Someone's Dad

I came across this story tonight and I believe that it needs to be put out there.

Many times, I've been witness to hospital staff snapping at patients from the lower rungs of the social hierarchy (and being extra nice to foreign-looking patients in better clothing). It's a sad world when we think we can look down on people who we believe are beneath us.

I normally tell my friends who are about to start a career in the medical field that they should be doubly patient and never, ever be cross or highfalutin. It is when one is sick that he feels most vulnerable and miserable and a little empathy from the hospital staff would be highly appreciated.

Please read through and pass around if you wish.

This is a simple letter anonymously sent to a public clinic's office, and it goes:

To Each Staff Member of this Facility:

As you pick u that chart today and scan that green Medicaid card, I hope you will remember what I am about to say.

I spent yesterday with you. I was there with my mother and father. We didn't know where we were supposed to go or what we were supposed to do, for we had never needed your services before. We have never before been labeled 'charity'.

I watched yesterday as my dad became a diagnosis, a chart, a case number, a charity case labeled "no sponsor" because he has no health insurance.

I saw a weak man stand in line, waiting for five hours to be shuffled through a system of impatient office workers, a burned-out nursing staff and a budget-scarce facility, being robbed of any dignity and pride he may have had left. I was amazed at how impersonal your staff was, huffing and blowing when the patient did not present the correct form, seaking carelessly of other patients' cases in front of passersby, of lunch breaks that would be spent away from this "poor man's hell."

My dad is only a green card, a file number to clutter your desk on appointment day, a patient who will ask for directions twice after they've been mechanically given the first time. But, no, that's not really my dad. That's only what you see.

What you don't see is a cabinetmaker since the age of 14, a self-employed man who has a wonderful wife, four grown kids (who visit too much), and five grandchildren (with two more on the way)---all of whom think their "pop" is the greatest. This man is everything a daddy should be--strong and firm, yet tender; rough around the edges, a country boy, yet respected by prominent business owners.

He's my dad, the man who raised me through thick and thin, gave me away as a bride, held my children at their births, stuffed a $20 bill into my hand when times were tough and comforted me when I cried. Now we are told that before long cancer will take this man away from us.

You may say these are the words of a grieving daughter lashing out in helplessness at the prospect of losing a loved one. I would not disagree. Yet I would urge you not to discount what I say. Never lose sight of the people behind your charts. Each chart represents a person--with feelings, a history, a life--whome you have the power to touch for one day by your words and actions. Tomorrow it may be you loved one--your relative or neighbor--who turns into a case number, a green card, a name to be marked off with a yellow marker as done for the day.

I pray that you will reward the next person you greet at your station with a kind word or smile because that person is someone's dad, husband, wife, mother, son, or daughter--or simply because he or she is a human being, created and loved by God, just as you are.

Author Unknown

Shopping is the key to world peace

"When I shop the world gets better, the world is better; and then it's not anymore and I have to do it again." -Rebecca Bloomwood, Confessions of a Shopaholic

At this, I am supposed to go: "Awww, shush now honey, it happens to the best of us. I'll help you." But no. Becky isn't exactly a person I can relate to or even sympathize with. She shops with such reckless abandon that to me, it fails to come off as endearing. What I want to say to her is: "You fucked up. Man up, lady."

Sorry, but I just can't imagine ever condoning someone, no matter how cute (she is pretty darn), who's always buried neck deep in debt for shopping too much. That is just crazy (yes, I'm a square).

But by golly, it works.

Last weekend, I was in the mood for some retail therapy so I set out bright and early to get things started. After a few hours, a lot of fitting and credit card abuse, I ended up with 2 lovely leather bags, a good pair of linen pants, a nice pair of jean leggings, light blue shorts, black shorts, a couple of cute shirts, and a bright pink yoga mat. (Please don't judge me.) Oh and an extra battery and a soft case for my camera.

Becky is quite right. The world gets better, the world IS better, after a day of shopping. :P

The Story of Bo

Hi, my name is Bo and I'm a stray.

To make it through the day, I beg for scraps from strangers and some of them take pity on me. I get a lot of hard stares and angry shouts for doing this, people usually shoo me away when they see me coming, the mean ones kick me or throw small objects at me so I get scared and scramble out of the way. Sometimes I have to sleep without eating for an entire day, but that's okay. Someone would eventually throw food at me or I can always rummage for leftovers in the trash bins.

I don't have place to stay. Every night, I find a safe and warm spot for me to sleep in. I have to find a spot hidden enough so I wouldn't be seen by those mean kids, not again. Not after the last time when they put me inside a sack, tied it and threw it in a dumpster. Good thing I was able to chew my way out, I ran away as fast as my little paws would carry me. It turned out okay because I was led to a much nicer neighborhood after it.

I don't have a human to call my own. Sometimes, I meet nice people who give me some food and water and play with me for a little while. I wag my tail at them, hoping that maybe one of them would like me enough to bring me home and I can stop being wary of the things around me, it gets scary sometimes.

Oh, I'd be so happy when that happens! I'd play with my human all day and I'll walk beside him everywhere he goes! I'd lick his face joyfully and wag my tail as hard as I can every time he comes home. It sounds fun! He would scratch my ears, rub my belly, and laugh whenever I get wriggly and excited! And at night, I'd cuddle up to him, I bet it'd be all warm and cozy.

No, it hasn't happened yet, but maybe one day, someday it will.