Pain that Never Goes Away

For those who did not know, my oldest child passed away when she was just eight years old. She will be a recurring theme here in "Still Savages," but this 31st day of  August, would have been her seventeenth birthday. This is significant to me. I have a much different perspective on death and dying than I think a lot of people do. Death, the grief process, and living life will be things we explore at length here as the weeks pass. This year however, marks the point in my life where Marissa Giovanna has been gone longer than she was here. The following is the update of a post I made a long time ago in another realm of cyberspace. I like to think that in this post, I am granting my daughter her seventeenth birthday present. Sharing with all of you what she taught me.

For a father, the death of his child is a relentless and exquisite pain. It is a torment unlike any other. It is a physical pain, there is no doubt, but it is also an unparalleled agony of the soul that no drug can numb, no bottle can hide and no God can deliver you from. It is a hole, right through the middle of you. It is not an imaginary one--just an invisible one. No one can see it but you, and only you can feel the cold wind blow through my chest every time I step outside. It isn’t your imagination. It isn’t “all in your head.” 

My late daughter, Marissa in her chair, playing with her
youngest sister, Kyra shortly before her death.

My first-born child, my beautiful daughter died in my arms, leaving wounds in me that should have been fatal. Yet somehow were not. Instead, I just wished I was dead. But, because I lived, over time I had the privilege of learning something remarkable, that I want to share with you now. I learned the meaning of life.

One day, I thought about my daughter and how someday I would be gone. Then only her sisters and brothers would be here to remember her. The next step in this thought process was that when my children were gone, many years from now, that no one would remember Marissa, and what she brought to the lives of so many.

In many Neo-Confucian societies where ancestral worship is practiced, it is believed that a person is not gone as long as there is someone to remember them. And so I had to then ask myself, "What will people remember me for when I am gone?"

My entire career has been spent in service to others in some way shape or form. The Warrior, who took an oath to defend our great nation and picking up arms in that service. The Teacher. Showing life and independent living skills to residents of a residential mental health program early on. The Mentor, helping young offenders reintegrate into their respective communities after their rehabilitation--and having their community accept them. The therapeutic friend, teaching young people how to be employable, how to solve life's problems with respect and dignity, not with fists or guns. The father, being the best "papa" and role model to my children that I can be. All of these things have made a difference in the lives of others.

I have received letters from kids I have worked with who are now incarcerated, telling me that something I have done made a difference to them in a dark time in their lives. I receive phone calls and post cards years after the fact from kids who are now adults living independently on their own... actually making it when they never thought that they would. I see my own children blossom, and strive to be there for them in their triumphs as well as their failures, and watch them pick themselves up out of the latter, because that is just what we do 'round here. We don't quit. Not ever.

I see that what I do today, makes a difference today. The continued relationships I have with those I have served shows me that it will make a difference tomorrow too. I see that the values I hold dear, and have taught to those around me are living on in them and those they have relationships with. They in turn will pass them along to the next generation. Then the next. 

Many of those values are lessons that a little girl who could not walk, talk or even feed herself taught to an irresponsible and lazy young man seventeen years ago. 

In this regard, my daughter can never be forgotten, as she lives on in those lessons she taught me. She lives on in me. She lives on in my actions, that will live on in others, and just like the ripple effect that I have talked about before, one act of goodness can become a legacy. 

So my friends, I ask you this; How will you be remembered? What have you left behind for others? 

There is the meaning of life.

There are some that I follow in other blogs who have lost recently, and are well into their journey of grief. Each journey is different, and each must be travelled alone. Death, dying and loss can bury you if you let them. I myself in less than a year have seen my maternal grandparents pass, my what was left of the family farm get put up for auction or sale, my father announce his cancer diagnosis, and one of my closest friends die of a heart attack unexpectedly while away on business. I could wear this grief like a stone around my neck, or I can embrace the life and lessons that they have given me, and move forward. I once tried treading water with the former. I now choose the latter.

If this experience I share with you has taught me anything at all, it is that we survive. 

The wounds that should have killed me outright, did not. And while I live with the cold, ache for the rest of my life, I think of an old song by Elton John who sang, "Did you think this fool could never win? Look at me I'm coming back again."

"I'm still standing."

And for those who struggle with their journey, know that it's okay, because... You are still standing too. You are not alone. We can share this hurt together, part of the same tribe.

We are still savages.

The "Crutch"

I heard the wood split as the heavy frame of the forty pound lobby chair slammed violently against the hard, white tile floor. Slowly I shifted my weight and brought my hands up in a non-threatening display, but close enough to protect my face, and to strike, if that is what was required. I knew that I was the only thing between this 300 pound raging hulk and the people his fury was directed at. I also was well aware as he slammed his enormous fist into the metal frame of the door, that he stood between me, and the only way out.

Most of what happened after that is a story for anther time. The part I am going to focus on this week, is "the crutch."

As  this extremely angry young man and I circled the room, he bellowed at me that he was not going to comply with any of my requests. He was not going to be held responsible for his actions. It was "not his fault" that he had failed to comply with the policy we as a facility had in place long before he arrived. It was not his fault and I simply "did not understand," the factors that had influenced his poor decision and that the choice he had made was completely out of his control.

As I looked into his tearing eyes, it happened: "My psychologist says I have Post Traumatic Stress Disorder!"

And there it is. Someone had given him permission to behave the way he was. Someone gave him a “crutch.”

Lisa Aro writes in her article “Overcoming the Fear of Labeling our Children,” that she wishes that she hadn’t waited so long to have her daughter diagnosed with Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder. She states, “because what I found was not nearly as intimidating as I thought it would be. Diagnoses Bring Clarity, not Limitations.” 

“Diagnosis bring clarity, not limitations.”

I am going to have to respectfully amend that statement. Let us say that; “diagnosis can bring clarity, not limitations.” 

My son has been diagnosed with Asperger Syndrome. Asperger’s for those who are not familiar with it, is part of the Autism Spectrum of disorders. He is a loving child, whose intelligence is off the charts. His vocabulary and math skills were virtually unparalleled by middle school. His teachers loved him. He had friends. But for all this, his life at home was full of tension and fear.

For years, our otherwise happy boy's life was disrupted by bouts of irrational behavior and uncontrollable anger. When something in his perception of how things should be didn’t quite fit, the rage would begin. I struggled with connecting the dots with him, but he would continuously find himself worked into a frenzy with no way of being talked down. Any arguments I would try to counter the usually small issue caused the meltdown, would be met with his signature circular logic that brought the conversation back to square one.

Back to the yelling. Back to the threats. Back to the running away from home and acting out in public. Sometimes he even hurt himself or his siblings accidentally, and when accidents happened it only served to further the self abusive rants and overwhelming guilt. 

His intelligence showed him that his siblings and classmates did not react the same way to things as he did. He knew that he did not like how his outbursts made him look to others, and he did not like the way they made him feel inside. My wife and I struggled with whether or not we should tell him his diagnosis. These outbursts were extremely draining on the family, and his treatment of younger siblings was bordering on verbal abuse. We did not want to give him a means of justifying his actions further. We did not want to give him “a crutch.” 

When we finally told him, relief flooded him. There was peace for our son in knowing that other people shared his experience, and that he was not alone. 

Labels and diagnosis from my experience largely bring negative consequences. They are self-fulfilling prophecies in many cases, whether we intend them to be positive or not. Once an individual has consciously or unconsciously accepted their label, they begin to construct their reality around this label.

"I am the captain of the football team. Everyone says I am the best thing to happen to my high school in years."

So... How do you feel when you lose a game?

"My teachers all tell me how smart I am. My friends always ask me for help with their work. They tell me I am a genius."

So... How do you feel when you don't get the best grade in class?

"My peers think I am tough. I have never lost a fight. Nobody messes with me."

So... How do you feel when you get hurt?

Labels have power.

How we use these labels, and how we treat those who have been labeled is critical. It is the difference between not having limitations and being buried beneath them. It is the difference between owning our failures and using a crutch. 

Until we can stop using labels to hurt others, including ourselves...

We are still savages.

Who Wants This?

I'm not even going to pretend to have come up with this. I stole this story to use here, because it is important that we lay this groundwork here, as we are going to visit the moral of this story over, and over again. You can find versions of it all over the internet. 

It starts out with a well known speaker beginning his seminar by holding up a twenty dollar bill. In front of hundreds of people, he asks. "Who would like this twenty dollars?"

Of course, hands start going up instantly. 

The speaker continues saying, "I am going to give this twenty to someone here, but before I do..."

The speaker crumples the twenty dollars up.

Does anyone still want it? 

Of course hands remain in the air.

"Well," he went on, "what if I do... this?" 
He drops the bill  on the floor and steps on it. He lifts his foot and looks at the audience and then steps on the bill again, and begins to grind it into the floor beneath his shoe. After a few seconds, he picks up the crumpled, dirty twenty dollars and asks again, "Anyone still want it?"

The hands were still in the air.
The speaker smiled. "Friends, you have all learned a very valuable lesson today. No matter what I did to this money, you all still wanted it because nothing I did changed it's value. Twenty bucks is still twenty bucks, right?"

Life. It drops us in the dirt, kicks us around, and leaves us crumpled and worn. Sometimes we may feel worthless, but no matter what life hands us, no matter what decisions we make, we never lose out value.

Those around us are the same. Think about that twenty dollars the next time you see a panhandler, drug addict, drunk or prostitute. Think about that twenty dollars the next time you have a conversation with someone you don't agree with. Think about that twenty dollars when you see an "at risk" kid, or someone who is mentally or physically challenged.

Twenty bucks is... Twenty bucks.
If we can't start to see the value in each and every human being...

We are still savages.

Top Flight Security of the World, Craig!

The following is a transcription of a presentation I make to all of my new students. Most of these young people have had little to no structure in their young lives. A lot of them are from the street, and have learned behaviors that have kept them safe for eighteen or more years. They distrust authority and they have little use for our rules.These are not thought processes that go away overnight. In some cases, they never do.

As I discussed in my previous post "Everything's Relational," it is all about the relationships. How I go about aiding these outstanding young people is by building that meaningful relationship with them. My time is very limited, sometimes less than two-hundred days. So these relationships have to be formed quickly. The message that follows is the tool that I use with each new group of youth that I have the honor of working with. It is my method of introducing myself prior to my lecture on safety, security and transportation policy during their orientation period.

I owe a special thanks to Mr. Craig Gray, Mr. Jack Hoban, and the late Dr. Robert L. Humphrey for the source material that has provided me with something extremely valuable for hundreds of students over the past four years. I have in some spaces paraphrased the story, but I have kept the message pure.

Good morning, everybody.

I said, "Good MORNING, EVERYBODY!"

Jeez, you guys are used to staying up all night aren't you?

Who knows who I am? 

Yeah, I'm the PO-LICE. No, I'm not the police. And if anyone gives me the whole "Top Flight Security of the World" thing I'll...

What? Because my name is Craig. I get that Friday, joke all the time! NEVER gets old! "Top Flight Security of the World, Craig!" Yeah, real funny. 

Okay, do I have your attention now? Cool! Because I want to welcome you! I gotta tell you, the amount of respect I have for all of you is tremendous. It takes a lot to put everything you were doing or were behind you, pack up and leave home to come to a place like this to make a change...hopefully for the better. How many of you is this your first time away from home? Really! Wow! That's awesome. I totally respect the hell outa' that!

And speaking of "respect," before we go too far, I want to ask you all a question; What is YOUR definition of "respect?"

Being polite to others? Good.

Treating other people the way you want to be treated? Good! 

We're on the right track, but I want to tell you all a story that will let you know what my definition of "respect" is. I promise you, I PROMISE you, that by the end of this story we will all be on the same page, okay? Cool.

How many of you like history? I do. Especially military history. As a marine, I like hearing stories of the great battles of the South Pacific, especially the stories of Iwo Jima. Iwo Jima was one of the most terrible battles of the war, you know? A lot of people died on both sides. You probably know about it, even if you don't KNOW that you know, you know? All of you probably have seen (or seen pictures of) the marines raising the flag on Mount Suribachi. It's pretty famous, and it became the symbol of victory in the South Pacific.

U.S. Marines raise the American Flag on Mt. Siribachi,
Febrauary, 1945

You see, at my heart I am still a warrior.

As a warrior, I listen to the stories of the warriors who came before me, and the warrior whose story I am about to share was a veteran of this--no a survivor of this battle on Iwo Jima. Now, I never met this man personally, but this story--this message--came to me, handed down by a man I respect tremendously, another warrior (ironically also named Craig) who turned me on to this book called "Values for a New Millennium," by a man named Robert L. Humphrey.

Dr. Robert L. Humphrey
1923-1997

Robert Humphrey was a marine too. After the war, Humphrey worked for the United States Government. He travelled the world and this story found him in Asia Minor--kind of between the Middle East and Europe. The day this all happened, Humphrey was with a group of young Americans who were heading out into the countryside to do some boar hunting. They came to a small village where they were going to hire some of the peasants to work for them as guides, or to flush out the pigs so that they could shoot them.

Well, this village was... you know the type. You have seen them on those television commercials, right? Run down buildings, little kids with no pants on and swollen bellies, flies buzzing around and crawling on their little faces. There is no food, no clean water. Maybe there is sewage or garbage in the street, so it smells. The people don't look like us, or talk like us... you know what I mean, right? 

So, what happens when you see stuff like this? It's stupid to live like that right? Who would live that way? Think about the homeless guys and the crackheads you see wandering around here talking to themselves, right? Its kind of funny isn't it? Well, that's what these Americans thought too when they came into this village.

Humphrey described one young man as saying something like, "Look at these people. They live like animals. They smell bad, they got no teeth," or something like that. Then this young American said; "They have nothing to live for. They might as well be dead."

How many of you have thought you would rather be dead than be one of those little kids with a swollen belly on TV?

Well, Humphrey then described what I like to think of as one of my distant relatives. He says that some old backwoods, hillbilly sergeant from Tennessee or something jumped down out of the back of a Jeep or truck and ::spitting sound:: spits out this big blob of tobacco. The sergeant walks up to the young American who had made the comment about how they should all be dead, and pulled out a big ole' knife and handed it to the young man, saying;

"If you don't think these people have anything to live for, take my knife and go out there and try and kill one of 'em and watch how fast they mess you up."

Yeah. I know.What do you say to that?

So Dr. Humphrey asked this sergeant, what he meant by that. This is the answer that he got. I'm going to read it right out of the book.

"You know, when we are making fun of them, they are looking back up at us there on the truck and saying 'Laugh, you bastards in your fancy clothes, but we don't care how sweet you smell, or how rich you are, or where you come from. We value our lives and our loved ones just as much as you do yours. And if you don't give us that, you have got to go..."

"...You got to be able to jump down off the truck into the sheep manure, go over there into that village of mud huts, walk down those narrow streets, and pick the dirtiest, stinkin'est peasant that you meet; and as you walk past him, you got to be able to make him know, just with your eyes that you know that he is a man who hurts like we do, and hopes like we do, and wants for his kids just like we all do. Thats how you got to be able to do it. Nothin' else ain't going to work."

So...

What did you get out of Humphrey's story? What was his message? His moral?

Come on! This is an interactive presentation! This is where you interact! 

You--what did you think?

Yeah. Like that. Other people's stuff is important to them, just like yours is to you isn't it? And "stuff" is more than just your house, or your friends, or your cell phone. You have to remember that everyone wants to have a good life, a full belly, love, belonging, a roof over their head... just like we do right?

That, ladies and gentlemen, is my definition of respect! Being able to see and recognize that trait in others. Does that make sense? Nobody in this room is any better than anybody else. Myself included. I am no better than any of you. I just have a different job to do. A different role to play.

How does this apply? What are you all here for? What is your job? 

That's right!

To make a career and a good life for yourselves, right? What is my job? To help you, right? That's it. That sums up my job. Now, sometimes y'all won't like how I help you, but that is why I am here. And I won't ever ask you to do something I have not or would not do myself.

Is that fair?

So if you ever have any issues, problems, bitches, gripes or complaints and you need somewhere to go, come up to my cave and close the door. Feel free to speak to me any way you need to in order to get your point across. I have thick skin. I promise, just two adults working out a problem. Hopefully a "win-win" situation!

But... Do not feel free to speak to me any way you see fit out there, on the grounds, in the vehicles or in the dorms. You see out there, we can't be the two adults working out a problem, because out there we have an audience. Out there, I have a title, a job and responsibility given to me by the company. Out there it will be a student and a staff member. Out there it may not be a "win-win." Out there, you probably won't like how it ends up.

Does that make sense? Is that fair?

Now that you have an understanding of where I am coming from, I hope that we can use this as a foundation to build upon. This is your home away from home until you complete your education here. I will treat it as such. If you have issues with other staff--especially my own--not being respectful to you or your home, I want to know about it. We will all talk through it like adults. 

Fair? Cool!

Thus ends my introduction to the student population of my facility. While this lays the foundation for establishing trust and respectful relationships, it does not guarantee smooth sailing utopian existence during the next one to two years. The "warrior" ethic seems to appeal more to the young men than it does the women, but all seem to agree on what it means to respect others. And I'm telling you when I recite the part about how fast the villagers would mess up the Americans, you can hear a pin drop in that classroom.

I do my best every day to see in others the same things I want for myself. Often I fall short. I know that as far down that road as I have travelled,I still have a long way to go, as do all of us. And even though we may never evolve to that level Edison talks about, we have to keep trying. 

Until then...

We are still savages.

If you want to learn more about Dr. Robert L. Humphrey or his work, or to order a copy of Values for a New Millennium visit Amazon.com:

http://www.amazon.com/Values-New-Millennium-Robert-Humphrey/dp/0915761041

or the Resolution Group International (RGI) web page: 

http://resgroupintl.com/products.php

Also I recommend you check out Craig Gray's blog "The Ocean and the Wave"

http://theoceanthewave.blogspot.com/

Everything's Relational

Everything is relational.

The sooner we all understand this, in my opinion, the better. Everything in life is based on its relationship to something, or someone else.

Human beings are social animals. We cannot control this. 

Don't believe me?

A man has become disillusioned with society. He has decided that he is through with this turbulent existence in our materialistic society and is leaving it all behind to go live an esoteric life atop a mountain somewhere in Nepal. There he he has decided he will live off the land for the rest of his days practicing yoga and will never again interact with another human being.

First, I would say to him; "Good luck with that, sir." 

Second, without realizing it, in this decision alone he has affected hundreds, if not potentially thousands of people.

How is that possible, you ask?

Our protagonist is like a pebble dropped into a still pond. With his act of secession, the ripples begin to appear. The inner rings reflect his married life, where his devoted wife is without her husband and has no support in raising their children. Perhaps her income is not enough to survive on. Perhaps the couple settled away from extended family and the comfort and aid they might provide.

The next ring made in our metaphorical pond may be those children living their lives without without a father. A son without a male figure there to show him what being a man is all about, and a daughter with no positive male role model on which she can depend for guidance and learn independence.

Further rings would include the man's employer who has lost a valuable member of his team. His coworkers who now have to make up for his absence by performing his work duties in addition to their own. Still further, we see his community and the local businesses his income supported. 

If we carry this idea even further out, we can imagine a ring that would be his government, no longer able to count on the tax revenue our character once provided. One could even make the stretch that this absence of tax revenue could adversely affect those who receive services from that government.

Like the rings our pebble made in the pond, the ones closest to the source are the most intense, and the effects the most severe. 

How about another example? 

Instead of living on a mountain top, suppose our character dies, and we are silent observers at his funeral.

How one person's life impacts others can be measured in the grief of those who mourn. Presumably his family will be the most severely affected. His children, his siblings. Then come his friends, his coworkers and so on. 

Our interactions with others make the world go 'round. The sooner we understand that each of us affects countless others in countless ways each and every day, the sooner we can begin to accept responsibility for ourselves and our duty to our fellow human beings. 

Even with the smallest choices we make and actions we take ripple into potential infinity. 

That ripple effect can begin with your first "good morning," or whether or not you use your turn signal before changing lanes on the expressway to work. One can brighten the morning of someone who is off to a rough start, while the other may cause an ill feeling the person you inadvertently cut off on the turnpike, which they carry with them all day. In each of these circumstances a relationship--albeit a brief one--was formed.

It can make your brain hurt why you try and wrap it around how much impact we have on the lives of others--even those who don't realize it! Each and every interaction is a relationship, whether we like it or not. This is a theme that we will visit and revisit over and over in the posts to come. 

So the next time you forget to use your turn signal, and cut off the surly looking guy on the orange Harley, its okay, just smile and say "good morning."

We are still savages.

First Markings on the Cave Wall

Welcome to my Blog, "Still Savages." 

The title actually comes from a quote that I really liked by Thomas Edison, who said; "Non-violence leads to the highest ethics, which is the goal of all evolution. Until we stop harming all other living beings, we are still savages." 

If you are expecting this to be a new-age, tree hugging hippy liberal blog, you will be either very disappointed or very relieved, depending on which side of the proverbial fence you are on.  For now, I ask you begin this journey with me without any preconceived ideas about the content here, or me. I believe you will find yourself surprised at some of what is expressed here. 

Nonetheless, the original context of the title I have chosen for this blog stands. Just turn on the news and you will see: The conflict in Ukraine, Palestine and Israel, Ciudad Juarez, Mexico,  Boston, Massachusetts, and the list goes on...

We are still savages.

You see, I am only one voice, and I am not going to solve, nor am I interested in solving the world's problems or conflicts. I believe in the idea of "taking care of my own house first," and I put my money where my mouth is. I have worked with difficult and troubled individuals in my community for more than ten years, in environments ranging from incarceration in secure facilities, to their reintegration into their respective communities. I have experienced life from the standpoint of an educator and teacher, to a facility administrator. At home, I have been blessed with two special needs children of my own and was honored to hold my oldest child in my arms as she left this world. I have stared the results of violence, neglect and loss squarely in the face for years, and I can tell you...

We are still savages.

"Still Savages" also has another meaning for me, and one that is a whole lot less philosophical. I am the father of six children; three boys and three girls. They range in age from six to fourteen--and all of them are smarter than I am! This information goes a long way towards explaining why, in spite of my years of service in the Marine Corps and decade of experience dealing with "at risk" youth, my children are nowhere near the perfectly disciplined little angels you would expect me to brag about here. 

They are in fact, still savages.

So if I have learned nothing else over the years, it is that we grow as individuals through experiencing conflict and the ways we choose we handle those conflicts. This blog is about that human experience, and in the months to come the words found here I hope,  will challenge and inspire you all to look at things differently, live life completely, and protect what is important. 

Maybe you will even be able to pick out the influence of those who have challenged and inspired me over the years. 

I hope so. 

It probably won't be difficult. I am not exactly known by my peers as being "subtle." 

And to be  certain, you won't always agree with me. That's okay. 

The purpose of this inaugural message was to simply give you an idea that I might, just maybe, know a little bit about what I am talking about. "It ain't my first trip to the rodeo" after all.

So when you feel like taking a break from your hunting and gathering, pick a spot at the fire and watch me paint my pictures on the cave wall. After all...

We are still savages.