Silly Winter

Most of us have lived in the Minnesota/Wisconsin region most, if not all of our lives. How is it possible that every year, come that first big snow fall, we all forget how to drive? Is it possible that we forget that ice can be slippery? Or it will take more time to slow down? I am not sure why our memory seems to be so short lived when it comes to winter, but it happens every year, to everybody.
I myself started my "forgetful winter" stage about two months ago. I like to do some winterizing to the house before it gets too cold, and if I recall correctly, we had a pretty nice fall, and for some reason, I decided that because it was so warm so late in the season, we were not going to get winter at all. Now, after more that two feet of snow, and drifts that measure upwards of 10 feet, I realized, I never did get those screens off my windows, or put the cooler away that sat in front of my garage for three months. I have frozen water hoses, that will not unthaw until April the way these tempuratures are going.
We all know winter is coming, but how many of us got the snow blower out, and made sure it worked before the storm hit? My dad actually had to use the bucket tractor to plow out the snow blower! He spent quite a bit of time doing that in the frigid cold wind, when, with just a little forthought, most of the work (and discomfort) could have been avoided. For the next five months, most of us will be begging for summer to come back, and once again, we will forget about winter, and all the bad things that come with it. It sure is beautiful looking out a window at the glittering trees isn't it though?

Being Good Parents, or Abusing the System

There is an amazing story on CNN.com of a little boy, 6 months old, who will receive surgery to essentially give him an immune system. It is a rare disease that few know exists, but when your baby is born with it, you learn about it very quickly. The baby was born with complications, and at 2 ½ weeks old, had heart surgery. It was soon after that that the doctors diagnosed this little bundle of joy Seth with the disease. Seth is covered under Indiana’s Medicaid plan. Most Medicaid plans do not cover experimental surgery’s. Unfortunately, this disease is so rare, that few studies have been done. The good news is there is one doctor in the United States that created a surgery that would allow Seth to have the much needed Immune System. Medicaid would not cover it. The surgery is considered experimental. Only after Seth’s story made head line news did the state of Indiana repeal their decision to cover the cost of surgery, estimated between $350,000 and $500,000. Seth’s family had already started asking for donations as soon as they had been denied covered the first time, and when the news came in that the state would cover the expense, the family immediately told reporters that the estimated $150,000 they had received in donations would be donated to a foundation to fight for the procedure to be deemed “non-experimental”. I think this is a great way to handle a situation. The people that donated all that money believed that money would be going to save the life of Seth. The family would be unethical in my mind to keep the money. I would not care if the money still went to Seth, even for a college fund, that money was not intended for that purpose. I have known a family, whose son was born with cerebral palsy. The child was covered under Minnesota Care for no cost to the family. I would say 90% of the child’s medical bills are covered under that plan. Children’s Miracle Network stepped in and helped the family pay other bills that were incurred because of the child. They helped the family with gas, food vouchers, and numerous other donations. I have no problems with any of this. The problem that I have with this particular family is that since that child was born, they have decided to hold a benefit, to help raise money to build a new home. This family also believes that everything concerning this child should be paid for, including diapers, clothes, food, and toys.
My problem is simple: if you plan to have a child, there will be expenses, whether that child is born healthy or unhealthy. I understand needing extra help with medical bills, no one can or should plan for their baby to have so many problems, but come on! Either way, you better be able to put a diaper on that babies butt without relying on hand-outs from the local community.

Bullying- What is the deal?

Bullying has become quite the issue in recent years on the news, in the schools, and even at home. I am not sure how I feel about all of it. Don’t get me wrong, I do not condone bullying what so ever, but I have to wonder how did it become such an enormous issue?
I remember, back in the good old days of elementary school, I got along with just about everyone. Now my school was very small, there were only nine kids in my class, so we were grouped together with the next grade up or down, depending on the year. Going to school with so few kids meant you kind of needed to get along with everyone, or you might not have any friends at all, but still, there was always that one girl that I didn’t always get along with. Both her and I look back now and think it was cute that we constantly sent each other “I need space” notes. As far as bullying goes, I don’t remember any of that going on. The bigger boys always had to pick on the younger kids, but I never considered that to be bullying. I wonder if that is what most of these cases now are actually about. A few months back, I read an article that posed the question if kids today know how to communicate face to face with each other anymore, because of the huge increase of technology. If I wanted to communicate with one of my friends, I would pick up the phone and talk to them. Now, I can pick up the phone and send them quick little messages. Computers and phones don’t have the ability to convey if you are laughing, crying, being sarcastic, or any other emotion that could be behind that sentence. For example, the comment “You are such a PIG” could be conveyed multiple ways. The obvious is that someone thinks you are disgusting, but, (flashing back to my elementary years), it most likely meant, “You are such a pretty intelligent girl!” So I have to wonder if some of the issues today with bullying aren’t just, at the end of the day, a miscommunication that went too far.
Another thought is how much we should blame the people that raise the children. I hate the fact that this might even need to be brought up, but where do the kids that are doing the bullying get that it is ok to do it in the first place? If I bullied someone at school and my parents found out, I don’t even want to imagine the consequences, and I am 25 years old! I am sure it would involve not being able to sit for a week.
I know two little boys, ages 8, that were supposedly bullying a little girl, age 6. The information that I gathered was, one of the little boys called the girl ugly. Call me whatever, but I don’t think that is considered bullying. Does the little boy need to be told that calling people names is not ok? Absolutely, and an apology to the little girl would need to take place. Later, I found out that the little girl called the other little boy “four eyes” because he had just gotten glasses, before his brother called her “ugly”. So now I realized that the first little boy was actually protecting his brother, and I have to give him credit for not hitting her too, as so many little boys think that is ok when they get mad. Eventually everybody said sorry to everybody, and from what I understand, everyone is getting along. Neither set of parents went to the school and cried bullying, but they were involved enough to get to the bottom of the issue, and make all the kids apologize to each other. Sometimes, I think if these types of issues were resolved at young ages, then bullying might not ever become an issue later in life.
Unfortunately, we are dealing with it now as a society. I feel bad for all the kids that are picked on or bullied, and sometimes the only thing to do is tell them that we believe in them, and they need to believe in themselves, eventually the mean kids will disappear from their lives, and life will get better. But what child listens to an adult when we tell them that life will be ok?

Honor and Respect of Men and Women

In recent years I have noticed that men seem to be less "gentlemanly" than they were in the past. When I watch an older movie, the man always opens the door for the women, they help put their coats on, drive the vehicles, and so on. It seems that the man of the house would strive to make life a little easier on the female. The women, meanwhile, would be busy raising the multiple children, cleaning the house, doing laundry, and cooking for everyone. Back to present time, most of these qualities seem to be lacking in the male gender. I have gotten in the habit of clapping when I see a male not just open a door, but wait for the female to pass through first before he goes through the doorway himself. Now not all men are forgetful of these qualities, some men are quite good at always opening the door, or helping a female in heels down a flight of stairs. These men seem to ask themselves internally, "Can I do something to make this person's life a little easier in the next 30 seconds?"
What is frustrating about this subject is the fact that we, as women asked for the above to happen. It was called the Feminist Movement. We needed to show the world, and men, that we could do everything they could do. We could open our own doors, get our own jobs, pay the bills, raise the kids, and clean the house, all with a smile on our faces. By golly we did a great job. Today, almost everything is equal in the respect of gender issues. Unfortunately, in our quest to deem ourselves "just as good as men", we lost a little bit of what defined us as women. Most men don't look at us as a precious being to be treasured and taken care of, because we proved that we don't need them for that. Can I blame men for not opening doors, or offering an arm, no, not really, because most likely, they had been yelled at for offering in the past. It also doesn't help, that when someone does do something nice, say open that door, the response I see most often is a mumbled "thank you" from the female, while looking at the floor. That is not a respectful response. Women do need to get better at looking that gentlemen in the eyes, and saying in a clear voice, "Why thank you sir" with a smile on our face. Women have no one else to blame other than ourselves for the current lack of gentlemanly quality's we see in society today.
I know we might never see society revert back to the "good old days" of kindness and respect, but I think if everyone tried to, a couple times a week, think of the other person in any situation, the world might be a better place in the future.

Sir Arthur Lewis Research Paper

There have been many winners of the Nobel Prize in Economic Science, but none other than Sir Arthur Lewis struck me as a more notable man for many reasons. He felt generations of economists had decided that the third world countries would never be worth saving, and he refused to accept that, coming from a less developed country himself. He worked for years fighting for other people and economists to understand his way of thinking, and his theories that the less developed countries could not only be saved, but they could one day flourish.
Arthur William Lewis was born January 23rd, 1915 to George and Ida Lewis, in St. Lucia. He was the fourth of five sons. Both of his parents were schoolteachers, who took education very seriously. Lewis was raised Catholic, with a love of music. In the years to come, while Lewis would study, in the background he would have classical music playing. (Continuum)
Lewis received his beginning years of education on St. Lucia. At the age of 14, he completed his secondary education with certificates from both St. Mary’s College with Cambridge Junior Examination, as well as Cambridge School. Lewis wanted to continue his education immediately, but at the young of 14, was not allowed to qualify for grants or scholarships until he turned seventeen years of age. Lewis took a job as a clerk in the Department of Agriculture in St. Lucia for three years, while he waited for time to pass, until he turned 17. (Continuum)
In 1932, at the age of 17, Lewis sat, and won, an Island Scholarship.(Continuum) Lewis was quoted saying, “I never meant to be an economist. My father wanted me to be a lawyer, but he died when I was seven; he had no vote at the appropriate time. I did not want to be a doctor either, nor a teacher. That put me in a hole, since law, medicine, preaching, and teaching were the only professions open to blacks in my day. I wanted to be an engineer, but neither the colonial government nor the sugar plantations would hire a black engineer” (Admin). So Arthur chose to obtain his degree in Business Administration from a British University. Lewis started at the London School of Economics in 1933. He graduated in 1937 with first class honors, receiving the highest marks ever obtained in the history of London School of Economics. Because of his excellent marks, he received a scholarship to obtain his PhD at the London School of Economics in the area of Industrial Economics. While Lewis was working on his Ph.D., he also served the British Government at the Board of Trade and the Colonial Office. He began teaching at the London School of Economics in 1938, where he was the first black member of staff. In 1940, he received his PhD with a thesis titled “Overhead Costs”, which was later published in a book in 1949. (Continuum)
Breaking yet another barrier, Lewis was appointed Stanley Jevons Professor of Political Economy at the University of Manchester, at the age of 33, the youngest professor of economics at Manchester University. During his tenure at Manchester, Lewis produced several works on the subject of development Economics.(Continuum) Lewis worked on many publications while teaching at Manchester. He believed the best way to learn something, was to teach it. (Lewis)
While Lewis was studying, teaching, and writing, a constant concern that entered his mind was the state of the less developed countries, most known to us as the Third World Countries. In the 30’s, 40’s, and 50’s, it was common belief that the less developed countries would never be able to fight their way out of poverty, and would always have to lean on the wealthy countries for help and handouts. Arthur did not believe that was the way life needed to be for the people of these countries (Anderson). His study’s opened up the very plausible idea that less developed countries could and should be able to bring them out of poverty. During this time, wealthy countries would take advantage of the less developed countries by importing grains, while exporting manufactured goods. Because the underdeveloped countries were poor, they had an excess of labor, making it very cheap for the wealthy countries to buy manufactured goods. At the heart of the matter, Lewis’s idea was very simple. Educate the people of the less developed countries, put more people to work in the agriculture industry making enough food to support themselves. This means that there would be fewer people working in the manufacturing industry, and there would be less of a need to import grain and wheat from wealthier countries. This would then level the playing field when it came to what the wealthy countries wanted, such as cheap manufactured items. Most of Lewis’s publications revolved around this theory.
In 1958, Lewis became the principal of the University College of West Indies, where he was a key player in adding Universities to Barbados, Trinidad and Tobago. In 1962, the University College of West Indies separated from the University of London, and Lewis found himself to be the first ever Vice Chancellor of the University of West Indies. In 1963, Lewis was knighted by Queen Elizabeth II for his roles in development economics. Shortly after he was knighted, Sir Lewis took a professorship at the University of Princeton here in the United States. In 1970, he was asked by the Caribbean Government to essentially create, and be President of the Caribbean Development Bank, which would help provide financing for economic and social projects in the local Caribbean area. (Continuum)
In 1979, years after his theories had been put to the test, and passed with flying colors; he received the Nobel Prize in Economics (Anderson). Once more, Sir Lewis broke a barrier, becoming the first black man to win a Nobel Prize in a category other than Peace. With the diploma, and the medal, Sir Lewis also received 800,000 Kroner, or 190,000 US Dollars (The Nobel Prize Amounts) (Anderson). Many of Sir Lewis’s economic ideas in present time are so accepted, the ideas have become “known fact” in the world of economics. Some economists did think it strange that Sir Arthur had received the Nobel Prize so late in his career, seeing as how he has not had any major theoretical economic breaththroughs for years. But, “Haq of the World Bank believes that criticism misses the point. ‘The Nobel award’, he says, ‘represents a belated recognition that the problems of world poverty merit international attention’.”(Newsweek)
Sir Lewis finished out his amazing career at Princeton University, retiring in 1982, but stayed busy by being a guest teacher at Princeton and the Sir Arthur Community College(Continuum). Sir Lewis passed away June 15, 1991 and was buried at the Sir Arthur Community College, where the faculty is honored to have him rest. (Admin)
I believe Sir Lewis should have received the Nobel Prize years earlier, sadly no one can change the past, strangely enough though, because of Sir Lewis’s research, we can change the future for many of the third world countries and the people who live there. Though Sir Lewis has passed away, we will continue to use his knowledge and genius of economics for many more decades.

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.