Tuesday, November 2, 2010
I VOTED!!!
Today is the day to head to the polls and let your voice be heard! I don't care if you are republican, democratic, independant, or if you don't care about politics at all, every American should vote. I don't neccassarily get into politics myself, but these people that are "working" for us in Washington are doing more than fighting over silly laws that won't effect most of us, (which they do), they also vote on things that will effect you and me directly. How many of us are using financial aid right now? Who do you think decides how much money there is to hand out? How about these lovely roads we use. These people are in charge of trying to balance a budget, that if they fail, we will see a huge hike in taxes. If they do manage to balance the budget, I will put money on the fact that a lot of "extra" things, like grants, and money matching to many different projects across the state and country will come to a screeching halt. Each of us are individually vested in the future of our country. You will have different ideas on how this country should be run, and by voting for the person that best reminds you of yourself, it puts your goals and ideas into better reach. We, as a country, will never agree on anything, but we do need to be happy that we are able to have the discussions, and the disagreements without persecution . So get out there and vote people, and GOD BLESS AMERICA!
My Life Changing Event
I remember my dad always saying we can rely on two things in life: Death and Taxes. We grow up knowing this, but for some reason, we ignore the first, until it comes knocking on our door. My dad has always been a hero to me. Like most little girls, I was going to marry my dad one day. He could do everything. He would work on the farm for 18 hours a day, then come in the house and play Barbies with his four girls. There was always work to be done on the farm, but he was always there for us when we needed him.
That fateful Friday started like any other Friday for me, I woke up at 4am, went to work as a cook at a local restaurant, and clocked out at noon. I was sitting around with the rest of the employees shooting the breeze when my boss came in the break room and told me I had a phone call. It wasn’t abnormal to get a phone call at work, so I wasn’t concerned. I went out to the front of the house to answer it, and strangely enough it was my sister Billie on the other line. We don’t talk much, so for her to be calling me, at work, was eye brow raising. I answered the phone, “This is Tammy”
“It’s Billie, Willie was just paged out on a first responder call, and the address was Dad’s”.
“I’ll be right there”. I slammed down the phone in a hurry. I ran back to the break room to get my keys from my purse, my coworkers asking “So who was that?” I responded, “Billie. First responders are at dads house, where are my damn keys?” I was getting frantic. I dumped my purse out on the table, finally found my keys, and ran to my car. Both my parents had been on the volunteer first responder’s team, and had drilled into our heads to never call 911 unless someone was literally dying. Broken arms or legs do not constitute calling emergency services, so I knew this was going to be bad. My dad’s house was only two miles from where I worked, and the drive there was surreal. I know it only took about 90 seconds to get there, but it seemed to take forever. Random thoughts kept going through my head like, “dad might be ok- he wouldn’t call 911 to save his life anyway, it must be a neighbor who is hurt”, “Dad can’t be hurt, he is unbreakable” and “He cannot possibly be hurt, because I am just not ready to deal with this”. I wanted to throw up. I kept telling myself to “breathe”. As I was driving up to his house, I saw the first responders ambulance vehicle parked in the driveway, the tri-state ambulance was in the front yard, and a multitude of the volunteers vehicles scattered around the house and down the road to the feedlot on the property. I pulled into the driveway spitting gravel, flung the car into park, and raced to the gate at the feedlot, where my brother-in-law, Willie, was walking around.
“Where is my dad?”
“He is in the house, upstairs” he replied.
I ran back to the house, up the deck stairs two at a time, and into the kitchen. There were people everywhere. Billie was there, along with a police officer, whom I recognized, but couldn’t place a name to, along with Cindy, a neighbor and head first responder, as well as five other responders and the two ambulance drivers. Dad was lying on the floor on his back, with his knees up. I didn’t get a good look at him, but I could tell he was breathing. Good sign.
“What happened” I asked.
The officer responded, “Well your dad called into 911 saying something was wrong. He didn’t recognize his face in the mirror. There was blood on it, and he didn’t know how it got there. When the first responders got here, they found him sitting at the kitchen table, without his pants on, holding his head. They are checking him out right now. Willie and I took a walk to the feedlot, as the tractor and shit spreader are in there, thinking he was working there. We found a puddle of blood on this side of the gate, so we think he passed out there for a while, as the blood is starting to dry. There is a trail of blood that leads to the bathroom downstairs, the bathroom up here, and the kitchen sink.” Then I heard my father scream. It was impossible to mistake the pain behind it. My attention shot to him. The first responders had him on the stretcher, and were trying to get him to lay his legs flat.
“Does your leg hurt Gary” Cindy asked my dad.
“My leg don’t hurt, but my hip joint hurts when I try to flatten it out.”
“That’s okay Gary; we can transport you with your leg up.”
“I have a chiropractor appointment at twelve o’clock, someone needs to call and cancel it.”
“Dad,” I said, “we can worry about that later.”
“No, you need to let him know I won’t be making it”. Good lord, I thought, the man is crazy.
Cindy then turned to me and asked which hospital Dad would want to go to. For a minute I didn’t know how to respond. I do not remember my dad going to a hospital for anything other than to visit other people. “Franciscan” I finally said. It’s where all of us girls were born. My parents must have liked that hospital for some reason. The responders immediately started to get him down the stairs, to be loaded into the ambulance for transport. “Is there anyone you need to call” Cindy gently reminded me. Her comment jump started my brain. “Dads girlfriend is in Kansas”, I could feel Billie’s eye’s burning a hole through me, a touchy subject, “but she is driving a bus, should I call her now or wait till she stops for the night?”
“Call her tonight, we don’t need her to get upset when she is driving” Cindy replied. “The ambulance will be leaving shortly, if you wanted to ride with”.
“I will drive.” I needed a cigarette. A whole pack.
I left the house the way I came in, realizing when I got outside, I had left the car running and my door open. I got back into the car, turned it around and waited for the ambulance to pull out, and lit that amazing cigarette. It immediately started to calm me down, and helped my brain continue to function, as I realized, I need to call Jason, my husband.
The ambulance with its lights on pulled out and I was right on its tail. I pulled my cell phone out and called Jason. He was at work until 3 o’clock. “Answer the phone”, I thought as I kept hearing the rings. I had to leave a message. “Jason, I am on my way to Franciscan, dad got hurt, I need you to call me ASAP!” Then I called my little sister Renee, she answered. I told her what I knew, and she said she would be down from Rochester in a few hours; she just had to get out of work. We discussed calling our other sister Peggy, and decided against it until we knew a little more about dads condition, as we know Peggy tends to be overly emotional, and she would be bound and determined to drive that way, potentially putting other people at risk. As the ambulance and I headed down the inter-state, I noticed other cars were not moving to the right. “Get out of the damn way, people!” I shouted to no one. And why aren’t we going faster? We finally made it to the hospital, where I had to break away from the ambulance to find a legal parking space.
I got into the emergency room entrance, went right up to the desk and said, “My dad was just brought in here, where is he?” “Oh- yes,” a nurse replied, “he is in a room being looked at right now, we are going to have some questions for you if you could go to the registration desk right over there, then we will come get you when you can go in to see him.” I went over to registration and answered the questions they had for me. It didn’t take very long, as my dad didn’t have insurance. They sent me to a waiting room with the assurance that a doctor or nurse will be out to talk to me shortly to update me on what is going on. I sat down and made myself take a few deep breaths. “Calm down” I told myself. It only took about two minutes before “being calm” wore off. I started to fidget. I needed something to do. “Ah- call the chiropractor that dad was so worried about”. I called them; let them know Dad was in the hospital and to cancel all appointments that were already made. Who knew how long he would be here? After fifteen minutes of watching whatever was on the corner TV, the hospital pastor came in and sat next to me. He asked if we went to church, and if he could contact the minister for me. I gave him the information, and he prayed a prayer. I wasn’t able to concentrate on what he was saying, though I appreciated the thought. The clergy man left and I was alone again. An hour stretched by. I wanted so badly to cry, but what would be the point? No one else was here to comfort me. Jason was still at work, my sisters weren’t here, and my parents are divorced. Even as an adult it would be really nice to be able to lean on my mom right now, but I don’t know what the rules are about a divorced spouse in a situation like this. I realized then that my stepsiblings were at school. They would get off the bus, walk into a house with blood smeared everywhere and not know what was going on. I started calling Jason again. It took two tries before he answered. I explained what was going on, and told him to get to my dad’s house and wash all the blood up before the kids got home. “Bring them over to the hospital if they want to come” I told him. I hung up the phone feeling a little better for having talked to him. Again, that feeling didn’t last long. “What in the name of God is taking so damn long” I thought, “Even if they found internal injuries, someone should have come out and talked to me by now.” I walked up to the front desk just as Billie and Renee were walking through the door.
I asked the front desk what was going on with my dad, and they gave me look of surprise. “No one came and told you that you could go in yet?” the nurse said. “NO!” I responded. “Well, he is in that room right there” she said as she pointed across the hallway. Billie and Renee were right behind me when I entered the room. Dad was lying on a bed with a white bandage around his head of dark hair. Upon stepping closer, you could see the dried blood all over his face; in his hair, down his cheek, in his ear, around his nose, and all over his arms. The rest of his body was covered with a sheet.
“Hi Dad, how ya doin’?” I asked him.
“Who is that?” he asked. He was looking around, but wasn’t able to move his head for a neck brace. “Tammy, Renee, and Billie are here.”
“Oh”, he said, “there are 15 calves in the little barn that need to be fed, and 20 in the big barn. 2-1 ration.” He was talking slowly, slurring his words a bit. The staff definitely had him on morphine.
“Dad”, I said, “We will take care of it, don’t worry about it.”
“Well I don’t need calves dying on me” he replied.
Dad fell asleep about this time, so my sisters and I went out into the hallway. We sat on a bench in the hallway just as my mom walked in the door. Billie must have called her. I was relieved to see her. I called Jason again to tell him he would have to do chores for dad, and he said he was already on it. A nurse stopped by and told us that they would be taking dad in for some x-rays then straight to ICU, if we would like to meet him there in a little bit. The four of us went outside for a couple of cigarettes. From there Billie and mom decided to go home.
By the time Renee and I got up to ICU, dad had already been given a room. Dad was awake again, talking to the nurses. They were asking him about his hearing and eyesight. He told them he was deaf in both ears, and couldn’t see out of one eye. He thought he was being funny. Renee and I got it right away, if he was deaf, he wouldn’t have heard the question. One of the nurses didn’t think it was funny, but the other nurse did. They asked if he knew where he was and why he was there. He knew he was at the hospital, “being waited on by my new cute young nurse girlfriends”, but couldn’t remember exactly what happened that caused him to need to be here. My dad is a humorous guy to begin with, and apparently putting him on some stiff pain medication really brings the comedian out. Luckily, the nurses seemed to have been trained for these types of jokesters, and didn’t take offense to anything he said. They updated his emergency contact information, and it was a strange feeling of honor when he had them put my information at the top of the list. The nurses said that dad would be staying in ICU for about 24 hours while they monitor him, and wait for all the tests to be returned. From there, if no immediate danger was found, he would be sent to a recovery room. Nurses came and checked on him every hour throughout the night, and about 2am, Renee and I went home to get some sleep.
We came back the next morning at 8am. They had just moved him to recovery, ahead of schedule. Good sign. Renee and I spent the day in his room, talking to him when he was awake, watching TV when he would randomly pass out. Throughout the day, he would recall memories of what happened. By the end of the day we had pieced together that he had been out cleaning the feedlot, he had gotten out of the skid-steer, on his way to the tractor and the lights went out. A steer must of head butt him from behind. The steer must have kept going after him from all the bruises on his body, but lucky he had passed out pretty quickly. If you try to fight an animal, they will keep attacking you. Because he passed out, dad was still alive. He had crawled over the gate and passed out again, though he didn’t remember getting over the gate, then made his way into the house, where he eventually called 911. By mid-afternoon, the extended family was dropping by to visit and exchange their stories of man verses animal. Dad decided that the steer might have won this round, but the fight wasn’t over yet. The next day and a half went without incident, dad becoming more and more restless, until he was literally walking the halls in his gown. Another sight I thought I would never see. The next afternoon, dad was released from the hospital with orders to take it easy. We took him home, having to stop once for him to throw up. It was painful watching him be sick, not being able to make it better for him, wanting to hold him like a child, knowing if you said anything, he would come back with a harsh response, upset that his children had to see him be less than in charge of something. Dad lasted less than twenty-four hours before he was back out on the farm. I, myself, was not impressed. I wanted him to stay in the house for the next week, but knew that was a battle I would lose quickly, so I kept my mouth shut.
Two weeks later, Jason and I received the phone call that dad won the fight. Apparently dad was back in the feedlot when the steer tried again. Once an animal knows it can attack you, it will try again. Dad had a gun with him this time. Dad won. He was very proud of himself, and took great pride in grilling up the first set of steaks from that animal. My dad survived, albeit with some real hearing loss in one ear. His humor was in-tact. He gives credit to the steer for fixing his back, as he has not had to go to the chiropractor in the three years since the attack.
The incredibly scary time of not knowing what was going on, or if my dad would be okay, only lasted 12 hours, but seemed like forever, and changed my thinking about farming all together. Before that Friday, I knew farming was dangerous, that you had to treat the animals with respect and never trust them, or turn your back on them, but after that Friday, I didn’t know if I could trust my dad to know those same things. I live right across the road from where all this took place, and for the next year I would stop what I was doing to watch dad or Jason if they went into the feedlot, waiting, ready to call 911 if something happened. I wanted to tell Jason to forget farming, it’s too dangerous, and I wanted to tell my dad that he had to retire. I wanted to treat him like a child, wrap him in bubble wrap and not let him out of the house so he couldn’t get hurt. Unfortunately, I couldn’t do or say those things. It would break dad’s heart to know that I now look at him not as my father, but as my child that I must protect at all costs. Most days, I am able to ignore the dangers of the farm, and trust him to be safe, but there are still some days, every once in a while, that I dread that phone call that started this whole thing in the first place.
That fateful Friday started like any other Friday for me, I woke up at 4am, went to work as a cook at a local restaurant, and clocked out at noon. I was sitting around with the rest of the employees shooting the breeze when my boss came in the break room and told me I had a phone call. It wasn’t abnormal to get a phone call at work, so I wasn’t concerned. I went out to the front of the house to answer it, and strangely enough it was my sister Billie on the other line. We don’t talk much, so for her to be calling me, at work, was eye brow raising. I answered the phone, “This is Tammy”
“It’s Billie, Willie was just paged out on a first responder call, and the address was Dad’s”.
“I’ll be right there”. I slammed down the phone in a hurry. I ran back to the break room to get my keys from my purse, my coworkers asking “So who was that?” I responded, “Billie. First responders are at dads house, where are my damn keys?” I was getting frantic. I dumped my purse out on the table, finally found my keys, and ran to my car. Both my parents had been on the volunteer first responder’s team, and had drilled into our heads to never call 911 unless someone was literally dying. Broken arms or legs do not constitute calling emergency services, so I knew this was going to be bad. My dad’s house was only two miles from where I worked, and the drive there was surreal. I know it only took about 90 seconds to get there, but it seemed to take forever. Random thoughts kept going through my head like, “dad might be ok- he wouldn’t call 911 to save his life anyway, it must be a neighbor who is hurt”, “Dad can’t be hurt, he is unbreakable” and “He cannot possibly be hurt, because I am just not ready to deal with this”. I wanted to throw up. I kept telling myself to “breathe”. As I was driving up to his house, I saw the first responders ambulance vehicle parked in the driveway, the tri-state ambulance was in the front yard, and a multitude of the volunteers vehicles scattered around the house and down the road to the feedlot on the property. I pulled into the driveway spitting gravel, flung the car into park, and raced to the gate at the feedlot, where my brother-in-law, Willie, was walking around.
“Where is my dad?”
“He is in the house, upstairs” he replied.
I ran back to the house, up the deck stairs two at a time, and into the kitchen. There were people everywhere. Billie was there, along with a police officer, whom I recognized, but couldn’t place a name to, along with Cindy, a neighbor and head first responder, as well as five other responders and the two ambulance drivers. Dad was lying on the floor on his back, with his knees up. I didn’t get a good look at him, but I could tell he was breathing. Good sign.
“What happened” I asked.
The officer responded, “Well your dad called into 911 saying something was wrong. He didn’t recognize his face in the mirror. There was blood on it, and he didn’t know how it got there. When the first responders got here, they found him sitting at the kitchen table, without his pants on, holding his head. They are checking him out right now. Willie and I took a walk to the feedlot, as the tractor and shit spreader are in there, thinking he was working there. We found a puddle of blood on this side of the gate, so we think he passed out there for a while, as the blood is starting to dry. There is a trail of blood that leads to the bathroom downstairs, the bathroom up here, and the kitchen sink.” Then I heard my father scream. It was impossible to mistake the pain behind it. My attention shot to him. The first responders had him on the stretcher, and were trying to get him to lay his legs flat.
“Does your leg hurt Gary” Cindy asked my dad.
“My leg don’t hurt, but my hip joint hurts when I try to flatten it out.”
“That’s okay Gary; we can transport you with your leg up.”
“I have a chiropractor appointment at twelve o’clock, someone needs to call and cancel it.”
“Dad,” I said, “we can worry about that later.”
“No, you need to let him know I won’t be making it”. Good lord, I thought, the man is crazy.
Cindy then turned to me and asked which hospital Dad would want to go to. For a minute I didn’t know how to respond. I do not remember my dad going to a hospital for anything other than to visit other people. “Franciscan” I finally said. It’s where all of us girls were born. My parents must have liked that hospital for some reason. The responders immediately started to get him down the stairs, to be loaded into the ambulance for transport. “Is there anyone you need to call” Cindy gently reminded me. Her comment jump started my brain. “Dads girlfriend is in Kansas”, I could feel Billie’s eye’s burning a hole through me, a touchy subject, “but she is driving a bus, should I call her now or wait till she stops for the night?”
“Call her tonight, we don’t need her to get upset when she is driving” Cindy replied. “The ambulance will be leaving shortly, if you wanted to ride with”.
“I will drive.” I needed a cigarette. A whole pack.
I left the house the way I came in, realizing when I got outside, I had left the car running and my door open. I got back into the car, turned it around and waited for the ambulance to pull out, and lit that amazing cigarette. It immediately started to calm me down, and helped my brain continue to function, as I realized, I need to call Jason, my husband.
The ambulance with its lights on pulled out and I was right on its tail. I pulled my cell phone out and called Jason. He was at work until 3 o’clock. “Answer the phone”, I thought as I kept hearing the rings. I had to leave a message. “Jason, I am on my way to Franciscan, dad got hurt, I need you to call me ASAP!” Then I called my little sister Renee, she answered. I told her what I knew, and she said she would be down from Rochester in a few hours; she just had to get out of work. We discussed calling our other sister Peggy, and decided against it until we knew a little more about dads condition, as we know Peggy tends to be overly emotional, and she would be bound and determined to drive that way, potentially putting other people at risk. As the ambulance and I headed down the inter-state, I noticed other cars were not moving to the right. “Get out of the damn way, people!” I shouted to no one. And why aren’t we going faster? We finally made it to the hospital, where I had to break away from the ambulance to find a legal parking space.
I got into the emergency room entrance, went right up to the desk and said, “My dad was just brought in here, where is he?” “Oh- yes,” a nurse replied, “he is in a room being looked at right now, we are going to have some questions for you if you could go to the registration desk right over there, then we will come get you when you can go in to see him.” I went over to registration and answered the questions they had for me. It didn’t take very long, as my dad didn’t have insurance. They sent me to a waiting room with the assurance that a doctor or nurse will be out to talk to me shortly to update me on what is going on. I sat down and made myself take a few deep breaths. “Calm down” I told myself. It only took about two minutes before “being calm” wore off. I started to fidget. I needed something to do. “Ah- call the chiropractor that dad was so worried about”. I called them; let them know Dad was in the hospital and to cancel all appointments that were already made. Who knew how long he would be here? After fifteen minutes of watching whatever was on the corner TV, the hospital pastor came in and sat next to me. He asked if we went to church, and if he could contact the minister for me. I gave him the information, and he prayed a prayer. I wasn’t able to concentrate on what he was saying, though I appreciated the thought. The clergy man left and I was alone again. An hour stretched by. I wanted so badly to cry, but what would be the point? No one else was here to comfort me. Jason was still at work, my sisters weren’t here, and my parents are divorced. Even as an adult it would be really nice to be able to lean on my mom right now, but I don’t know what the rules are about a divorced spouse in a situation like this. I realized then that my stepsiblings were at school. They would get off the bus, walk into a house with blood smeared everywhere and not know what was going on. I started calling Jason again. It took two tries before he answered. I explained what was going on, and told him to get to my dad’s house and wash all the blood up before the kids got home. “Bring them over to the hospital if they want to come” I told him. I hung up the phone feeling a little better for having talked to him. Again, that feeling didn’t last long. “What in the name of God is taking so damn long” I thought, “Even if they found internal injuries, someone should have come out and talked to me by now.” I walked up to the front desk just as Billie and Renee were walking through the door.
I asked the front desk what was going on with my dad, and they gave me look of surprise. “No one came and told you that you could go in yet?” the nurse said. “NO!” I responded. “Well, he is in that room right there” she said as she pointed across the hallway. Billie and Renee were right behind me when I entered the room. Dad was lying on a bed with a white bandage around his head of dark hair. Upon stepping closer, you could see the dried blood all over his face; in his hair, down his cheek, in his ear, around his nose, and all over his arms. The rest of his body was covered with a sheet.
“Hi Dad, how ya doin’?” I asked him.
“Who is that?” he asked. He was looking around, but wasn’t able to move his head for a neck brace. “Tammy, Renee, and Billie are here.”
“Oh”, he said, “there are 15 calves in the little barn that need to be fed, and 20 in the big barn. 2-1 ration.” He was talking slowly, slurring his words a bit. The staff definitely had him on morphine.
“Dad”, I said, “We will take care of it, don’t worry about it.”
“Well I don’t need calves dying on me” he replied.
Dad fell asleep about this time, so my sisters and I went out into the hallway. We sat on a bench in the hallway just as my mom walked in the door. Billie must have called her. I was relieved to see her. I called Jason again to tell him he would have to do chores for dad, and he said he was already on it. A nurse stopped by and told us that they would be taking dad in for some x-rays then straight to ICU, if we would like to meet him there in a little bit. The four of us went outside for a couple of cigarettes. From there Billie and mom decided to go home.
By the time Renee and I got up to ICU, dad had already been given a room. Dad was awake again, talking to the nurses. They were asking him about his hearing and eyesight. He told them he was deaf in both ears, and couldn’t see out of one eye. He thought he was being funny. Renee and I got it right away, if he was deaf, he wouldn’t have heard the question. One of the nurses didn’t think it was funny, but the other nurse did. They asked if he knew where he was and why he was there. He knew he was at the hospital, “being waited on by my new cute young nurse girlfriends”, but couldn’t remember exactly what happened that caused him to need to be here. My dad is a humorous guy to begin with, and apparently putting him on some stiff pain medication really brings the comedian out. Luckily, the nurses seemed to have been trained for these types of jokesters, and didn’t take offense to anything he said. They updated his emergency contact information, and it was a strange feeling of honor when he had them put my information at the top of the list. The nurses said that dad would be staying in ICU for about 24 hours while they monitor him, and wait for all the tests to be returned. From there, if no immediate danger was found, he would be sent to a recovery room. Nurses came and checked on him every hour throughout the night, and about 2am, Renee and I went home to get some sleep.
We came back the next morning at 8am. They had just moved him to recovery, ahead of schedule. Good sign. Renee and I spent the day in his room, talking to him when he was awake, watching TV when he would randomly pass out. Throughout the day, he would recall memories of what happened. By the end of the day we had pieced together that he had been out cleaning the feedlot, he had gotten out of the skid-steer, on his way to the tractor and the lights went out. A steer must of head butt him from behind. The steer must have kept going after him from all the bruises on his body, but lucky he had passed out pretty quickly. If you try to fight an animal, they will keep attacking you. Because he passed out, dad was still alive. He had crawled over the gate and passed out again, though he didn’t remember getting over the gate, then made his way into the house, where he eventually called 911. By mid-afternoon, the extended family was dropping by to visit and exchange their stories of man verses animal. Dad decided that the steer might have won this round, but the fight wasn’t over yet. The next day and a half went without incident, dad becoming more and more restless, until he was literally walking the halls in his gown. Another sight I thought I would never see. The next afternoon, dad was released from the hospital with orders to take it easy. We took him home, having to stop once for him to throw up. It was painful watching him be sick, not being able to make it better for him, wanting to hold him like a child, knowing if you said anything, he would come back with a harsh response, upset that his children had to see him be less than in charge of something. Dad lasted less than twenty-four hours before he was back out on the farm. I, myself, was not impressed. I wanted him to stay in the house for the next week, but knew that was a battle I would lose quickly, so I kept my mouth shut.
Two weeks later, Jason and I received the phone call that dad won the fight. Apparently dad was back in the feedlot when the steer tried again. Once an animal knows it can attack you, it will try again. Dad had a gun with him this time. Dad won. He was very proud of himself, and took great pride in grilling up the first set of steaks from that animal. My dad survived, albeit with some real hearing loss in one ear. His humor was in-tact. He gives credit to the steer for fixing his back, as he has not had to go to the chiropractor in the three years since the attack.
The incredibly scary time of not knowing what was going on, or if my dad would be okay, only lasted 12 hours, but seemed like forever, and changed my thinking about farming all together. Before that Friday, I knew farming was dangerous, that you had to treat the animals with respect and never trust them, or turn your back on them, but after that Friday, I didn’t know if I could trust my dad to know those same things. I live right across the road from where all this took place, and for the next year I would stop what I was doing to watch dad or Jason if they went into the feedlot, waiting, ready to call 911 if something happened. I wanted to tell Jason to forget farming, it’s too dangerous, and I wanted to tell my dad that he had to retire. I wanted to treat him like a child, wrap him in bubble wrap and not let him out of the house so he couldn’t get hurt. Unfortunately, I couldn’t do or say those things. It would break dad’s heart to know that I now look at him not as my father, but as my child that I must protect at all costs. Most days, I am able to ignore the dangers of the farm, and trust him to be safe, but there are still some days, every once in a while, that I dread that phone call that started this whole thing in the first place.
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
Go Figure
Go figure, another drunk driver killed someone. Kevin O'Hagan has been charged and convicted of 5 other DUI's in the past. Sunday morning, Kevin was pulled over for swerving. When the police officer asked him for his license, O'Hagan spead off, then hit another car head on. The victim was a preacher going home from participating in a local church's fall harvest hayride, where he played Jesus. His wife, being the nice person she is commented saying her husband would not want ill will felt toward O'Hagan, but she doesn't believe he should go free. Well I have no problem saying he should get a life sentence at the least, if not the death sentence. I don't usually believe in killing someone, but come on, 5 DUI's prior! I would think someone would have caught that. When was he allowed to get near a car, or even in a bar for that matter! I get mistakes happen, and one DUI I am willing to over look. It does not make you a bad person. What makes you a bad person is when your not willing to learn from your mistakes, and take action to not let it happen again. We live in a world with taxi's, friends and family. There really is no longer an excuse to drink and drive. When the consequences are as dire as literally life and death, you would think people would be willing to make that phone call for a ride. Maybe I should be looking at this from the religous stand point. Will God send O'Hagan straight to Hell for killing a preacher? This might be harsh, but I hope God isn't too forgiving.
Finally Some Good News
Finally some good news, buried at the bottem of the news page, but I found it! A 5 year old boy was rescued from a retention pond in Indianapolis earlier today. The autistic young boy went missing while his mother was asleep. When she awoke and realized he was gone, with the front door wide open, she called the police frantic and upset. At the same time this was happening, a retired newsman was driving when he noticed a confused looking boy wearing a diaper walking along the retention pond. The man, Mort, decided to follow the boy to make sure he was ok. The neighbors in the area had already called the police, and it wasn't very long before a policeman showed up. The policeman, Officer Larry, and Mort started to approach the boy, who became scared and fell into the retention pond. Officer Larry jumped in and was able to pull the boy over to the side of the pond, even as the boy was thrashing wildly. Mort helped the boy out of the pond, gave him to a postal lady who had also happened by, then helped Officer Larry out of the pond. The boys mother arrived shortly thereafter, and all ended well. Thank goodness for the people that take notice of their surroundings, and upon realized something doesn't look right, decides to check things out, or in this case, save a child's life. The mother was quoted as saying Officer Larry and Mort are angels to her for saving her son's life. I would agree with her. There are a lot of "angels" out there, we just need to remember to thank them when we get the chance.
Monday, October 25, 2010
In the News
Looking over some of the top stories in the local papers, and on line, only one thing continues to come to mind. Our world is falling apart. For every good and heart-warming story, there are a million horrible stories. Florida seems to be the state where kids think is it ok to torture and kill other human beings. In North Carolina, a child is believed dead, quite possibly killed by her dad and or stepmother. In yet another state, a fireman, one of our nations hero's, released a video of a 23 year old girl dying in a car crash. The list goes on. What is happening to our human decency? Our ability to feel compassion for others? Is human life so expendable? Not that I blame parents for their childrens choices in life, but I must ask: Where were you? How is it possible that kids are growing up without the respect for human life. Is it the video games? The movies? Not having a stay at home parent? How did we get to this point in society, where you get a pat on the back if you don't end up in jail at least once before your 25th birthday? Even in small towns, where crime is usually non-existent, it is on the rise. Locally, here in LaCrosse, sexual assault has been the big story, the small town of Nodine, population less than 80, there has been cases of vandalism reported. The one thing I know for sure is there is no way one person can fix this problem. We must all choose to stand up for justice. It might be as simple as letting the kids down the street know that your watching them, and you have no problem "tattling" on them. It might be as hard as telling your friends that you can't hang out with them tonight if they insist on egging the uncool teacher's house. Criminals start small, so we must stand up to the little things. Maybe in 50 years the effort will pay off, and people will revert back to "normalcy", of respecting other people, their property, and their right to live life peacfully.
Sunday, September 19, 2010
My thoughts on the school of tinkering and our educational system
Gever Tulley’s approach to education and learning seems to be “just do it”. He gives children the tools to make something, anything really, and allows them to use their own minds rather than having someone there telling them exactly what to do. The children can make a mistake then solve the problem on their own. This approach to teaching and learning keeps kids interested in what they are doing because they are DOING, not just sitting in a classroom, being told information. This approach also instills confidence in the children because the instructors are putting trust in them by allowing them to use the tools that the general populace would deem “unsafe”. I think this is a great approach to education, especially for the younger generations, because they tend to have a higher level of physical energy as well as a more active and creative imagination.
In regards to our current education system, (not that I am an expert), I believe we have already started to incorporate the fundamental ideas of Tinkering School. I was told that Montessori Schools focus a bit more on the active learning versus the public schools. There are also more and more higher education schools that offer “hands on learning”. I think we need to have both styles of learning at every level of education for the simple reason that everyone is different, and there for learns differently.
I myself learn better when I can DO what I am learning, but not everything can be taught that way. I am imagining 8th grade Geography. Short of dressing up as the states, I am thinking the only way to learn the states and their capitals is to read, listen and write them down.
No matter what style of learning or teaching there is, all styles have a certain amount of failure. It is what we do with the failure that is important. Most people have come to realize that failure is nothing more than a sign. Failing a test would tell us to slow down, study more, or take better notes. A failed experiment would tell us to try a different approach, or new materials. Seeing a “Dead End” sign would tell us to turn around and try a different street. Some people take failure as a personal mark on their character, getting defensive and often blaming other people for the cause of the failure. I have a hard time believing a student when they say “I failed that test because the teacher doesn’t teach the right way”. In the terms of education, failure is not failure if you learned something from it.
Though I agree with the statement above, I also think that society has allowed failure to be acceptable. The national statistics show that we are getting farther and farther behind other countries in regards to math, science, and reading. America spends more than any other country except Switzerland per student at over $11,000.00. Why are we falling farther behind every year? I think America got just a little too comfortable thinking we were on top, and we don’t have to do anything to stay there. The world is changing, as more and more people and countries are able to receive higher education, they take full advantage of it. It won’t take long before American educated students won’t be able to compete in the global economy as well as their counterparts educated in other countries. If a different style of learning and teaching is a possible answer, then I fully support trying the Tinkering School nationally. I would be interested in knowing if Mr. Tulley has had the opportunity to try his theory with an older group of children, say college age, and how much of an impact would it have on their ability to absorb and retain information.
In regards to our current education system, (not that I am an expert), I believe we have already started to incorporate the fundamental ideas of Tinkering School. I was told that Montessori Schools focus a bit more on the active learning versus the public schools. There are also more and more higher education schools that offer “hands on learning”. I think we need to have both styles of learning at every level of education for the simple reason that everyone is different, and there for learns differently.
I myself learn better when I can DO what I am learning, but not everything can be taught that way. I am imagining 8th grade Geography. Short of dressing up as the states, I am thinking the only way to learn the states and their capitals is to read, listen and write them down.
No matter what style of learning or teaching there is, all styles have a certain amount of failure. It is what we do with the failure that is important. Most people have come to realize that failure is nothing more than a sign. Failing a test would tell us to slow down, study more, or take better notes. A failed experiment would tell us to try a different approach, or new materials. Seeing a “Dead End” sign would tell us to turn around and try a different street. Some people take failure as a personal mark on their character, getting defensive and often blaming other people for the cause of the failure. I have a hard time believing a student when they say “I failed that test because the teacher doesn’t teach the right way”. In the terms of education, failure is not failure if you learned something from it.
Though I agree with the statement above, I also think that society has allowed failure to be acceptable. The national statistics show that we are getting farther and farther behind other countries in regards to math, science, and reading. America spends more than any other country except Switzerland per student at over $11,000.00. Why are we falling farther behind every year? I think America got just a little too comfortable thinking we were on top, and we don’t have to do anything to stay there. The world is changing, as more and more people and countries are able to receive higher education, they take full advantage of it. It won’t take long before American educated students won’t be able to compete in the global economy as well as their counterparts educated in other countries. If a different style of learning and teaching is a possible answer, then I fully support trying the Tinkering School nationally. I would be interested in knowing if Mr. Tulley has had the opportunity to try his theory with an older group of children, say college age, and how much of an impact would it have on their ability to absorb and retain information.
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
What I did over the weekend.
This past weekend was like most other weekends for me. I slept in Saturday morning until 8am, which was very nice. After getting ready for work and eating breakfast, I went to the neighbors house (my dad's) and visited with my friend and her three children for about 45 minutes. We played "Simon Says". It was a lot of fun to make the twin 8 year old boys (who didn't like each other that morning) hug each other. I left for work shortly after that.
Work was for the most part pretty uneventful. It wasn't very busy so it was hard to stay motivated. I took a lot of breaks. The only thing that stands out, is my boss's father was in town to visit, a little to much to drink, and was trying to fire some of the other employees. I will admit that it was difficult to talk him down when I agreed with him (drunk or not). When I left to go home, everyone was still employed. After work I went to one of Jason's aunt's house, it was about 9 pm, where she was having an "End of Summer" party. I watched the rest of the family finish playing the six handed euchre tournament; Jason lost. We then went home and went to bed around 11:30pm.
Sunday was an at home day. I did laundry, mowed lawn, did homework, as well as cleaned the house. Jason and I went to my dads house for supper with some friends and my stepsister. We had a great time. We also planned Carolyn's birthday supper for next weekend. Carolyn is the stepsister.
Monday was back to reality for me. I worked in the office at the farm and then went to work. Work was also pretty slow Monday with the cold weather. I went home early, stopped at my dad's house, visited for a couple of hours, then went home. I sent Jason off to work at 10 pm, watched an episode of "The Office", then went to bed.
For being a holiday weekend, I didn't get much time for "holiday fun", though I did have a good time with my family and friends.
Work was for the most part pretty uneventful. It wasn't very busy so it was hard to stay motivated. I took a lot of breaks. The only thing that stands out, is my boss's father was in town to visit, a little to much to drink, and was trying to fire some of the other employees. I will admit that it was difficult to talk him down when I agreed with him (drunk or not). When I left to go home, everyone was still employed. After work I went to one of Jason's aunt's house, it was about 9 pm, where she was having an "End of Summer" party. I watched the rest of the family finish playing the six handed euchre tournament; Jason lost. We then went home and went to bed around 11:30pm.
Sunday was an at home day. I did laundry, mowed lawn, did homework, as well as cleaned the house. Jason and I went to my dads house for supper with some friends and my stepsister. We had a great time. We also planned Carolyn's birthday supper for next weekend. Carolyn is the stepsister.
Monday was back to reality for me. I worked in the office at the farm and then went to work. Work was also pretty slow Monday with the cold weather. I went home early, stopped at my dad's house, visited for a couple of hours, then went home. I sent Jason off to work at 10 pm, watched an episode of "The Office", then went to bed.
For being a holiday weekend, I didn't get much time for "holiday fun", though I did have a good time with my family and friends.
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