DISCLAIMER: Before you read the story, I would like to state that I am not in favor with any type of war. I would like to add that I am not by any means praising Bush for his actions in this matter. Nor making Saddam the most evil person in earth because I know better. The current war scenario was used as an analogy only for the sole purpose of emphasising the true message I want to get across. The punch line of this story is underlined towards the end.
Don't Close Your Blinds
The other day, my nine year old son wanted to know why we were at war. My husband looked at our son and then looked at me. My husband and I were in the Army during the Gulf War and we would be honored to serve and defend our Country again today. I knew that my husband would give him a good explanation.
My husband thought for a few minutes and then told my son to go stand in our front living room window. He said "Son, stand there and tell me what you see?"
"I see trees and cars and our neighbor's houses." he replied.
"OK, now I want you to pretend that our house and our yard is the United States of America and you are President Bush."
Our son giggled and said "OK."
"Now son, I want you to look out the window and pretend that every house and yard on this block is a different country" my husband said.
"OK Dad, I'm pretending."
"Now I want you to stand there and look out the window and pretend you see Saddam come out of his house with his wife, he has her by the hair and is hitting her. You see her bleeding and crying. He hits her in the face, he throws her on the ground, then he starts to kick her to death. Their children run out and are afraid to stop him, they are screaming and crying, they are watching this but do nothing because they are kids and they are afraid of their father. You see all of this son.... what do you do?"
"Dad?"
"What do you do son?"
"I'd call the police, Dad."
"OK. Pretend that the police are the United Nations and they take your ca ll, listen to what you know and saw but they refuse to help. What do you do then son?"
"Dad.......... but the police are supposed to help!" My son starts to whine.
"They don't want to son, because they say that it is not their place or your place to get involved and that you should stay out of it," my husband says
"But Dad...he killed her!!" my son exclaims.
"I know he did...but the police tell you to stay out of it. Now I want you to look out that window and pretend you see our neighbor who you're pretending is Saddam turn around and do the same thing to his children."
"Daddy...he kills them?"
"Yes son, he does. What do you do?"
"Well, if the police don't want to help, I will go and ask my next door neighbor to help me stop him." our son says.
"Son, our next door neighbor sees what is happening and refuses to get involved as well. He refuses to open the door and help you stop him," my husband says.
"But Dad, I NEED help!!! I can't stop him by myself!!"
"WHAT DO YOU DO SON?" Our son starts to cry.
"OK, no one wants to help you, the man across the street saw you ask for help and saw that no one would help you stop him. He stands taller and puffs out his chest. Guess what he does next son?"
"What Daddy?"
"He walks across the street to the old ladies house and breaks down her door and drags her out, steals all her stuff and sets her house on fire and then...he kills her. He turns around and sees you standing in he window and laughs at you. WHAT DO YOU DO?"
"Daddy..."
"WHAT DO YOU DO?"
Our son is crying and he looks down and he whispers, "I'd close the blinds, Daddy."
My husband looks at our son with tears in his eyes and asks him..."Why?"
"Because Daddy.....the police are supposed to help people who needs them...and they won't help.... You always say that neighbors are supposed to HELP neighbors, but they won't help either...they won't help me stop him...I'm afraid....I can't do it by myself Daddy.....I can't look out my window and just watch him do all these terrible things and...and.....do nothing...so....I'm just going to close the blinds.... so I can't see what he's doing........and I'm going to pretend that it is not happening."
I start to cry.
My husband looks at our nine year old son standing in the window, looking pitiful and ashamed at his answers to my husband's questions and he says..."Son"
"Yes, Daddy."
"Open the blinds because that man.... he's at your front door..."WHAT DO YOU DO?"
My son looks at his father, anger and defiance in his eyes. He balls up his tiny fists and looks his father square in the eyes, without hesitation he says: "I DEFEND MY FAMILY DAD!! I'M NOT GONNA LET HIM HURT MOMMY OR MY SISTER, DAD!!! I'M GONNA FIGHT HIM, DAD, I'M GONNA FIGHT HIM!!!!!"
I see a tear roll down my husband's cheek and he grabs our son to his chest and hugs him tight, and says... "It's too late to fight him, he's too strong and he's already at YOUR front door son.....you should have stopped him BEFORE he killed his wife, and his children and the old lady across the way. You have to do what's right, even if you have to do it alone, before it's too late." my husband whispers.
THAT scenario I just gave you is WHY we are at war with Iraq. When good men stand by and let evil happen son, THAT is the greatest EVIL of all. Our President is doing what is right. We, as a free nation, must understand that this war is a war of humanity. WE must remove evil men from power so that we can continue to live in a free world where we are not afraid to look out our window so that my nine year old son won't grow up in a world where he feels that if he just "closes" that blinds the atrocities in the world won't affect him. "YOU MUST NEVER BE AFRAID TO DO WHAT IS RIGHT! EVEN IF YOU HAVE TO DO IT ALONE!" BE PROUD TO BE AN AMERICAN! BE PROUD OF OUR TROOPS!! SUPPORT THEM!!! SUPPORT AMERICA!! SO THAT IN THE FUTURE OUR CHILDREN WILL NEVER HAVE TO CLOSE THEIR BLINDS..."
Thursday, October 28, 2004
Friday, July 04, 2003
A Reflection
Maybe it's because I am of that generation which vividly remembers the heart-ache of those November days which began with gunshots in Dealy Plaza...who still can be transported back through decades of ordinary life by flickering images seared on grainy film...to feel again thegut-wrenching shock and sorrow that wounded a whole nation. The elegant widow who brought such grace to her mourning...and the little boy in the blue jacket who marked his third birthday by raising his handin salute to the father he would never know...no images are more powerful to those who experienced -- with an intensity that only happens the first time -- how television could make us members of one grieving family. That little boy...peeking at photographers from under his father's Oval Office desk...running into his father's arms...laughing when they played...perfectly expressed our American innocence and hope for thefuture. Then, one pathetic man with a gun in just moments made us uncertain about where the world was taking us. It's just as well we didn't know. It wasn't about politics. It wasn't even about Kennedys. It was about a magic that now is hard to imagine. We've become so jaded. If you weren't there, and you weren't open to it, then you will have no idea what I'm talking about. The exceptionally handsome magazine publisher and his exceptionally beautiful wife made news from time to time, but I really couldn't connect him to the long-ago little boy, any more than Mrs. Onassis had much to do with the veiled woman walking behind the caisson bearing the shatteredbody of a President. So, I'm sadder than I might have expected at this morning's news about the missing plane piloted by John Kennedy Jr. It's the more poignant becauseit was to be a happy trip, to witness the marriage of the one daughter Robert Kennedy would never hold is his arms...she was safely in her mother's womb when a bullet ripped the life out of her father. We can hope that the magazine publisher, his bride, his sister-in-law, and the flight instructor are all waiting to be rescued...I keep going to Newsday's AP website looking for good news. There isn't any. Now they report that the plane was within just miles of Martha's Vineyard whenradar last spotted it...over water. Jesse Jackson said once that the biggest mistake human beings make is to live each day as though life is certain and death is uncertain. John Kennedy Jr. is 38...he could be forgiven for thinking that life is certain for him, I suppose, and so he leaves no son to miss him as he doubtless missed his father. I've been listening to my "Out of Africa" CD as I write...there's a Scandinavian melancholy to it that suits me and the morning. I don'treally want to watch television because they keep replaying that black-and-white film of the little boy saluting... AP has a story which doubtless will be lost in all the attention on the Kennedy mystery, about a father's search for his son missing inArizona...it is wonderfully written by Helen O'Neill...if you don't find the story of Damean in your paper, and want to read it, I can send it to you. Life continues to be about loss and love and hope...and mostly aboutfaith.
Thursday, May 01, 2003
Keep Your Fork
DISCLAIMER: I am not a religious person, persay. I do have certain beliefs regarding my spiritual being. Once again, the story's scenario was used for the sole purpose of getting a message across.
There was a woman who had been diagnosed with a terminal illness and had been given three months to live. So as she was getting her things in order", she contacted her pastor and had him come to her house to discuss certain aspects of her final wishes.
She told him which songs she wanted sung at the service, what scriptures she would like read, and what outfit she wanted to be buried in. The woman also requested to be buried with her favorite Bible.
Everything was in order and the pastor was preparing to leave .Then the woman suddenly remembered something very important to her. "There's one more thing," she said excitedly. "What's that?" came the pastor's reply. "This is very important," the woman continued. "I want to be buried with a fork in my right hand." The pastor stood looking at the woman, not knowing quite what to say. "That surprises you, doesn't it?" the woman asked. "Well, to be honest, I'm puzzled by the request," said the pastor.
The woman explained. "In all my years of attending church socials and potluck dinners, I always remember that when the dishes of the main course were being cleared, someone would inevitably lean over and say, Keep your fork'. It was my favorite part because I knew that something better wascoming..like velvety chocolate cake or deep-dish apple pie. Something wonderful, and with substance! So, I just want people to see me there in that casket with a fork in my hand and I want them to wonder "What's with the fork?'. Then I want you to tell them: "Keep your fork....the best is yet to come".
The pastor's eyes welled up with tears of joy as he hugged the woman goodbye. He knew this would be one of the last times he would see her before her death. But he also knew that the woman had a better grasp of heaven than he did. She KNEW that something better was coming.
At the funeral people were walking by the woman's casket and they saw the pretty dress she was wearing, the favorite Bible and the fork placed in her right hand. Over and over, the pastor heard the question "What's with the fork?" And over and over he smiled. During his message, the pastor told the people about the conversation he had with the woman shortly before shedied. He also told them about the fork and about what it symbolized to her. The pastor told the people how he could not stop thinking about the fork and told them that they probably would not be able to stop thinking about it either. He was right.
So the next time you reach down for your fork, let it remind you oh so gently, that the best is yet to come. True friends are a very rare jewel, indeed. They make you smile and encourage you to succeed. They lend an ear, they share a word of praise, and they always want to open their hearts to us.
There was a woman who had been diagnosed with a terminal illness and had been given three months to live. So as she was getting her things in order", she contacted her pastor and had him come to her house to discuss certain aspects of her final wishes.
She told him which songs she wanted sung at the service, what scriptures she would like read, and what outfit she wanted to be buried in. The woman also requested to be buried with her favorite Bible.
Everything was in order and the pastor was preparing to leave .Then the woman suddenly remembered something very important to her. "There's one more thing," she said excitedly. "What's that?" came the pastor's reply. "This is very important," the woman continued. "I want to be buried with a fork in my right hand." The pastor stood looking at the woman, not knowing quite what to say. "That surprises you, doesn't it?" the woman asked. "Well, to be honest, I'm puzzled by the request," said the pastor.
The woman explained. "In all my years of attending church socials and potluck dinners, I always remember that when the dishes of the main course were being cleared, someone would inevitably lean over and say, Keep your fork'. It was my favorite part because I knew that something better wascoming..like velvety chocolate cake or deep-dish apple pie. Something wonderful, and with substance! So, I just want people to see me there in that casket with a fork in my hand and I want them to wonder "What's with the fork?'. Then I want you to tell them: "Keep your fork....the best is yet to come".
The pastor's eyes welled up with tears of joy as he hugged the woman goodbye. He knew this would be one of the last times he would see her before her death. But he also knew that the woman had a better grasp of heaven than he did. She KNEW that something better was coming.
At the funeral people were walking by the woman's casket and they saw the pretty dress she was wearing, the favorite Bible and the fork placed in her right hand. Over and over, the pastor heard the question "What's with the fork?" And over and over he smiled. During his message, the pastor told the people about the conversation he had with the woman shortly before shedied. He also told them about the fork and about what it symbolized to her. The pastor told the people how he could not stop thinking about the fork and told them that they probably would not be able to stop thinking about it either. He was right.
So the next time you reach down for your fork, let it remind you oh so gently, that the best is yet to come. True friends are a very rare jewel, indeed. They make you smile and encourage you to succeed. They lend an ear, they share a word of praise, and they always want to open their hearts to us.
Wednesday, August 02, 2000
Mom's First Husband
A few years back, it came on the news (while we lived in LA) about this “chained” man. It was the talk of this small town. To our surprise, it happened to be my mom’s brother-in-law! Some reporter wanted to find out if in reality this family had a chained person. Since the 2 sisters were very influential(very wealthy), the town police had not done anything about it--tofind out whether such rumors were true or not. The reporter went to the ladies’ house, and went in with cameras, to see what was going on. The sisters did not let the reporter in the house nor wanted to speak to him. The reporter found out more or less where people thought the chained man was. The room where the man would be had a door that lead to a street. The second day, the family was feeling pressure and let the reporter in the house. Of course, the man was not anywhere to be seen. The reporter asked to see the room that has the door that leads to the street. The sisters said they never open that room, and did not let him in. The clever reporter placed some clear tape across the opening of the “unopened” door. He left the house with no proof of anyone living there other then the sisters. The third day, the reporter asked to go in the house again. Right after they let him in, he headed to the door he had placed some tape on. The “unopened” door had been open because the clear tape was torn. He asked the women, "I thought you never open this door, how come some one did?" The cam guy was catching all of this on tape. Shortly after that, you can see someone opening the door. It was a room that did not appeared to have electric light. You can see the reporter covering his nose and mouth as he walks into this dark room. There seemed to be a toilet, but looked more like a small basin with a hole, and rusted. The cam focused to a shadow located at a corner of the room, opposite from where they were coming in. As they get closer, you can now start to see a sort of heavy man dressed in white. Then the reporter asked him if he lives in that room. The guy told him yes. The reporter noticed the clothes the guy was wearing were brand-new, or seemed as though they had never been worn before. The question everyone had been waiting for was finally asked: “Have you been chained, and if so, for how long?” he said he had been chained since long time ago. He came to conclusions that it was about 50 years!!!!!!! Then he let the reporter take his new shirt off. You could see the marks of the chain, which were laying about 10ft away from him stuck to a metal short pole, around his waist. Then the reporter asked him if he knew why his sisters did that to him. His answer was, “I don’t know…I guess because they say I am crazy.”
Everyone of my family that was watching the news, we were crying. We could not help it, watching such intense scenes. The 3 children from my mom’s first husband were also watching the news. The police got the chained man and took him to get checked both physically and mentally to a hospital in Guadalajara located far away from the small town he once was a miserable “slave.” Doctor’s stated that the man was coherent and did not show any signs of being “crazy.” --That was what the police were waiting to hear so they can take a statement from the victim to get a warrant for the sisters’ arrest. Who could have guessed that a few hours before the man could give the statement, he mysteriously died! :( the same man that was just diagnosed to be sane and, despite the environment and circumstances he went through, capable of living a long life, died of a heart attack. Police could not find the sisters anywhere. Nowhere were they to be found! It was obvious to assume that the sisters were the cause of his death. Perhaps they hired someone to kill him. Their greed to keep all the wealth for themselves was certain, not caring what they had to do to get it. The "poor" rich guy lived a horrible life due to the lowestness of his sisters.
One of my 2 half sisters developed some type of trauma after watching her uncle live on TV in such condition, and the outcome of the whole situation; that almost made her loose her mind. She became very protective of her children. She would tell them to close all windows and doors because some one was watching her, and "they" wanted to take her children away. Her kids were taking it as a joke, thinking that she was playing around. But soon, they realized otherwise. Their mom did not want to go to the doctor, nor wanted to eat because she thought someone was after her and wanted to see her dead. My sister had to get some time off from work to go out of the States to see her. Her visit was actually very rewarding. My half sister trusted her, and knew that she would not harm her. Apparently, she had been going through some problems with her husband, and then the situation with her uncle trigger her behavior. A doctor prescribed some medicine, which had to be put on her food; otherwise she would not have taken it. Slowly but surely, she got better. She regained all her senses. When she was finally well, she would go to the doctor on her own and would take her medicine. The doctor diagnosed her with some type of mental illness that it is triggered only by certain factors like, stress, problems, pressure, dramatic events, etc. It is a gene, actually. Reminds me the freckle gene. If you have the freckle gene, you might not show any physical freckles in your entire life, unless you are exposed to the factors, which “turn” it on. This might conclude that the chained guy might have been incoherent for some time, but did not meant that it would be for the rest of his life. How can people be so cruel with their own family? All was for the love of money!
My mom and her first husband make a great fairy tale but true story. Perhaps because of their different social backgrounds. But I will write about this Cinderella-like story another time.
Everyone of my family that was watching the news, we were crying. We could not help it, watching such intense scenes. The 3 children from my mom’s first husband were also watching the news. The police got the chained man and took him to get checked both physically and mentally to a hospital in Guadalajara located far away from the small town he once was a miserable “slave.” Doctor’s stated that the man was coherent and did not show any signs of being “crazy.” --That was what the police were waiting to hear so they can take a statement from the victim to get a warrant for the sisters’ arrest. Who could have guessed that a few hours before the man could give the statement, he mysteriously died! :( the same man that was just diagnosed to be sane and, despite the environment and circumstances he went through, capable of living a long life, died of a heart attack. Police could not find the sisters anywhere. Nowhere were they to be found! It was obvious to assume that the sisters were the cause of his death. Perhaps they hired someone to kill him. Their greed to keep all the wealth for themselves was certain, not caring what they had to do to get it. The "poor" rich guy lived a horrible life due to the lowestness of his sisters.
One of my 2 half sisters developed some type of trauma after watching her uncle live on TV in such condition, and the outcome of the whole situation; that almost made her loose her mind. She became very protective of her children. She would tell them to close all windows and doors because some one was watching her, and "they" wanted to take her children away. Her kids were taking it as a joke, thinking that she was playing around. But soon, they realized otherwise. Their mom did not want to go to the doctor, nor wanted to eat because she thought someone was after her and wanted to see her dead. My sister had to get some time off from work to go out of the States to see her. Her visit was actually very rewarding. My half sister trusted her, and knew that she would not harm her. Apparently, she had been going through some problems with her husband, and then the situation with her uncle trigger her behavior. A doctor prescribed some medicine, which had to be put on her food; otherwise she would not have taken it. Slowly but surely, she got better. She regained all her senses. When she was finally well, she would go to the doctor on her own and would take her medicine. The doctor diagnosed her with some type of mental illness that it is triggered only by certain factors like, stress, problems, pressure, dramatic events, etc. It is a gene, actually. Reminds me the freckle gene. If you have the freckle gene, you might not show any physical freckles in your entire life, unless you are exposed to the factors, which “turn” it on. This might conclude that the chained guy might have been incoherent for some time, but did not meant that it would be for the rest of his life. How can people be so cruel with their own family? All was for the love of money!
My mom and her first husband make a great fairy tale but true story. Perhaps because of their different social backgrounds. But I will write about this Cinderella-like story another time.
Saturday, October 16, 1999
Life Begins?
I would like you to know other events that have happened to me, which will maybe bring up in your mind the same question that I have through out the years.
I have been close to death several times including right before I was going to be born. I cannot imagine what my dad had been going through as well as his thoughts when the doctor gave him a choice to decide who would get priority for life: his wife or his unborn child. I don’t blame my dad for choosing my mother. After all, how can one sacrifice the life of some one that is alive for some “unborn stranger”? The doctor was sure that either my mom or I would have to suffer the ultimate consequence: death. This is why my dad had to make the decision as to who the doctor would focus to save. My fate had already been foretold and, perhaps, would cease to go on after birth.
My mom’s history of heart problems was one of the major factors complicating her pregnancy. The other issue was her age; my mother was 49 when she was going to give birth to me. A day before my unexpected birth, my mom became aware of the pregnancy’s possible outcome. When she knew that more than likely her child was not going to make it, she did not want to give birth. She felt that, by me being in her wound, it would be the only way to still keep me alive and ever close to her. Little did everyone know that I would, some how, not want to wait another 2 months to find out what little expected life had for me. On January 22, my mother started having contractions. The sign was clear; the forecast of the unborn could wait no more. Despite of the complications at labor, the fetus was no longer in the wound but struggling to get used to the breath of life in an incubator. The doctor let my parents know that even though I was born alive, they should not get their hopes up because I was still at high risk of dying.
The first memories my mom had about me were of a “snake.” For the first 20 days or so, I shed my skin. She remembers how my hands shed leaving behind my clear dry skin in the form of a glove. During that time, my family contemplated how the weak premature child seemed as though it was not going to make it any longer. This is where my name came about. Since they were certain that I did not have much time left, my oldest sister decided to baptize me. She prayed for me through St Martin (the saint for the meek). I was named after him—Marco Martin.
As time passed, it was noticeable that my time was not up yet.....
There are other incidents in which I have been close to death. I've always wonderred about my purpose in life. Obviously, it must be a good one for I am still here able to write about those experiences myself. I will write another one later on, as I get in my writing mood, but mainly to gather information about it to clearly state the events.
I have been close to death several times including right before I was going to be born. I cannot imagine what my dad had been going through as well as his thoughts when the doctor gave him a choice to decide who would get priority for life: his wife or his unborn child. I don’t blame my dad for choosing my mother. After all, how can one sacrifice the life of some one that is alive for some “unborn stranger”? The doctor was sure that either my mom or I would have to suffer the ultimate consequence: death. This is why my dad had to make the decision as to who the doctor would focus to save. My fate had already been foretold and, perhaps, would cease to go on after birth.
My mom’s history of heart problems was one of the major factors complicating her pregnancy. The other issue was her age; my mother was 49 when she was going to give birth to me. A day before my unexpected birth, my mom became aware of the pregnancy’s possible outcome. When she knew that more than likely her child was not going to make it, she did not want to give birth. She felt that, by me being in her wound, it would be the only way to still keep me alive and ever close to her. Little did everyone know that I would, some how, not want to wait another 2 months to find out what little expected life had for me. On January 22, my mother started having contractions. The sign was clear; the forecast of the unborn could wait no more. Despite of the complications at labor, the fetus was no longer in the wound but struggling to get used to the breath of life in an incubator. The doctor let my parents know that even though I was born alive, they should not get their hopes up because I was still at high risk of dying.
The first memories my mom had about me were of a “snake.” For the first 20 days or so, I shed my skin. She remembers how my hands shed leaving behind my clear dry skin in the form of a glove. During that time, my family contemplated how the weak premature child seemed as though it was not going to make it any longer. This is where my name came about. Since they were certain that I did not have much time left, my oldest sister decided to baptize me. She prayed for me through St Martin (the saint for the meek). I was named after him—Marco Martin.
As time passed, it was noticeable that my time was not up yet.....
There are other incidents in which I have been close to death. I've always wonderred about my purpose in life. Obviously, it must be a good one for I am still here able to write about those experiences myself. I will write another one later on, as I get in my writing mood, but mainly to gather information about it to clearly state the events.
Sunday, July 04, 1999
My "Independence Day"
Summer 1996
During the summer of 1996, I was taking a couple of classes at the Eastern New Mexico University of Roswell. There were only 3 weeks left of school for that semester to be over. I had taken English 104 and Math 110. Math was no big deal t me for it’s my favorite subject ever. English, on the other hand, was the subject I was having trouble with. Most of the final grade was based on a research paper due at the end of the course. I love to write, but not when it comes to something I have no choice over waiting. Nevertheless, I was very stressful.
July 4th 1996
It wasn’t until the 4th of July that I started to give some thought about my soon due report. Every time I thought about it, I got more stressed. That was not the only thing running through my head, though. There were other few problems I was having with my family, church, and even myself. I had not eaten anything that day; I was starving. Most of the times that I get stressed out I either eat too much or hardly at all. I also like to spend time by myself when I feel down. I just want to be alone, and have a chance to reflect on my problems.
Before sunset, my friends Luis and Blanca called me and asked me if I wanted to tag along with them to buy some fireworks, and then go to see the fireworks’ show. I agree, since I had nothing better else to do. Besides, I was not feeling my greatest, and knew that I needed to get my mind off my disrupting thoughts. Luis picked up Blanca. Then he picked me up. We went to buy the fireworks as planned. After that, we drove directly to the place where the fireworks’ show was going to be. Lots of people were at the site. We all wanted to see the fantastic promising show. It was already getting dark. The crowd was making some kind of noise in sign of desperation to see the fireworks. The show finally started; everyone was very happy. In fact, that show was one of the best ones I had ever seen then in my life. It was very colorful. They burnt a lot of new types of fireworks. Nobody got hurt. Everything went as planned. The show was a great success. I was glad that my friends had picked me up. For an instance, my mind was clear, which it was good. After the show, my friends decided to go to my house and burn the fireworks we had bought. We had all kinds of fireworks. It seemed as though we were having our own little show. A few neighbors came to see and gathered around; others were watching through their windows.I had not yet realized that July 4th was going to be one of the days that I would never forget. It was not for the fact that it was the USA’s Independence anniversary but because of the significance in my life.
After we finished burning all the fireworks, my friends left home. Shortly after that, my stomach started making some noises, which clearly reminded me that I had not eaten yet. I went inside my house directly to the kitchen to check the refrigerator for food. To my "luck," there wasn’t any prepared. I got in my truck and drove to Burger King. I ordered their #1 without pickles–that was my favorite meal from them. After I got my food, I was driving while thinking on the place to go and eat my value meal. As I recalled earlier, I wanted to be by myself for some time. I remembered about Cahoon Park. I had gone there before and noticed that place was somewhat dark, quiet, and overall seemed perfect for me to have some time for myself after eating.
.......to be continued (go to my Photos and look for Joseph from Roswell. The story picks up there.)
During the summer of 1996, I was taking a couple of classes at the Eastern New Mexico University of Roswell. There were only 3 weeks left of school for that semester to be over. I had taken English 104 and Math 110. Math was no big deal t me for it’s my favorite subject ever. English, on the other hand, was the subject I was having trouble with. Most of the final grade was based on a research paper due at the end of the course. I love to write, but not when it comes to something I have no choice over waiting. Nevertheless, I was very stressful.
July 4th 1996
It wasn’t until the 4th of July that I started to give some thought about my soon due report. Every time I thought about it, I got more stressed. That was not the only thing running through my head, though. There were other few problems I was having with my family, church, and even myself. I had not eaten anything that day; I was starving. Most of the times that I get stressed out I either eat too much or hardly at all. I also like to spend time by myself when I feel down. I just want to be alone, and have a chance to reflect on my problems.
Before sunset, my friends Luis and Blanca called me and asked me if I wanted to tag along with them to buy some fireworks, and then go to see the fireworks’ show. I agree, since I had nothing better else to do. Besides, I was not feeling my greatest, and knew that I needed to get my mind off my disrupting thoughts. Luis picked up Blanca. Then he picked me up. We went to buy the fireworks as planned. After that, we drove directly to the place where the fireworks’ show was going to be. Lots of people were at the site. We all wanted to see the fantastic promising show. It was already getting dark. The crowd was making some kind of noise in sign of desperation to see the fireworks. The show finally started; everyone was very happy. In fact, that show was one of the best ones I had ever seen then in my life. It was very colorful. They burnt a lot of new types of fireworks. Nobody got hurt. Everything went as planned. The show was a great success. I was glad that my friends had picked me up. For an instance, my mind was clear, which it was good. After the show, my friends decided to go to my house and burn the fireworks we had bought. We had all kinds of fireworks. It seemed as though we were having our own little show. A few neighbors came to see and gathered around; others were watching through their windows.I had not yet realized that July 4th was going to be one of the days that I would never forget. It was not for the fact that it was the USA’s Independence anniversary but because of the significance in my life.
After we finished burning all the fireworks, my friends left home. Shortly after that, my stomach started making some noises, which clearly reminded me that I had not eaten yet. I went inside my house directly to the kitchen to check the refrigerator for food. To my "luck," there wasn’t any prepared. I got in my truck and drove to Burger King. I ordered their #1 without pickles–that was my favorite meal from them. After I got my food, I was driving while thinking on the place to go and eat my value meal. As I recalled earlier, I wanted to be by myself for some time. I remembered about Cahoon Park. I had gone there before and noticed that place was somewhat dark, quiet, and overall seemed perfect for me to have some time for myself after eating.
.......to be continued (go to my Photos and look for Joseph from Roswell. The story picks up there.)
Thursday, July 01, 1999
For The Love of A Friend
One day, when I was a freshman in high school, I saw a kid from one of my classes walking away from school going towards a bus stop. His name was Kyle. It looked like he was carrying all of his books. I thought to myself, "Why would anyone bring home all his books on a Friday? He must really be a nerd, like me." LOL I had quite a weekend planned (soccer and a fund raiser for my French Club with my friends tomorrow afternoon), so I shrugged my shoulders and went on.
As I was walking, I saw a bunch of kids running toward him. They ran at him, knocking all his books out of his arms and tripping him so he landed in the dirt. His glasses went flying, and I saw them land in the grass about ten feet from him. He looked up and I saw this terrible sadness in his eyes. My heart went out to him. So, I jogged over to him and as he crawled around looking for his glasses, I saw a tear in his eye.
As I handed him his glasses, I said, "Those guys are jerks. They really should get lives." He looked at me and said, "Hey thanks!" There was a big smile on his face. It was one of those smiles that showed real gratitude.
I helped him pick up his books, and asked him where he lived. As it turned out, he lived near me, so I asked him why I had never seen him before. He said he had gone to private school before now. I would have never hung out with a private school kid before. We talked all the way home riding the few busses we would take to get there; I carried his books. He turned out to be a pretty cool kid. I asked him if he wanted to play soccer on Saturday with me and my friends. He said yes.
We hung out all weekend and the more I got to know Kyle, the more I liked him. And my friends and family thought the same of him. Monday morning came, and there was Kyle with the huge stack of books again. I stopped him and said, "Damn boy, you are gonna really build some serious muscles with this pile of books everyday!" He just laughed and handed me half the books.
Over the next two years, Kyle and I became best friends. Now he was a senior. But we began to think about college. Kyle decided on Georgetown, and I was going to UCLA in 2 more years. I knew that we would always be friends, that the miles would never be a problem. He was going to be a doctor, and I was going for architecture or interior designer; I was stil undesided. Kyle was valedictorian of his class. I teased him all the time about being a nerd. He had to prepare a speech for graduation.
Graduation day, I saw Kyle. He looked great. He was one of those guys that really found himself during high school. He filled out and actually looked good in glasses. He had more dates than me and all the girls loved him! Boy, sometimes I was jealous. Not really because I liked men secretely. LOL I wasn't out though. That day was one of those days. I could see that he was nervous about his speech. So, I smacked him on the back and said, "Hey, big guy, you'll be great!" He looked at me with one of those looks (the really grateful one) and smiled. "Thanks," he said.
As he started his speech, he cleared his throat, and began."Graduation is atime to thank those who helped you make it through those tough years. Your parents, your teachers, your siblings, maybe a coach... but mostly your friends. I am here to tell all of you that being a friend to someone is the best gift you can give them. I am going to tell you a story."
I just looked at my friend with disbelief as he told the story of the first day we met. He had planned to kill himself over the weekend. He talked of how he had cleaned out his locker so his Mom wouldn't have to do it later and was carrying his stuff home. He looked hard at me and gave me a little smile. "Thankfully, I was saved. My friend saved me from doing the unspeakable." I heard the gasp go through the crowd as this handsome, popular boy told us all about his weakest moment. I saw his Mom and Dad looking at me and smiling that same grateful smile. Not until that moment did I realize it's depth.
Never underestimate the power of your actions. With one small gesture you can change a person's life. For better or for worse. God puts us all in each other's lives to impact one another in some way. Look for God in others.
Last I heard from Kyle, he was persuing his goal, and was soon to be married.
As I was walking, I saw a bunch of kids running toward him. They ran at him, knocking all his books out of his arms and tripping him so he landed in the dirt. His glasses went flying, and I saw them land in the grass about ten feet from him. He looked up and I saw this terrible sadness in his eyes. My heart went out to him. So, I jogged over to him and as he crawled around looking for his glasses, I saw a tear in his eye.
As I handed him his glasses, I said, "Those guys are jerks. They really should get lives." He looked at me and said, "Hey thanks!" There was a big smile on his face. It was one of those smiles that showed real gratitude.
I helped him pick up his books, and asked him where he lived. As it turned out, he lived near me, so I asked him why I had never seen him before. He said he had gone to private school before now. I would have never hung out with a private school kid before. We talked all the way home riding the few busses we would take to get there; I carried his books. He turned out to be a pretty cool kid. I asked him if he wanted to play soccer on Saturday with me and my friends. He said yes.
We hung out all weekend and the more I got to know Kyle, the more I liked him. And my friends and family thought the same of him. Monday morning came, and there was Kyle with the huge stack of books again. I stopped him and said, "Damn boy, you are gonna really build some serious muscles with this pile of books everyday!" He just laughed and handed me half the books.
Over the next two years, Kyle and I became best friends. Now he was a senior. But we began to think about college. Kyle decided on Georgetown, and I was going to UCLA in 2 more years. I knew that we would always be friends, that the miles would never be a problem. He was going to be a doctor, and I was going for architecture or interior designer; I was stil undesided. Kyle was valedictorian of his class. I teased him all the time about being a nerd. He had to prepare a speech for graduation.
Graduation day, I saw Kyle. He looked great. He was one of those guys that really found himself during high school. He filled out and actually looked good in glasses. He had more dates than me and all the girls loved him! Boy, sometimes I was jealous. Not really because I liked men secretely. LOL I wasn't out though. That day was one of those days. I could see that he was nervous about his speech. So, I smacked him on the back and said, "Hey, big guy, you'll be great!" He looked at me with one of those looks (the really grateful one) and smiled. "Thanks," he said.
As he started his speech, he cleared his throat, and began."Graduation is atime to thank those who helped you make it through those tough years. Your parents, your teachers, your siblings, maybe a coach... but mostly your friends. I am here to tell all of you that being a friend to someone is the best gift you can give them. I am going to tell you a story."
I just looked at my friend with disbelief as he told the story of the first day we met. He had planned to kill himself over the weekend. He talked of how he had cleaned out his locker so his Mom wouldn't have to do it later and was carrying his stuff home. He looked hard at me and gave me a little smile. "Thankfully, I was saved. My friend saved me from doing the unspeakable." I heard the gasp go through the crowd as this handsome, popular boy told us all about his weakest moment. I saw his Mom and Dad looking at me and smiling that same grateful smile. Not until that moment did I realize it's depth.
Never underestimate the power of your actions. With one small gesture you can change a person's life. For better or for worse. God puts us all in each other's lives to impact one another in some way. Look for God in others.
Last I heard from Kyle, he was persuing his goal, and was soon to be married.
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