Play for blood, remember?

There is a lot of junk news out there. And let me be clear, I don’t mean purported “fake news”. I mean- easy to digest, high calorie, low value, fills you up, but still leaves you thirsty-news.

So when a news story catches my eye, it really tends to hold my attention. This very thing occurred when I saw the story of the trio of Portland men that stood up to a man spouting insults to a pair of young women on a train.

It resonated with me for several reasons.

One; because two of the men lost their lives. The tragedy of being a hero, is sometimes you die as one. To Taliesin Myrddin Namkai Meche, and Ricky John Best, I did not know either of you, but I wish peace to you and your families.

Two; I fear this incident, as well as the slayings and injuries that came as a result of it, will discourage people to stand up for others. I pray that it only emboldens people to further rally behind those that do, to make sure that the odds are firmly against the antagonist. To that end, Micah David-Cole Fletcher, I hope that this event does nothing to dissuade you from standing up to the bullies, the bad guys and the blatantly cruel in the future.

Three; I do this kind of thing all the time. It is sobering to see that two men who were on the side of right, paid for that honor with their last breath. You see to me, the greatest honor one can have is to give their life for another. I am not one of those morbid fools that is obsessed with death or dying, but if I have to go out, I’d prefer it be for a worthwhile cause.

Which brings me to my last point...

Four; to anyone that dare utters that these three men acted for nothing, that what they risked, and what two of them ultimately died for was not worth it...I would retort with the firm belief that doing and dying for what’s right is the only thing worth living for.

In closing, I would urge people that when acting in any of these situations always understand that while you may think you are interjecting in a harmless exchange of words, know that things can escalate quickly and turn to violence in a heartbeat. It is not a game, but there is always the potential that you will be playing for blood.

I myself am not an expert in dealing with unstable personalities, or deescalating tense exchanges, so I will not attempt to tell anyone how to handle a similar situation. However, the articles I will leave below do have some useful information. Stand up for others, but be safe doing it.

What should you do if you witness a racist or Islamophobic tirade?

Dealing with Difficult People: 10 Tips for Defusing Toxic Situations

Window Shopping: Kingdom Without a King- Part 10

I stepped closer to the man, immediately I felt Praesus’ hand on my shoulder. “What are you doing?”

Not knowing what to say, I said nothing at all. There was something that drew me to this man, to this prisoner. Who knew how long the Allaine’s and their cohorts had held him here against his will. Following some deep urge, I reached for the restraints that bound his right wrist.

Praesus, having never let go of my shoulder, pulled me back before I could make any progress at loosening his shackles. I could only see that their weight had gouged his wrists badly, leaving a circular trail of crimson over broken skin.

“He is not our concern.” Praesus spoke through clenched teeth. Old Rufus sniffed idly at the broken crown on the stone floor, and seemed to agree with Praesus’ stance.  In a hurry, Rufus trotted to Praesus’ side, an act I had never seen him to prior to that moment. I couldn’t tell if he was warming up to Praesus, or simply wanted to keep his distance from the shackled man.

“He is our concern,” I urged, pointing at the mam, “This could’ve been us!”

“We’ve no clue who he is, or what they are holding him for!” Praesus was, as usual, quick to anger and quick to expose the tenuous nature of our partnership.

I asserted, “You mean were holding, as soon as we are able, we are setting him free. I’m not leaving him here for the remnants of this  group to do with him as they see fit.”

Praesus’ face was the definition of disbelief, “You just used trickery, and the love of two siblings to subdue a woman who’s very reason for vengeance against you was due to you turning her brother into a flesh eating monster who you control, and now suddenly you feel like now is a prop’r moment for charity?” Praesus spoke slowly and methodically.

I shrugged, “You gotta pick your spots.”

Arms up in futility, Praesus swore and threw back his head in a hardy laugh.

“Hey, don’t try to make me out to be the bad guy here. I didn’t see you coming up with any morally acceptable means of escaping this shithole for the second time today!”

Old Rufus cut into our debate with a series of curt barks. Praesus and I turned to see the deceased Anton hovering with his open maw over his sister Asta’s shoulder.

“Anton get it together!” my voice rolled and echoed down the prison hall. The zombie Anton snapped to attention, immediately uninterested in the still living flesh that coated his sister’s arm.

Praesus took note of this, but said nothing. He was more focused on the unidentified prisoner. I didn’t venture any closer, but I gave the man a good once over to see if anything stood out. His garb, other than the well worn purple robe and cracked crown, was normal.

“Is he royalty, maybe from another portal? Someone they would’ve saw as a rival?”

Praesus was being more cautious than I, “He’s a burden we do not need. We need to fend for ourselves.”

“You need to fend for yourself, I am fairly confident with their captain under my command, and his sister captive, I can all but walk right through anything else they throw at me. Can you say the same?”

“Your newfound confidence astounds.” Praesus’ voice was grim, but my point stifled him, at least in the moment.

“I am not proposing taking him with us, just letting him go to give him a fighting chance.”

“He could be a cannibal,” Praesus was grasping at straws.

I stepped out of the cell briefly, gripping the torch from the wall that had concealed the man. “Great the arsonist, extortionist and kidnapper has views on the irreparable corruptibility of another.” Quickly, I hopped back into the cell and shone the torchlight over the man’s beaten face.

The torchlight was illuminating, in more ways than one. I was able to look past the man’s battered countenance; numerous welts and the long-dried blood spatters were caked all over his face.

Praesus continued in vain, “...a thief, some other kind of deviant. I am simply saying, you do not know this man, nor what he is capable of.”

“Yes, I do,” my arm went slack, the torch fell to the ground. I turned to Praesus and spoke weakly, “I do know this man, because this man is my father.”

Humbled and Confused

Once upon a time I was a wealthy employee of a multinational banking corporation. My job was admittedly cushy; I worked from home, I made closer to six figures than the opposite direction, and thanks to my job performance I was typically the recipient of a rather generous yearly bonus.       Unfortunately, this same job was extremely stressful and required upwards of sixty hour weeks at times.

So naturally I got fed up, and decided I wanted to do something more meaningful with my life. I wanted to “make a difference” (vomit).

These days I’ve returned to school as a “non-traditional” student (A.K.A. “old”) to finish my degree in social work. It’s not the heroic life I envisioned (kidding of course I never assumed this line of work would be heroic). But it’s a far cry from corporate life. After doing the student thing for about a year, I finally have become comfortable with rejoining the workforce on a part time basis (for more industry-based experience and beer money).  

After searching for about three months I decided to apply for a job as a caregiver with a local group home for the developmentally disabled. There’s been a learning curve, but not regarding the job duties or how to perform the work. No, the learning has come from the realization that the public sector performs much differently than the private sector.

From a banking perspective I can’t tell you how many hours I spent in training courses for the various jobs I had entered into before actually performing them. My experience with this particular group home has been much different. Although I will mention that before starting in the field the state required a first aid, CPR, Article nine and Prevention and Support. I was impressed by all of these as they were each several hours long and fairly thorough. However, the attention to detail ended there.

Once starting with my agency, who is contracted through the state to provide services to those with developmental disabilities, I was tasked to job shadow in the group home. My first day’s training consisted of reviewing daily medications, meeting the residents of the home (both of these tasks were completed in no more than thirty minutes). I was told the remaining of the time I’d be doing company-based training on the computer.

Much to my surprise I was quickly told after arriving I would be helping to chaperone residents of the home to an event at the local pro baseball field.  Before leaving I was also told that there would be no room in the car the other staff and residents were taking and I’d have to use my own (a week later and I still haven’t heard back about being reimbursed for mileage). Following the other staffers I made my way to the ballfield, and then wound up paying for my parking as well.

There then seemed to be some confusion on where we were sitting, and if we were staying for just the event ceremony (the residents got to go down on the field and walk the perimeter). I also thought it odd that for a full company gathering, not one out of the four managers there made an effort to introduce me to the other managers or staff.

I will say the event itself (for the Special Olympics) was nice, and the residents, particularly the kids, seemed to enjoy it. It was good to see them smiling.

I was then told to stay for the duration of the game (though this was sprung on me as well, I still wished to make a good first impression, so I agreed), as I had long ago passed my four hour shadowing commitment, but then as we returned to our seats to watch the first pitch, we were then told our home’s residents and staff were leaving. So back in the car, and back to the house. Still, my four hour in-home shadow had turned into a six hour ball park excursion. Which is good, considering I needed the extra hours to cover my gas mileage and parking cost.

Fast forward to the next day, I was asked to come in 2 hours early in order to meet with a seasoned staff member in order to ensure I was “set up for success”. Right…

I did so (again good impression), and was surprised to learn the season staff member I was meeting with had been there only 90 days. Again, we reviewed the medication book, but didn’t actually administer any meds, I was shown where the computer training was located that I never got to the day before, and the first aid kits, but only because I asked. The gentlemen showing me around then got permission to leave an hour early (keep in mind I came in two hours early just to meet with him).

I was also left by myself on my second night, not only on the job, but in the field with seven hours of experience. I had been told there’d always be two other staff members present at all times. But I’ve written this, so spoiler alert, I survived. Even changed a diaper, bathed a member and cleaned up urine soaked sheets (I wanted to make a difference right?). I also emailed the supervisor letting them know that while taking their internal training, I was shocked to see the words “handicapped” and “retard” appear in the text. Never heard back on that either, go figure.

 Admittedly, the whole night I was worried I might mess up somehow, make some simple mistake, or overlook something and it would spell the doom of one of the members in the home. Thank God everything was fine. Now, you could chalk this up to nerves, or my own flair for the dramatic. Perhaps those things were part of it, but there was also me expecting to see something more… to see a level of professionalism, and dedication unmatched by any corporate entity.

Where I stand now is left wondering what’s next. As I sit here on the brink of quitting, do the supervisors and managers here think someone like me is expendable only after investing so little in my success? Are my expectations too high? Are their standards too low? Do they look down on me and just think to themselves that I might be a newb that just wasn’t cut out for this line of work? Better question; do they even think at all?

I’m left with the humbling fact that I am making $9.20 an hour, and the confusing idea that a company whose business is the well-being of the people it serves, but does so little to support those that serve the ones they are responsible for.

All the Times

When was the last time you cried?

Have you blocked it out? Have you never? Or at least it’s nothing you’d admit to?

However, can you recall the last time you smiled? When you laughed last?

I think to some extent we all hope and pray for a life less ordinary, not thinking as we do that less ordinary may not always be positive. We crave action, adventure, love, lust, passion, fame, fortune…All the while thinking that when we get them it will ultimately lead to satisfaction, the satiating of some primal thirst, our idea of happiness.

After some thought, I think that this might be a misguided way to demand drama, to call for misfortune. The most troubling piece of the human condition is its addiction to fickleness. We are junkies for stimulation and agitation. We are quick to leave what’s comfortable and content for the mere empty promise of a thrill. When that thrill fails us, we are then left cowering with regret.

Again, when was the last time you cried?

Was it because of someone else? Perhaps it was. Even so, it likely in no small measure the indirect terminus of decisions that you yourself made. Decisions that came about because you weren’t happy to begin with, you shunned contentment and went out on your own, with the name of exploration on your lips, but perchance something very different in your heart.  

Remember this the next time you feel that phantom of the rambler try and take your hand. Seeking you when times are not necessarily bad, but even simply the mundane. It will whisper that things can be more exciting elsewhere. It pours lies into your waiting ears, making you forget that what you now have was at one point everything you ever wanted. And maybe still is.

The person that seeks respite from a life without trouble will undoubtedly find it.. It’s an unfortunate fact that we have to take the bad with the good, otherwise the good would be the mundane, and become lost in the everyday. Recall that whether great, horrible, or indifferent, all the times of your life matter. In an incalculable and cosmic way, the sum is greater than the parts.

There, now you’ve cried for the last time.