Spittin' Steam

I am so mad that if I were to spit, it would probably come out as steam!

Today, you saw my school bus coming down the road as you neared the stop sign on your side of the intersection. Instead of stopping, you floored it, ran the stop sign, and jumped in front of the bus. You didn't care that I was doing the legal speed limit nor that I had a bus full of elementary school aged children. You gave me almost no time to react. I locked the air brakes on the bus and just avoided creaming the rear of your car. You didn't even glance back. I threw kids onto the floor, into the back of seats, and into each other. Physically, there were only bumps and bruises; no serious injuries this time. I had a bus full of terrified, crying children. I didn't have time to even get your license number and, you probably knew, no one would do anything to you anyway. Little did you care about more serious consequences like broken bones, including skulls, necks and spines. You were just glad that you weren't held up by another "damn" school bus.

This scenario didn't happen as described. Not because you didn't do just exactly as described, but because I anticipated that you would. I did end up with some upset children and it wouldn't surprise me to hear from some parents. In fact, I hope that I do!

I anticipated your stupid move because of expert training by my bus driver instructor. She had a mantra that she taught us: "Anticipate. Anticipate. Anticipate!" What she didn't say and what I've learned for myself is to anticipate idiots, fools, and those whose life is so wrapped up in "self" that other drivers or pedestrians make no difference to them.

Idiots are those who think that a 15-ton school bus can stop in the same amount of time and distance that it takes a compact car to make the same stop. They either don't consider or don't care that it is not possible to stop an ocean liner in the same distance that a speed boat can be stopped. Often times, I am driving my bus at the posted speed limit, but that just isn't enough for many drivers. Speed limits aren't really laws anyway, are they? They aren't like, "Thou shalt not steal." Aren't they actually just parameters showing us how fast we can drive without much chance of getting a speeding ticket? Everyone else speeds, so if a school bus can only do the speed limit, why shouldn't you be in front of it?

Fools are those who either can't tell time or have no self discipline. Every single school day, school buses drive exactly the same route at almost the exact same time. It shouldn't be rocket science to figure out that leaving home a few minutes earlier or later or taking an alternate route might help the problem of being caught in school bus traffic. Yet, as it happens, every single school day, I get to see the same drivers in the same cars jump through stop lights and stop signs at the same intersections trying to get in front of the same school buses. Fools must truly be those who do the same thing time after time and yet expect a different outcome each time.

I probably have the least patience with those of you totally wrapped up in "self". School buses are required to drive very slowly in bus parking lots and student pick-up zones. The reason for that should be obvious. I see you every day drive past a sign that clearly says "School Buses Only" because you cannot or will not wait in the long line that other parents are in waiting to drop off their children. You drive much faster than any bus is allowed. You are on your cell phone. You are putting on your makeup or eating your breakfast. At least one of you has a pet in arms. How absolutely uncaring can you be! School buses turn on flashing amber lights before turning on stop lights to pick up children. If you see the amber lights, your thought process seems to be, "If I hurry up, I can get past the bus before the red stop lights come on." Some of you make it and some just go on through the red lights, just like you do at intersections. What you fail to consider, since it is only you that you are thinking about, is that a child might be running a bit late and, seeing the amber bus lights, might hurry across the road without waiting for the red lights as well. You believe that you might win the lottery, but you don't for a minute think that you might kill a child!

I could spit steam out of the sheer frustration of failing to get you to see the ultimate cost of your poor decisions. I will promise you this... if any of you who read this are guilty of such actions near my bus and I happen to recognize you, the next time we meet, I will be so much in your face that you will think that you've donned a Ross mask. Please, please read this carefully and then read it again. Share it with someone. If, between us, we can keep even one child from being killed or injured, isn't it worth the effort? You and your job just aren't that important. If all else fails, be a little bit late getting to wherever you are going and feel good about doing it safely.

Who Would Really Want To Be "Meek"?

If one reads the Beatitudes, as found in the fifth chapter of Matthew, it can be said that the rewards that they promise will be delivered in heaven, all except for one: "Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth."

The following are headlines or parts of headlines taken from the Sunday, April 17th edition of the Winston-Salem Journal newspaper:

"Youths beat a gentle man; One beat the system"

"Woman accused of assaulting father in '02; She is now charged with stabbing her boyfriend to death"

"Experts warn of Facebook stress"

"Barrage said to kill at least five civilians in rebel-held Misrata"

"Violent storms kill several in N.C."

"Tornados kill dozens across Deep South"

"Bomber kills 5 NATO, 4 Afghan troops, interpreter"

"Mothers killing kids isn't so uncommon"

"Husband kills wife, 3 children, himself"

Who would really want to inherit this earth? If there is indeed a heaven, being there doesn't have to be much better than the earth as we know it in order to be wonderful! As far as my share of this old earth might go, you are welcome to it.

Running Away

I caution you that this is going to be long, so you may just want to skip it. I would guess that almost everyone, who tries to write, does most of the work in their head before putting it down on some media. I know that this is the case for me, although my organization of thoughts may often be disjointed.

I'm ready, for about the 5th or 6th time, to run away from home. All of us had the "I'll show them. They'll be sorry." thoughts when we were young. Maybe we even made it around the block, but we always came back before anyone missed us. Later years bring real desires to run. Maybe it's a terrible job, an unhappy relationship, too many responsibilities, a choice that must be made, but can't be faced or a combination of many factors.

I think that I missed my absolute best chance to run when I got out of the Marine Corps. All I could think of was getting back to college (the damned expected route - "I'm now grown up and must do as expected!") Sara and I were young, very much in love, and had no real obligations to anyone other than our partner. We were used to living in small towns and very large cities. We were used to living in houses and efficiency apartments. We were used to making a living on our own. The love and the lovemaking didn't depend on geographic location!

Do you remember Tod Stiles and Buzz Murdock traveling Route 66 in their Corvette? How about "Me and You and a Dog Named Boo" travelin' and a-livin' off the land? Sara and I couldn't have afforded a Corvette, but we might have been able to afford some old clunker or even, in those days, taken a Greyhound bus. A year of exploring the US, with maybe some side trips into Canada and Mexico, wouldn't have made a difference in the grand scheme of things, but what a golden opportunity was missed.

Today, I want to run away again. I want it to be Sara and me and a dog named Lenny. For lots of reasons, I know that this just isn't going to happen, but the road calls to me with such a strong Siren song that sometimes I think I'll die of need to travel it. I don't think I've changed that much from the young Marine who was willing to go, but Sara has changed a lot. She has a family and friends and likes the idea of knowing where her next meal is coming from, where she will sleep tonight, and what she can pretty much expect from tomorrow. I would gladly give up those things, but I won't give up Sara, so the road may sing, but I cannot answer.

I don't run from work. Let me work, but let me do it my way for awhile. Let me deliver meals to the needy in Detroit. Let me drive school buses in Denver. Let me rebuild houses in Port au Prince. Let me prepare federal tax returns in Shiprock. Let me clear tsunami damage in Japan. Let me teach at The Gathering schools in Cielo and Nazaret. Let me live instead of exist.

Winston Groom, the author of "Forest Gump", also wrote a book titled "As Winters Die." I didn't care much for the book ("Better Times Than These", about Viet Nam, was better), but the title drove a stake through my heart. How many more winters might I see die and how many more springs will I see follow? Sometimes I think that I will burst from need. Who knows, maybe life on the road would take me away from the constant depression that I medicate daily and will medicate for the rest of my life.

What would I expect from the road? Sights, sounds, smells, feels, tastes. The stories of people I've never known. The opportunity to meet those who are trying to make their little corner of the world a better place to live. The chance to comfort those who need a hug or a friendly ear or a shared meal. The greatest expectation would be that the shared experiences would bring Sara and I so closely back together that one of us would not be able to breathe without the other inhaling.

I will love Sara forever and will stay with her wherever that might happen to be. On the other hand, in my truck, I keep a spare toothbrush, a bag of dog food, a clean pair of underwear (a lesson from my mother), and an atlas. So... if you ever see the little black truck, front seat filled with a smiling fool and a huge yellow Lab, heading out of town, don't expect to see it come back any time soon.

Random Thoughts (Again)

Gulliver: When anyone mentions the classic story, "Gulliver's Travels", the image that comes to mind is almost always that of Gulliver spread-eagled on the ground, surrounded by Lilliputians and staked to dozens of ropes. I have no trouble being empathetic to his plight. Like Gulliver, I'm tied to the ground by many ropes and surrounded by many Lilliputians. Some of the ropes are called responsibility, attitude, compassion, love, and ownership, among others. Some are strong enough to anchor an ocean liner while others are as thin, and yet as sticky, as a spider's web. My Lilliputians are known as family, friends, bosses, church, school bus riders, tax clients, and just people I meet on the street. As you know from the story, Gulliver was able to break from the bounds of the Lilliputians and continue with his travels. I do not believe that is going to happen to me. Itch: I have come to the conclusion that one of the worst itches to have, if you can't scratch, is the desire to trade automobiles. Sleep: Sara tells me that she very seldom dreams (and she almost never gets up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom!) I wish I could say the same. I never lay down to sleep that I don't dream. I have taken naps that lasted no more than thirty minutes and had a dream or dreams. I don't really know when a dream ends and another begins. Some nights it seems like there are many dreams and other nights it seems that I have only one dream, but it has acts and scenes within it. My dreams are vivid and often violent. I've been known to attack Sara in my sleep, which quickly ended her sleep. I have been known to dive out of the bed, dreaming that I was fighting with someone, and ended up knocking over the nightstand and lamp (needless to say, this also woke Sara.) I never have peaceful dreams. If dying is akin to peaceful, dream free sleep, it may not be too hard to anticipate. Lenny: I have a new dog, an old yellow Lab. I rescued him and went for an older dog so that he and I would match each other's life style pace. Lenny loves to be hugged and scratched and I love to hug and scratch him. Lenny loves to eat and I love... well, at least I don't mind buying all that food and feeding him. Lenny loves to curl up on my feet in the evenings when I'm home and I love warm feet. Lenny loves to chase things thrown for him and, as long as he brings them back, I don't mind throwing them. So far, Lenny doesn't do steps and we don't know why. He doesn't act like his hips hurt, but in his foster home, he never saw the upstairs. We only have a couple of steps into the house and he does those okay, but I'm still trying to find a way to get him into the front seat of my pickup. I can't lift 93 pounds of dog no matter how much I want him to travel with me. Vultures: If you have read the Peanuts comic strip for any length of time, you have seen Snoopy perched on top of his dog house pretending to be a bird of prey. That's the image that comes to mind as I sit in my bus waiting for the middle school children to be released to go home. Our buses are parked side-by-side and the drivers are all seated peering over the steering wheel and hood. As the children are let out of school, we gobble them up like so many kernels of corn. When all bus vultures have feasted, we take flight and deposit them across the county as if they we just so many seeds passing through the vulture body. Maybe it is no wonder that I dream the dreams that I have.

Climbing Back On The Soapbox

On the front page of the Winston-Salem Journal one day this past week, a member of the U.S. House of Representatives from North Carolina was quoted in a way that makes me ashamed to be from North Carolina and to have him as one of the national representatives of our state. He announced that he is opposed to government medical assistance to those suffering from HIV / AIDS if they caught it from living a "perverted lifestyle." As I read the article, I could feel my temperature rise. The "gentleman", based on this published statement, previous published e-mail from him, etc. is clearly homophobic. This is the same type of person that, several years ago, would have used the "N" word and thought nothing of it. I would guess that he realizes that there are more voters of color than there are of a different sexual orientation, so he tones down one set of rhetoric while increasing another. He is still no one that I would want for a neighbor nor for whom I would ever cast a vote. It is very hard for me to believe that he ran unopposed and I hope that doesn't happen again. While it may be true, and I've not studied enough to know, that AIDS was once spread mostly by homosexual activity, that is not the case today. AIDS has reached a pandemic level on the continent of Africa, the country of Haiti, et. al. Does this man think that the population of those places are all gay or lesbian? Again, I do not know if it has been largely controlled in the U.S., but I do know that we cannot let the sick suffer! Based only on the picture of him published with the article, I suspect that he is overweight. Surely we are intelligent enough to recognize that eating unhealthy foods and failing to exercise are often causes of stroke, heart disease, diabetes, and other diseases. Since he probably lives a perverted lifestyle of eating unhealthy choices and exercising seldom, it would follow that he wouldn't want any government medical support of persons suffering from the mentioned diseases and others. Where would he draw the line? I see his thoughts and statements as a perversion of the type of persons that God would have us be. I have two prayers: my family and friends will continue to be merciful toward the sick, no matter the cause of the illness and that those reading about this person will realize that, while he represents North Carolina, he is not representative of North Carolina. God is good!

To Autumn, Maddi and Reese

Autumn, Maddi and Reese you would not believe how very precious you are to me. I love you with all of my heart and being. Here is something important that I want to share with you. Just the other day, in the ice and snow, I helped Autumn out of the car. She looked up at me and asked, "Papa, will you hold my hand?" My heart filled to overflowing. I told her that, "Of course I'll hold your hand. I'll always be there to hold your hand." I want all three of you to know that I will always be there to hold your hand. As you grow older, life will not always be easy or fun or even fair. Sometimes your friends will hurt your feelings. Sometimes you will be sick. Sometimes you will think that your mother and father, your grandparents, or your teachers have blamed you for something that is not your fault. Sometimes you will not get what you want even though you have worked and wished very hard for it. Sometimes your family, friends and even your pets will leave you to go to heaven. I want you to never forget that, when these things happen, I'll be there to hold your hand. Someday, I will die and go to heaven. I'm very sure that I'll be going to heaven, because God has promised me. When I get there, I believe that God will understand that I still want to hold your hand very tightly when bad things happen. There will be times that I can't reach out to take your hand even when we are both living near each other. I'm pretty sure it will be hard to take your hand from heaven, so here is what you need to do when I'm not right there beside you. Close your hand into a little bit of a fist, just like you were holding on to me and I was holding on to you. You will feel your hand grow a bit warmer. When this happens, remember that I am there for you, holding your hand, will always be there for you, and will love you all forever.

A Quick Ride With Santa

Tonight, I took a ride with Santa. Our first stop was a church in Virginia. It was crowded with people, from the very young to the very old, who were there to celebrate the birthday of the Christ child. There was warmth, light, food, music and fellowship. Children dressed as Mary, Joseph, shepherds, angels and wise men sang and played in the certain knowledge of being loved and cared for. The misfortunate of the neighborhood had been invited to dinner and a food bank. It was easy to believe in the presence of God in this gathering. In the wink of an eye, we zipped across the Appalachian Mountains and into Harlen County, Kentucky. We visited a very small church in the middle of the mountains of the coal mining business. It was a wood frame church, hard to heat and to light. There was a palpable tiredness within the membership of the gathered congregation. Hands and faces were permanently tattooed with the blackness of coal and lined with hard labor and hard living. Snotty-nosed children shivered as they sang birthday welcome songs to the Babe of Bethlehem. There wasn't any food to spare for the occasion, but there was a big pot of hot coffee on top of the old wood stove. The joy in the knowledge of a living Christ child made it easy to know that God was even here in this almost forgotten place. Once again and very rapidly we took to the air. This time, we landed in a refugee camp just outside of Port-au-Prince, Haiti. There, as Santa delivered very few presents, I held a very young girl-child who was dying of starvation and cholera. As the parents wept and their friends kept vigil, the Star of Bethlehem shone brightly in the sky above. That star, alone, seemed to provide the only proof that a loving God might be present as the child breathed her last breath, never having seen even her first birthday. Santa's laugh sounded almost hollow as we next visited the Darfur region of the Sudan. Almost all Christmas joy had left me as I helped to bury a mother who had been raped and murdered in front of her husband and children. I prayed over her grave, but I prayed alone. It was not possible for those families, living in constant fear and want, to believe that a God of love actually exists, no matter what they hear about Him sacrificing His own son. As dawn was drawing near, Santa asked if I had time to make one more quick stop before dropping me off at my home. Of course I agreed. We made a stop very near my home in Winston-Salem, North Carolina. The place to be visited was a one-bedroom apartment in a fairly shabby complex in a not so safe neighborhood. An extended family of 12 persons called the apartment home or at least were using it for shelter. The family appeared to be Hispanic. I couldn't tell by looking if they were in the United States legally or illegally, but it didn't make any difference to Santa. Three men in the family were the only ones able to find work. Two of them weren't at home this Christmas night because they only jobs they could find required them to be working. As Santa and I enjoyed a quick and graciously provided dinner of rice and beans made with gifted food from a local church food bank, the children eagerly shared with us what they were learning in school and at church. In return, we shared a few simple gifts that were accepted as if they were the crown jewels of England. As we left this family, they all wished us feliz navidad, merry Christmas, and it was clear that God, through Christ, lived in the hearts and lives of these people. In these little vignettes, I have actually visited both churches and have been in the apartment that I describe. Of course, I haven't been in Haiti or Darfur, but I've read of the terrible things happening in both of those places along with countless other places in this world. Do I want to change places? That's a silly question. Of course not. I like my life the way it is. What I would like is for the God that I love and who loves me to be more even handed. As my friend, Heather, pointed out to me not so very long ago, Jesus wept at the grave of Lazarus. Even though Christ knew, absolutely knew, that He was going to raise Lazarus, He wept because of the pain suffered by those gathered to mourn the passing of Lazarus, their friend. I know that Christ joins me today in weeping for the people of the world who suffer. I just wish and pray that somehow, life could be kinder to them all.