seen what a kook looks like, just picture this....
A cane in my left hand and a surfboard under my right arm; hobbling around trying to look cool carrying a surfboard back to my car. It wasn't happening. Even if I had been surfing all my life, that very moment, I was the biggest Kook in the history of Kook's. Because it’s Madison’s last day of school, I rush home before early release. I was so excited. I pull in the driveway and hobble into the house with the board under my arm. My wife got a little excited too. After showing it off, I cleaned it up. I stripped the wax; I cleaned the fins and board. After cleaning and with the help of my wife, we wrapped it up. We propped it up against her bedroom door with a little note for her. It was a "proud of you for doing a good job in Kindergarten present". Well the rest, as they say is history. I’ll let you see what happened for yourself... After reading this, and then watching the video, take a moment and breath and ask yourself...
What inspires you? What motivates you?
Mail Order Mistress
My mistress arrived at my house today. She’s clean, tall, and a little bit thick just like I like them...
I was in in my closet this morning around 1015 getting ready to make my Wednesday trip to physical therapy when my phone rang…
Me: Hello?
Cute Female Voice: “David, this is Kelly from The Surf Station; I wanted to let you know that one of our guys will be driving your board down to you. We wanted to make sure someone will be at your house when he drops it off.”
Me: “I’m not going to be home, but someone will be here to accept it.”
Kelly: “Okay great”
So by that conversation, and the events that led up to that conversation, I had and have probably pissed off the surfing Gods. You see, my mistress, is a manufactured board, made in China
If you know nothing about surfing, know this, only a kook (which is me), (or a person that has no idea how to surf) pays 300+ dollars for a manufactured board made in China.
I will pause in my writing for those of you who are surfers to laugh…
Ok, now that the laughing has subsided, here is my logic behind my purchase. My mistress is a longboard, 10’0 to be exact. She’s 24 3/8’’ wide and 3 3/8’’ thick. She has a “soft” topside and slick backside; with a beautiful black fin coming off her tail. She is also the preferred mistress to many surf shop owners who offer surf lessons and surf camps to beginners.
There is my logic.
After my conversation with Kelly I went to physical therapy. As I sat there working on my various right leg only exercises, I could not help but think about “Lea”. What she looked like, how she would treat me, would she be gentle in the water, would we be a perfect fit for each other, etc. etc. etc… For some reason every time I thought of “Lea” today at physical therapy I worked harder at each exercise I did. Ever since April 28, 2011 , I have never once put this much effort into something, let alone surfing. My wife was neglected, which lead to a fall and almost end to our marriage, my kids were not getting my full attention. I was not happy with my attitude toward life. As much as I hate to admit this, and as difficult as it may be, I think I am thankful for getting shot. If I hadn't been shot, I would still be on the same never ending road.
Because of that day, my life has changed forever.
Surfing motivates me. It allows me to channel my thoughts and make me a stronger person and work harder at recovering. The harder I work, the sooner I can learn to surf and the sooner I can learn to surf, the sooner I can share that same surfing passion with my family. A hui hou kakou!
Gangsta Lean
There is this picture of an old woman in a full suit hugging her longboard as she just finished up a session. This picture has words about osteoporosis; this picture is also hanging in the physical therapy office where I do my balancing workouts. I pay no attention to what the words say, all I see is that a woman just got done surfing. As I look at the picture, I pretended that I’m on the water trying to balance on my board. And then just like that, I’m back to reality. Back to the awkwardness, back to trying to figure out where you put your left leg when you’re standing on your right leg. Trying to figure out why I lean to the right to try and balance on my right leg; the physics are all wrong. Because of all this random weirdness and body malfunctions…
…I can’t stop limping; there is no pain when I put pressure on my right leg. In fact, I put all my weight on my right leg to move my left leg at the hip. I’m fucking weird. Maybe if I walk around all day with a book on my head Ill
Did I mention that recovery sucks ass. Shit that you were more than capable of doing before a bullet entered your right leg and broke your femur you can't do. Your now left feeling like a child trying to figure out why you can’t walk straight and how to balance on one leg.
These are the things that I deal with. Frankly it’s becoming rather annoying.
In Honor Of…?
In honor of this past Father’s Day, my dad was a douche bag.
He was never there when I needed him, he was an alcoholic and when he got high he failed to protect me when I needed my dad the most. He never taught me how to throw a curveball and he never showed me how to build things with my hands. These are the things a dad is supposed to teach his son right? We never went surfing, etc. etc…
I do not specifically remember what age I was, that I told myself I will never be like him. However, I remember the exact incident that made my choice for me, and made me not want him as my father anymore.
We were staying with my grandmother on “his” side. It was in the middle of the night and the phone rang. You see, prior to all of this, his douchebaggery was building up. He would get high and fight random people; he would get drunk and refuse to protect me when his roommate wanted to fight me. It was all building up inside me that I didn’t want to be like him. This night at my “Nenaw’s” house it boiled over and because of that I shunned him the rest of my child and adulthood until his death.
Back to my story… I was staying at Nenaw’s house and it was the middle of the night. The phone rang and it was him. He was in jail on a DUI and asked if I had any money to come and bail him out. Remind you, I do not have a job, and I do not know how to drive; I’m only a child. So from that day on until his death, my father was and will always be a douchebag in my eyes. My father died of stroke when I was about 26. I never told my dad how I felt about him and how he made me feel. I saw him once before I deployed to Afghanistan Afghanistan
This weekend was Father’s Day, I spent the weekend not remembering my dad, but seeing what beautiful, mischievous, fun loving, and exceptionally smart children I have. I spent the weekend seeing my children at their best. My oldest daughter shook her booty to Cool and the Gang at her dance recital. And as for me, I spent the day being a dad. I got to be the dad I always wanted but never had. I was happy the entire weekend. My kids made me happy. I love my kids. My life has changed in the last 30 years. I have had some good times, I have had some bad times. Some of us live such a busy lifestyle that we do not realize what we have as soon as we walk through the front door. After getting shot, I stopped and made sure I realize what I have when I walk through that door. I hope that the smile, and the "daddy's home" will never go away. I cherish those moments and you should too. Be thankful for what you have. Tell your wife you love her, and hug your kids like you will never see them again. Make sure they know you will protect them, make sure they know you love them. Our children are our future; make sure you walk hand in hand with them until it’s time to let go. I miss my dad.
Scarface
So you wanna surf? And the waves near the town where you live aren't half bad. Then what? How far are you willing to go? What sacrifice are you willing to make? How good do you want to be?"
In life we all make sacrifices. Some are small and some are big; and as we approach another Independence Day, think about what sacrifices that you are making at home. What are you sacrificing to make your life and the members of your life better? Have you ever just stopped and said "No" or "No I can’t work late because I have a date with my kids." Probably not, and before April 28th neither did I. Every day I go to work, I sacrifice my own life so that others may live another day and are protected from the dangers that surround us. Every day there is a son, daughter, father or mother that is sacrificing their safety so that we in America
"People sleep peaceably in their beds at night only because rough men stand ready to do violence on their behalf"
- George Orwell
Last Ounce of Pain
Everyone asks me what it feels like...
I tell them it feels like getting hit by a fastball by Roger Clemens. I tell them, it’s an instant sting and then numbness all around. I tell them "you don't really want to find out". I had no idea that I was shot. I just felt the initial sting and then when I turned, I fell down in pain. I was in pain from the bone breaking in my leg. I didn't know my leg was broken until I tried to move it and couldn't. My leg was heavier than it has ever been before and did not know why. I screamed when they finally did move my leg.
Everyone asks me what it feels like...
I tell them it’s a mixture of feelings. Sometimes, it’s an irritating tickle, sometimes it’s a finger nail digging into your skin and other times its just brutal pain. I have five tattoos now. My fifth is by far the most meaningful. People laughed when I told them what I wanted to get. I will never forget what happened that changed my life forever, but in the event I do, I just look down at my leg and I’ll remember to sit back take a second and be thankful for what I have. Because in the end, it’s just a broken bone.
Although this is my story, I often read the media and hear other stories, of men and women who are more brave than I will ever be. The ones that loose limbs and are still able to compete Ironman Triathlons. The ones that lost their husband or wife, and are still able to get up every day alone without them and thank God for what they do have.
I'm just a guy who loves being a cop. I'm just a guy who loves the water. I'm just a guy who was shot in the leg. I am not your kids hero, I am not your hero. I am no hero at all. I do not need your handshakes, I do not need your pats on the back. I do not need your medals or awards. Tell me "thank you" and I'll say "your welcome" and we will be on our way.
-Si vis pacem para bellum
"If you wish for peace, prepare for war"
Good Game
So, the other day I was making my hourly check on Facebook and noticed that my sister had posted something on her page. The only title that I saw was April 28th 2011 . Obviously I clicked. And this is what I read...
"...Benjamin was shot this afternoon..."
As I finished my bus route, ready to go home and relax, I missed a call from my sister-in-law. I texted her, informing her I was still on the bus - all the kids gone and heading back to the center. She texted me back, informing me my brother had been shot.
My brother, Benjamin, is a police officer. After serving in the Army for years, and going overseas twice, he decided to become a cop. My dad was a police officer for 27 years. I was used to the reality of the dangers of the job, but I had gone my whole life with my dad staying safe. And Benjamin had been to war and back safely, so constantly worrying just didn't make sense.
My brother had been shot.
As I walked to my car, I began to shake. My brother had been shot. I called my mom, no answer. I raced to Duane's office, but he was out at a site. I sat in the parking lot and cried. I got in touch with my mom, and she left work to come be with me. She and I stood in the parking lot, and just hugged. Duane came flying in, jumped out of the truck and ran over to us. I tried to tell him what was going on, but "Benjamin" was all that came out. I sobbed in his arms. My mom told him what happened. He was still on the clock, so when I had calmed down, my mom took me home and we left my car at his office. We sat in my living room in silence. Duane came home about five minutes later - told his boss what happened and he told him to go home. Before I could say a word, Duane had called his boss, informing him he wouldn't be at work the next day, and was already packing. He knew I wanted to be with my brother more than anything at that moment. I called my boss and told her what was going on. Josh came over to watch the dog, and we left.
My brother had been shot.
The whole ride to Florida
We got to their house around 2am , and crawled into bed. Nicole's parents had stayed with the kids, so after they left, we tried to keep things as normal for my nieces and nephews as possible. I was terrified to let them outside to play. Since my brother had been undercover for so long, and now his cover was blown, I was worried about retaliation. I kept busy with laundry, dishes, and some cleaning. Duane watched the kids, and played outside with them, with the understanding they could not leave our sight. Riley asked me why I had some of Daddy's clothes. I told him I was going to take them to him. He asked if Daddy was at work, and Madison
Honestly, I didn't want to go visit him. I didn't think I could handle seeing him laid up in the hospital, obviously hurting. This was my big brother - he was my hero. But I knew I'd regret it if I didn't go.
We walked into the room and there was a police officer standing guard. Nicole assured him we were family. An armed guard was at his door 24/7, to "deal with the media." Benjamin was on the phone, so I sat down and just stared at him. He was ok. He was breathing, and talking, and he looked ok. His leg was all wrapped up. A metal rod had been inserted into his leg since the bullet has broken his femur. When he got off the phone, he was very quiet, obviously in a lot of pain. I didn't know what to say. We sat there and watched TV for a bit. Duane and I said our goodbyes, and were going to head back to the house. I went to my brother and hugged him, tight. I held onto him and told him I loved him very much. He hugged me tightly and said he loved me to. I didn't want to let go.
Duane and I stayed in Florida
My big brother is my hero. Always has been, always will be. I love him with all my heart and I tell him that all the time. Don't ever take it for granted that someone knows how you feel. When they walk out that door and tell you goodbye, it could be your last chance. To quote a famous philanthropist, "Life moves pretty fast. If you don't stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it." ...And there you have it.
Faith
Dear Lord,
I went to church today. It took 30 minutes to get there, and I paid $2.00 in quarters for a toll. The parking lot of the church had about two or three other cars. I was early.
As I walked up the stairs, I could smell the typical church smell. When I crested the top of the stairs, I saw the sanctuary in all its glory. It was empty. Just me and the sanctuary.
I walked further into the sanctuary and as I did, I got a little chill. I was in your presence and all of Your glory.
I sat in the pew and listened to what you were telling me. Your sermon was beautiful.
As you know, Church lasted about an hour and half, and was the greatest thing ever. I think I will go back again next Sunday. Thank you for that!
Oh and by the way Lord,
I surfed today, for the first time. I felt as if was flying. I did not stand up but when I was on my knees riding the very waves you created, I yelled a little yell and thanked You for allowing me to be in Your presence on such a glorious day. As You know, Church was at Matanzas
What better way to spend a Sunday, than in the presence of You and all that you created within the Ocean and Beach.
Thank you Lord and most of all my Mother Ocean. .
Today was A Good Day
Ice Cube was right..."today was a good day". The morning started off as any other Saturday morning, fooling around on the laptop and watching Disney Channel while the kids were playing pretend. Nicole was at Dance. Made lunch for everyone and Nicole came home. Kids still playing, and I have a little craving for Xbox. Then the phone rings...
Twenty minutes later, I’m at Crescent Beach and meeting up with a co-worker. The waves are pumping, thanks to Hurricane Irene. I wait for Nicole to get home and then I'm out the door. I drive onto the beach and I'm in owe of the size of the waves for the east coast of Florida
My Sister
I never really knew how bad it was. As we grew up in the same household we saw pretty much the same thing. Mom doing her thing and Jim doing his thing. My sister and I were always connected in a way that most people did not understand. She was 6 years younger than me and I was too cool to hang out with her. I did my thing and she did her thing. And then when we were home, we sometimes did things together. We hardly ever showed affection toward each other. We hugged occasionally and very rarely gave kisses on the cheek. When we were growing up in Virginia, I was big into sports and one day Rachel asked me a question about players smacking each other on their hind ends after a play. I told her the reasoning behind the custom and our new way of showing affection was born. After smacking each other’s asses as hard as we could it would always be followed by a “good game". This was our way of saying I love you.
When I left for basic training in the summer of 1999 I never really knew how bad she had it. I noticed that my mother and Jim were growing farther apart. I kept my distance and kept myself busy with sports, driving, and girls. Rachel was not so lucky. She was always stuck in the middle. I had noticed one night that the three of them were going out without me and had no idea why I was being left behind. It wasn’t until a couple of months later that I found out why. They had gone to a marriage counseling session and they took my sister along with them. Somewhere along the lines, whether it was before Jim and my mother began growing apart, or after, my sister began getting sick and she did not tell me about it. I never knew she was seriously sick until I was stationed in Ft. Stewart. I guess it was her way of protecting me. I found out years later that she attempted to take her own life and had very bad anxiety and I could not understand why this was happening to her or why she was letting it happen. I was selfish and thought that she just needed to get over herself and grow up. At the end of all of this, my mother and Jim split up and my sister was never the same. She was diagnosed with Chronis Disease, she attempted to take her own life, she had severe anxiety and now she has a severe liver disease.
It's been a couple years since all of this and my mother is now re-married for about the 6th time, my sister is still ticking, she has a fiancé and a puppy. However, my sister’s health is still deteriorating and she is getting worse. My sister is 24 and needs a new liver.
On February 20th, Rachel travels to Charleston, South Carolina to find out the nuts and bolts of this whole liver transplant thing. This is where she will find out where she is on the transplant list, how serious her disease is, what needs to happen in order to prolong her life etc. etc. I had contemplated traveling up there to be with our re-connected family and I still my do it, because after all she is my sister and I do love her and care about her. She does not think that I worry about her at all. She just thinks I do my own thing and go about my business and call her occasionally and ask her how she is. But that’s the complete opposite. I care deeply for her and I worry about her on a daily basis. She is the strongest woman I know.
I have been given the gift of being an all-purpose donor. I have O+ blood type and have already picked out what I want my tattoo to say and look like once they take my liver and give it to her. She's my sister, and in my mind’s eye, I’m the only donor that matters. When the time comes I’ll be ready and we will be connected in a way that no one else will understand. "Good Game" Rachel!
Officer Down
It is not something we in the “business” like hearing. In fact it is the worst phrase that can be said to us at all. When it is said, cops from across the country get tingles sent up their spine in hopes that their brother or sister is okay.
Although I was not there, I’m quite sure that the phrase was said on that fateful Thursday evening. David White leaves behind two small children and his wife; doing what he loved to do, being a cop. He and his partner Matt Hanlin were attempting to investigate a drug house in Clay County, Fl. When the piece of garbage that opened the door, saw that he was faced with two heroes at his doorstep, he closed the door and went and did the cowardly thing and brought a gun to the fight. The coward opened fire and struck David White and his partner Matt Hanlin and then ran out of the back of the house like a coward. This is where the coward, was surprised that not David and Matt’s family was at the back door waiting, when the coward stepped out David and Matt’s fellow brothers and sisters, shot and killed the coward. David died that Thursday night and Matt was sent to the hospital where he is expected to recover.
I was in Orlando that night on my own case. I was with three fellow brothers in arms and we were doing our part to combat the war on drugs, when we got the news. I got tingles up my spine and flashed back to my Thursday encounter with a group of cowards. Bad things happen on Thursdays. Our group spent the night traveling back home in silence. There was an occasional call or text message to our loved ones letting them know we were doing okay and we were on our way home.
I got home about 11 that night and fixed myself a drink. It was the only thing at the time that could calm my nerves. My kids were asleep and my wife waited up. I gave my wife a hug and kiss and thought to myself that I was thankful to be alive and thankful to have a loving and supportive wife. I went to bed after the drink was gone and had a restless night sleep. My night was filled with cold sweats and nightmares. I was awoken by my little girl crawling into bed. At that moment I couldn’t help but think about David and Matt and how their families are affected by the coward that shot at them.
I tried to sleep a little bit longer but it was no use. I had left my phone in the bedroom and later during the day, I saw that my friend and partner had called. He had left me a message and told me that he too could not sleep and that he was having a rough time with everything that conspired on our Thursday as well as David and Matt’s Thursday. I called him back and left him a message too. We are having a beer together today and we will talk. We are brothers for life.
I called my boss today, he didn’t sound so good. He knew both David and Matt and had worked with them in the past. He sounded heartbroken and at a loss of words. I reached out and gave him my hand through the phone and told him that if there was anything that I could do I would bend over backwards to make it happen. He too is my brother and I love him.
George Orwell once said, "People sleep peaceably in their beds at night only because rough men stand ready to do violence on their behalf" David, your time has come, and you have done an exceptional job. God needs you to protect and serve in other ways. We will take over where you left off. Rest in Peace brother, we love you.
When I was shot, I did not have time to think about anything that was happening to me. I was being driven by an ambulance, treated by doctors and catered to by nurses and my wife. I was just focused on what happened and trying to get better. I knew that if I needed anything, I could turn to one of my family members, wife, or many of the co-workers that were by my side the entire time I was in the hospital. When I finally left the hospital, it was back to reality and back to the grind of everyday household stuff. The bills had begun piling up, school work was late, the kids needed attention and love and there was the fact that I couldn’t walk without a walker. I was on workman’s comp, so the pay checks were rolling in, but because it was a set pay table, it wasn’t a lot of money. Just the normal eighty hours minus taxes.
When I finally made it through the endless physical therapy appointments and doctors visit, I was finally cleared to go back to light duty. Telephones, typing etcetera. I was at work one day typing away and during the day began talking to one of the girls at work. She had suggested, and wanted to know, if it was okay to set up a bank account in my name for help with the everyday bills and groceries. I gave her the okay and in a matter of days, Compass Bank had an account for "donations".
One day, after I was able to walk with a cane and drive pretty good, I was at Compass Bank cashing a check. And just for the hell of it, I asked the teller what the account balance was of the "donation" account. Up until this point, I paid no attention to the account and never withdrew any money. So I gave her the donation account number, and she wrote down on a piece of paper the amount that was in the account. I was completely taken aback by the amount of money that was in there. I finally gave in and used the money that was in the account. I had a couple of bills that were past due and I bought a week worth of groceries on the donation money. I was so very thankful for the generosity that strangers showed me, in my time of need.
To this day, I know some of the people that deposited money and some I do not know. I am so very thankful for all of their help. And I hope they know that.
Like many of my posts, I tell one story to tell another...
As everyone knows, my sister is having a hell of a time as a 25 year old woman. She has already accumulated a ton of pill bottles for the many medications that she is currently taking; She has also accumulated an unbelievable amount of medical bills and living expenses. She is attempting to become a recipient of a liver or part of a liver and needs to be placed on a liver transplant list. According to the doctors, before she can even be placed on the transplant list she has to have a bank account that has 3,000 dollars in it.
I took it upon myself and the followers of Confessions of a Kook to donate some money to my sister. If my blog helped me in my time of wonder and the many anonymous people that donated their money to me, the least this blog and its followers can do is donate some of their money to her fight for a new liver. So it’s done.
In today’s world, bad things seem to always happen to good people. If we all just take a little time and understand this and embrace it and showed our love, I’m sure this place we call a society, would be better off.
If nothing I say matters to you, remember this...
Unless someone like you, who cares a whole awful lot, nothing’s going to get better it’s not.
-Dr. Seuss