Elizabeth loves airports, especially if she is seeing someone off that she knows.  She will watch as her friend goes through the security post at the top of the long ramp here at McGhee/Tyson Airport.  Then she will watch intently through a convenient window as the plane carrying her friend flies out of sight.

This trip is no different.  Elizabeth walks with Debbie slowly up the ramp, fussing yet again at how she should use the wheelchair service offered by the airports.  However, Debbie is nervous enough and doesn’t want to add the pressure of appearing totally helpless to the world.

Elizabeth reassures her friend just before she enters the security area that this is a simple trip to share an informal reunion with some high school friends.  She should just go and enjoy some down time with a handful of friends she reconnected with through Facebook.

Memories of high school wash over Debbie as she waves good-bye to Elizabeth.  They continue to bombard her as she boards the plane and finds her seat.  She isn’t sure if she would have actually called these four women friends when they were all in high school, but more like classmates and people she knew.

Perhaps Vicky was more than that.  After all, Debbie’s family did move next-door to Vicky’s family in junior high.  For as long as Debbie could remember, Vicky was one who spoke her mind and didn’t care about doing so.  She was usually right when she spoke out so things would usually go her way.  Living next door to her, Debbie came to admire this trait and even envied Vicky for her boldness.

In contrast to Vicky, Barb was a lot like Debbie in some ways.  Mostly in that she seemed shy and thoughtful.  However, there was a certain strength about Barb that Debbie didn’t think she possessed within herself.  This brought high admiration for Barb and the ability for Debbie to keep going forward.

In three years of high school Debbie never really got to know Julie.  Seeing Julie as pretty and having lots of friends, Debbie felt that she was too average and timid, and therefore beneath Julie’s recognition.

Geri is the fifth person who will be part of this little reunion.  In high school she had always been a bit of an enigma to Debbie.  Not that she deemed Geri two-faced or anything.  It was that not knowing her as well, Debbie just couldn’t get a good read on her.   What Debbie did know of Geri was that she was more of a free spirit than she was and she could only dream of being more like Geri.

Since reconnecting to these women on the social media site, Debbie has come to know them a little better as the estimable women they have become instead of the awkward teenagers they all used to be.

The flight from Knoxville to Charlotte, NC is one hour.  This is a relatively short trip, but a lifetime in Debbie’s mind.  Once on the ground she focuses on making her connecting flight and the two-hour leg to Baltimore’s BWI airport.  Debbie is determined to leave the past where it belongs and concentrate, instead, on the present.

Julie greets Debbie enthusiastically at BWI’s baggage claim and after many hugs and mingled tears, Julie’s gentleman friend enters to retrieve Debbie’s suitcase and escort the ladies to his waiting car.  “Debbie, this is Chris.  Chris, Debbie.”

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Sir.  I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Likewise.”  Chris is more intent on exiting the hectic airport than meeting and greeting.  His response is clipped, but not in a rude manner.  It is more in the style of a man who would rather remain on the outside of “girl talk”. 

The thirty minute drive to Julie’s house has the air in the car sounding more like a couple of schoolgirls chirping and giggling instead of two grown women catching up on old times.  Once at the house, Chris departs leaving the women to their own devices.  It would just be the two of them in the house for the weekend as Julie’s boys were otherwise engaged in other activities.  The first thing on the agenda is for Debbie to rest if she is to attend the evening events.

Following naps, showers and much primping, Julie and Debbie approach a corner table at Squire’s Restaurant where Vicky, Geri and Barb are already chattering away.  As the five women greet each other, the other patrons begin watching as if trying to figure out what all the commotion is.

Appetizers, salads, entrées and desserts are well accompanied by carafes of wine and pitchers of beer.  As the food disappears the beverages flow into the conversation reviving bygone days, which had long since dissolved into youth’s blurry memory.

Plans are already laid for more activities through the rest of the weekend providing Debbie’s health will allow.  However, no one desires the evening to end and along with it the feeling of past joys reentered.  “Let’s all go back to my house.  I have some wine and we can continue this in the basement undisturbed.”

“Thanks, Vick, but I really need to get home to my Woobie.”  Barb’s voice is both disappointed and excited.  She wants to remain with the group and yet be at home with her daughter.

“Do you have a place I can lay down a bit?”

“Sure, Deb.  You lay on the couch and we’ll sit around on the floor.  Oh, and don’t worry. I’ll set a fan to blow the cigarette smoke away.   Everyone ready?”

Settling into Vicky’s basement brings back even more bittersweet memories for Debbie than driving through the neighborhood.  Shoving the memories to the back of her mind, Debbie concentrates on keeping up with the clamoring conversation unfolding around her.  After all she did make a conscious decision to leave the past in the past and this was a part of her past that she refuses to revisit.

After lying for a bit, Debbie sits up and accepts a glass of what Vicky calls Cold Duck from Geri.  Vicky is sitting in front of a fan rubbing ice on her neck in an attempt to assuage the current peri-menopausal hot flash.  Vicky’s hot flash wans into a tidal wave of alcohol-induced heat that would rival the tropical heat of the equator felt by all members of the quartet.

“I’m outa smokes.  Whatcha say we go out for some air and cigarettes?

“Isn’t it getting late?”

“Learn how to read a clock, Geri.  It’s far from late.  Bars are still open.”  Vicky is already set to leave, the others follow suit proceeding slowly, giving Debbie time to balance.

Vicky skillfully pulls her car into the parking lot at Harvey’s.  Julie automatically begins singing and continues singing as the foursome make their way inside and find a table.

Rounds of drinks are ordered and consumed just as quickly.  The only thing that flows freer than the booze is the conversation and as the heat rises, inhibitions lower.  Julie finds herself in her natural position at Harvey’s, holding a karaoke microphone.  Her music selections become sultry and seductive while Geri dances directing her motions toward Julie.  Vicky keeps her phone out with the video camera going and all Debbie can do is laugh hysterically and hold on for dear life.

After rousing more than curiosity at Harvey’s the foursome exit and find themselves at The Seahorse.  Debbie orders herself a beer and slowly makes her way to the ladies room.  Upon her return she finds her three companions imbibing in a strange drink directly from the pitcher using straws.  Pointing toward a straw in front of Debbie, Vicky warns; “Hurry up before it’s all gone.”

“What is it?”  Debbie’s southern drawl is a bit slurred from the alcohol already consumed and the lack of sleep.

“Good”, Julie snips between sips.

“A trashcan.”

“There’s one over there, Geri.  I can try bringing it over to you if you need to hurl and can’t make it to the ladies room.”

The three women laugh as Julie explains, “The drink is called a trashcan.  There’s a lot of liquor in it.  And… some fruit…. I think.  It’s served in a pitcher.  Everyone drinks it like this.  You’ll love it.”

After several long sips from the pitcher, Debbie digs into her pocket and using her cane and anything else she can hold onto, she staggers to the jukebox and makes a selection.  Arriving back at the table, she fluffs her now tousled red curls, unbuttons her top button and avers to those at her table (which is as loud as she can); “I am more than this wretched disease which has engulfed my body.  I .. AM … A … WOMAN!!!”

As if on cue, the music Debbie chose begins to play and Julie, once again starts singing; “I am woman hear me roar…”

Geri gets to her feet and commences to dance with Julie as Debbie unfastens yet another button revealing more cleavage than she has ever displayed in public and allows her hair to go where it may.  Vicky seductively moves behind Debbie getting everything on her cell phone and takes Geri’s hand with her free hand linking all four women in a kind of dance that causes other patrons and staff to engage in similar free-spirited, fun-loving activities.

Enveloped in their own world and completely oblivious to anything around them, the women finish their drinks being told admirers in the crowd have paid their tab and they determine it is time to move on.  Voices grow angry and loud behind them as furniture splinters and bodies fall to the ground causing the earth to shake even more under Debbie’s feet.  Geri takes Vicky’s keys as Vicky and Julie help Debbie to the car and the four women pull off, as the sounds of police sirens grow louder.

“What happened?”  Vicky asks looking back and seeing the police and an ambulance pull up at The Seahorse.

Geri, who is driving, replies; “I don’t know, but it looks bad.  Clearly we can’t go back and going home isn’t an option.”  Silence fills the air in the same manner an inferno fills the atmosphere around it.  Debbie lays her spinning head back against the seat.  “It’s okay, I know a guy.”

Waking up is difficult this morning.  At first, the blur that is believed to have been last night seems more of a disturbing dream than reality.  Debbie slowly sits up and looks around needing to find her glasses and cane.  This is not Julie’s house.  The décor is tropical.  With a reeling, pounding head she staggers around in search of direction and sees Julie and Vicky sitting, well slumping, at a patio table outside the glass doors.  Geri comes up behind her swaying and smelling of vomit and they realize this is not a dream.

Outside on the patio the staggering pair joins the slumping pair at the table and all collapse wondering where they are and how they got here.  As they ponder in whispers fighting the urge to regurgitate whatever they nonsensically ingested last night ear-piercing rings begin shrieking from Julie’s cell phone causing the four women to jump out of their skins with their heads shattering.

Julie slaps her phone and picks it up putting it to her ear.  “What?  I don’t know where we are.  What?  Huh?  Hello?  Barb?”  Julie looks at her phone with confusion and then drops it to the table.  The others look at her through squinting eyes.   “That was Barb.  She said something about everyone looking for us, including the police.  Seems someone was killed in that bar we went to.  Phone died, too.”

Folding her arms on the table, Julie drops her head back down with a mournful groan as the bewildered women try to make sense of things.  Debbie slowly lifts her head and looks at Vicky; “What in the world was in that duck sauce you gave us?”

“Mmmm, uh …. Um ….You mean,” Vicky coughs to clear her dry throat.  “You mean the Cold Duck?  It was just wine.  Where are my cigarettes?”

“Isn’t that what got us into this mess in the first place?  You needing cigarettes?”  Geri gets up to go back into the bathroom.  Upon her return, Geri sits back down with a bottle of water and had been doing her own pondering.  “How is it I’m the only one puking my guts up this morning?”

“Juls and I were up before y’all doing the same thing.  Can’t be anything left.”

“With the Meniere’s I have learned to suppress.  Bad habit, but when I’m vertigo, I can’t clean it up.  Speaking of which, I think I’m hallucinating.  There’s a man on our patio.”

“You’re not hallucinating, Deb.  I’m here and I have coffee.”

“I hope it’s good coffee and how do I know you?  You don’t look familiar.”

“Good?  I just hope the coffee is real.  And strong.”  Julie sits up searching for a cup.

Geri takes a cup; “This is my husband’s cousin, Dante.  What are you doing here?”

“Do you know where we are?  Better question, do you know where my damn cigarettes are?”

“Well, first off, we are in Freeport, Bahamas.  This is a friends place.  He’s not here so I thought you could hole up here till things cool off.  I’m here because you called me last night and asked me to meet you at the boat.  I showed up and the four of you were there asking me to get you as far away as possible.  The coffee is real, but if we are going to be here a while we’ll need to go into town and lay in supplies.  As for your cigarettes Vicky, you threw them overboard last night and swore you’d never touch another one after the trouble they caused last night.”

“What the hell happened last night that would make me throw my smokes away?”  Vicky’s bewildered voice brings to focus that everything is too real and something must have happened last night. 

The women just look at each other in wonder while Dante allows a creepy smile to cross his face.  “So, Ger…of all the people I know, you are not the one I expected to have to hie out of the country.  What really happened?  Ya kill someone?”

Dante’s voice resonated like a tolling bell deep inside a multifaceted cavern fading into the ebon haze.

The suitcase weighs heavy in Debbie’s hand as she struggles to lift it to check it through.  She glances behind her to see if her friend Elizabeth, who had brought her to the airport, had found a parking space and entered the terminal.  Not seeing her, Debbie turns back toward the smiling thirty-something lady behind the counter and wonders if it was too late to just go back home and forget the trip.

May 7, 2012

It seems to me that the further down the road we go in time, the lazier we become, especially in the United States.  It has been a while since I have been to a foreign country, but thanks to the wonderful world wide web, I have many friends and acquaintances around the world.  Through them I see other views and customs.

In the past few years in Second Life, I have seen people’s names diminishing rapidly.  At one time people seemed to address another person by the first three letters of their first name.  Now, they just address them by their first initial.

My nom de plume is DL Bach.  I am also known by other names.  My real first name is Debbie.  Sam is a nickname given to me by others I worked with because there were three women named Debbie in our group of ten.  In Second Life I am Parker.  A friend in Paris did a play on my pen name and calls me DeeEl.  I like this.

Debbie is a shortened version of my real name Deborah.  If you really don’t like me and want me out of your life, just call me Deborah.  I will be gone faster than you can repeat it.

There is one person I know in Second Life who has given to call me JJ.  Now, my last name in Second Life begins with J, but for the life of me I cannot understand why this person calls me JJ even though I have corrected them several times.  I generally use a person’s full first name in Second Life to address them, unless they ask me specifically not to.

There are times when nicknames (usually shortened versions of a given name) are used to be endearing.  For instance, my Second Life name is Parker and most people call me Parky.  This isn’t much shorter, but it is fun and playful.  Then there are the nicknames that have nothing to do with a person’s name at all, such as my nickname of Sam or when people call a loved one Boo or Woobie, etc.

A while back (when I used to work), I was screening a movie or something and two men were discussing nicknames.  One was Russian and the other American.  The American asked the Russian if names didn’t work the same way in Russia being that you shorten them when speaking to or about a loved one.  The Russian replied that occasionally it does work that way, but usually the nicknames are longer for someone you love.  His rationale was that when you are saying the name of someone you love, you never want it to end.  This is where I am.

In real life when I am introduced to someone, the manner of introduction will usually dictate how I address the person.  Until I am invited otherwise, I will usually address them as Mr./Ms. So-and-so.  I hold to the old way of respecting people.  I do not infer intimacy, I wait to be invited in.  When I worked in the prison, my first day of training, I met the head of the prison and when he introduced himself and we were chatting he asked me to call him by his first name.  My manager, later, tried to write me up for insubordination for calling the director by his first name.  The director chastised the manager instead.

When you are invited to the inner intimacy of speaking on first name basis, it is a trust that has been earned, not invaded.  This is a matter of respect.  So if you think so little of me and the speaking of my name repulses you so much that you reduce me to a mere letter of the alphabet, then I must reconsider the intimacy I have allowed you to share.

It is seen all too well the bullying in schools.  When it happens in homes it is labeled abuse and the law will step in IF the victims dare to speak up.  In the work place it bears a more subtle hand.  Then you have governments who go into other countries and strong arm the opposing government and bully them into submission.  Governments also bully their citizens with brash laws meant to fortify the leaders and leave the general population in ruin.

In January, I wrote a poem called Bullied.  I took from my own life as well as things I see around me and on the news to write this piece.  I must say it was a difficult piece to write and felt a great relief when it was finished.  

This type of behavior in any form and at any level is appalling and immoral.  But, there is something that is just as bad, if not worse.  Even though it is so prominent, and known, bullying remains a boil festering within the world.  Not just because there are those who will always think they deserve to do harm in some form to other people.  It is also allowed to continue because the cowards looking on do nothing.

As a child I would wear bruises and whelps from beatings and others would see these, but remain silent.  In school, when kids would bully me, there would be those who would just stand there and watch, doing nothing.  Years ago a man I knew in junior high and high school crossed my path at a baseball game.  We sat and chatted for a bit while watching the field.  He looked at me and with sadness in his eyes he said he remembered how some of the other boys would say and do mean things to me.  I remembered he was one of them standing there.  He continued to aver that it always bothered him how they did that.  He said good-bye and returned to his seat.  If it bothered him so much, why didn’t he say anything to anyone who could have helped me?

Perhaps this person didn’t or felt he couldn’t do anything due to his age at the time of the incidents.  However, there are those in workplaces who will stand around the water-cooler listening to co-workers as they say ugly and hateful things about another co-worker.  At the most they may go to a quiet place and secretly phone that person and warn them someone is saying things about them.  You call that person a friend and yet you stand there and allow other people to defame the same one you call friend.  This is not what I call a friend.

Passing cutesy things on Facebook and Twitter may be fun, but what are you really doing to put an end to the bullying in the world?  What are you doing to put an end to the bullying in your own town or neighborhood?

The next time you are in a group where someone you know and perhaps call friend is being besmirched and you are tempted to do nothing, imagine you are watching a small child being brutally beaten.  What would you do?  Would you just go over and tell that child they are being abused?  IF you are a friend, then speak up and say you will NOT stand around and allow small-minded people to speak that way about someone that you endear.   Be a human being and display that you are indeed a friend in the truest sense of the word.

It is the people who stand by that allow bullying and abuse to continue to rule the world.

To say that I am prudish or priggish is quite accurate.  I was raised to behave in a modest manner and to believe that certain things should remain private.  I still hold to these things as true today.  I am neither a voyeur nor an exhibitionist.

These days it seems sex is used to sell pretty much everything.  There has been an advertisement on television of late displaying a stick-thin model indulging in a huge hamburger from a certain fast food chain in a seductive manner.  First of all they don’t show you the part where she may take the bite, but spits it out having neither chewed nor swallowed it.  Secondly, this type of advertisement will not induce me to purchase the hamburger the model is not consuming.  It being a female model has no baring on my decision.  You could put a top male model in her place and I would still not be enticed.

When the reality television program Dancing With The Stars first launched I thought it would be really nice to see celebrities learning how to ballroom dance.  However, it has turned into a sex-fest.  Last season was the only season I have watched the show.  I only watched and voted because there was an uproar over Chaz Bono participating.  I did write a post on that http://dlbach.com/deeels/2011/09/02/hatred-unfounded/.  The controversy was over Mr. Bono’s transexuality, yet there is no problem with the females being clad very skimpily nor the males removing their clothing.

A number of years ago I had a knee injury and had to undergo physical therapy.  One of the therapists would always start debates with me regarding movie content.  He found it difficult to believe that a grown woman such as myself would only go to movies rated G, PG or PG-13.  He would argue that sex, violence and foul language were everywhere.  I heartily agreed with this statement.  However, that does not mean that I am either going to go out looking for it or pay my hard-earned money to see it on the screen.

Many people believe that the fewer clothes a person is wearing and the more seductive the pose makes that person sexier.  With this I disagree.  A previous job I had, a certain manager would (as all the managers did) wear suits to work every day.  One weekend morning he came in wearing sweats in order to perform inventory in his area.  A fair amount of his inventory was in the racks across from my office.  I sat there going about my duties, but also watched as he went about his. 

We engaged in idle chit-chat as we always did.  At one point I stopped what I was doing and just looked at him.  I told him I wanted to tell him something, but asked him not to take it the wrong way.  He knew me well enough to know that what ever I was about to say would be purely innocent and he said I should proceed.  I went on to tell him that he was a very sexy man.  He blushed a deep shade of red and kind of got choked up.  I explained that even though he was wearing sweats and was kind of dusty and dirty from taking inventory, he was still the same as if he were wearing his usual business suite.

Sexiness has nothing to do with what a person is or is not wearing, it has everything to do with attitude.  This gentleman was a handsome man, he felt he was at least a bit attractive, but would never consider himself sexy.  I had never considered him that way before either.  However, after that day we would both blush whenever we would look at each other.

Just as beauty is in the eye of the beholder, so is sex, sexuality and sexiness.  While I may not go around discussing sex and I most assuredly do not write about it in my poetry, short stories or novels, I am still a sexual being.  It is the small minded people who will torment others because of their beliefs and try to get them to behave the way they do.  This is why terms such as prude and priggish are deemed negative just as gay and lesbian are in many groups.  The only thing that is a must is that you are true to who you are.  Trying to be something or someone you are not will only leave you miserable.

I’d like to break my own taboo and speak here on religion.

Earlier I was reading a Brit friend’s blog and her post on this same subject.  Her words caused words to begin to swell up inside my head and gave me the courage to relay them here in a more definite manner to allow people to see where I am at.  I am not doing this to start a debate or provoke long-time friends to try to persuade me different.

When my best friend Sissy was still alive, she had no reserve about arguing her religious views.  I recall one occasion sitting in a Wendy’s down from my apartment with her and two gentlemen of a different denomination.  An argument ensued.  I firmly stated that I would leave if they did not cease.  The discussion abated briefly.  However, when it began again, I collected my things and prepared to depart.  The gentlemen stood, apologized and returned to their wives.  Sissy and I left.  This is related to remind you how firm I am on NOT debating or arguing religion.

I was raised in a so-called Christian household where one thing was preached and another was lived.  Alcoholism, abuse and adultery were rampant.  As a child does, I accepted what I was told and believed how I was told to believe.  I listened while members on both sides of my family orated their bigotry and hatred for those who were different (I will get into this in an upcoming post as it has more to do with my new mission in life).

As a child I knew there was something different about me.  I recall one Sunday while Grandmaw was preparing Sunday dinner, my uncle and I were playing a game of cards.  Grandmaw came in and said we were sinning by playing cards on the Sabbath.  I thought she was going to have kittens when I calmly said, “But, today isn’t the Sabbath, yesterday was”.  Her disapproving look advised never to broach the topic again.

At the age of 21, my mother, while in the process of disowning me, looked at me and told me I was a “damn Jew” just like my father.  This gave me pause.  I had never heard anything before about Jewish heritage in my family tree.  I have since found that connection.  The statement did give me reason to think.  While studying the Jewish people and learning of their plight, I always felt a connection.  I attempted as an adolescent to hone in on my German roots and forget those feelings.

A few years after my mother’s enlightenment, I learned about a Messianic (congregations of Jewish believers and Gentiles who embrace their Jewish religious roots) congregation in my area and began attending services.  Here, I flourished and began learning about this hidden limb buried in my family tree.  Growing in this setting I accepted what I was taught and began to relinquish the past teaching.  To say I completely gave up my past is inaccurate.  Nor did I pick and choose what I wanted to keep from each.

In my mid-twenties, I began to question.  I questioned everything I believed in.  Recalling there is a place in the scriptures that encourages this kind of questioning, I pushed forward.  I learned through my study that holidays, both Christian and Jewish, I had kept were not what I was trained to believe they were.  It was like a child finding out that there is no Easter bunny nor Santa Clause.  I continued to embrace my Jewish roots and remained with the Messianic congregation.  However, I kept true in my own ways.

Seeing false faith in both the Christan and Messianic worlds, I needed to find my own peace, my own way.  After I got sick and people from both of those worlds began to disappear, I really began to question things.  As I look back over the past few years (generalities, so not trying to diss anyone) it seems the ones who have offered the most sincere support to me are those from the Atheist, Buddhist and mix-n-match realms.

I have not kept anything within the Christianity world in many years.  I keep the Jewish parts in my own way.  It is more in the Buddhist meditations that I have found inner peace.  When things seem to be the most troubling for me, I finally pause and realize I have not been meditating.  There was once that, while in the midst of a Meniere’s bout of full-blown vertigo, I had a passing thought I hadn’t done my meditations.  I focused the best I could and tried to work on my Chakras.

It has been since Passover 2009 that I have attended any religious services.  While I still consider myself Messianic, I don’t really have any formal belief system other than knowing what I have studied and continue to learn.  I will no longer accept with “blind faith” what a mere mortal says.  I will also not look at man’s book of scriptures solely as a resource.  I will prove everything out from historical accounts and keep things the way I keep things and not the way someone else tells me to.  I will not “pray” to a god I cannot trust.   I will send good thoughts and energy to those who need it.  I respect that you believe your way and only ask for the same consideration in return.  I will not try to persuade you to believe differently, which is why I didn’t give details of what I learned when I searched for answers.  I expect the same from others.

Ms. Suleman said she would not go on welfare to assist her in raising these children.  For a time she was “earning” money via the reality television realm.  There had also been reports that she was dating men in hopes of landing a wealthy husband to help her with her children.

This morning she was on NBC’s Today Show where it was reported that she is, in fact, receiving $2000 a month from welfare and she also stated she has posed for pornographic magazines to make money.

She is doing all of this public stuff to make money and is still receiving government assistance.  In 2010, I was unemployed, and unemployment had run out.  My savings was gone trying to live and get disability.  I filed for welfare and food-stamps.  I was put through the wringer to make sure I had no other means of supporting myself.  I was denied financial assistance and medical insurance.  They did however, allot me $200 a month in food-stamps.

During this time, I began selling my possessions to pay my bills which still had to be paid.  When it was time to re-certify for food-stamps, I stated I had just been approved for disability and  had sold personal items to pay my bills.  I was berated and my food assistance went from $200 a month to $16 a month.

How is it that a woman in her mid 30s can go out and make babies she can’t afford, take her clothes off for money and still get government assistance?  The government systems set up to help people are supposed to have safeguards to prevent people from abusing them.  These are really to prevent people who deserve and truly need the services from getting them while the Nadya Suleman’s of the world flourish and make money and still receive assistance.

There are good and bad elements on both sides of this, as with every story out there.  It is difficult to drawl productive conclusions just relying on what the media presents to us.

The clip of the 911 call does make it appear that Mr. Zimmerman was racial profiling and could have uttered racial slurs making him a bigot.   On the other side, the only photographs of Mr. Martin that are in circulation are outdated and taken when he was younger and smaller. 

Mr. Zimmerman’s supporters say that he shot Mr. Martin in self-defense after Mr. Martin attacked him.  Mr. Martin’s supporters aver that he would never attack anyone unless provoked.

So, what really happened that dark night in February?  I wasn’t there and of the two who were there, one of them is dead and the other isn’t speaking.

I do firmly believe that this tragedy could have been prevented.  It is clear from the 911 call that Mr. Zimmerman advised the operator that he was in pursuit or Mr. Martin, someone he believed to be suspicious.  The 911 operator clearly told Mr. Zimmerman NOT to follow Mr. Martin.  As a member of the neighborhood watch, proper training would instruct persons to call 911 and follow what they are told to do.  Had Mr. Zimmerman obeyed the directive he was given by the operator to break his pursuit, Mr. Martin would be alive today.  However, Mr. Zimmerman took it upon himself to become more of a vigilante and not neighborhood watch.  This type of stalking behavior could have been perceived by Mr. Martin as threatening and felt the need to “defend” himself.

There does not appear to be any malice on anyone’s part in all of this.  However, when a mere citizen takes the law into his own hands as Mr. Zimmerman did, there will be severe repercussions.  In this case, it was the death of a young man just beginning his life who only wanted to go out and get some snacks to enjoy while watching a game.  For this, there needs to be justice.  Is it a racial crime, this is for the judicial courts to decide, not the court of public opinion.  Either way, Mr. Zimmerman took a human life and it was due to his own ignorance and therefore, he needs to be tried in a court of law.

The Greatest Frontier

Throughout history man has looked for frontiers to conquer.  Stepping into the unknown is both fearful and exciting.  It is near impossible to predict what treasures you will find or even what dangers you will face.  The best we can do is rely on our past experiences to help guide in these endeavors.

Gene Roddenberry, in his television program Star Trek, called space the final frontier.  He dubbed this the last unexplored area for men to conquer.  Perhaps this is true to a point.

For centuries philosophers and psychologists have explored the human mind.  However, there is still so much to explore and learn with such a complexly simple mechanism.

Upon meeting someone for the first time, they might inquire, “Who are you?”  While they know your name from introduction, you, out of habit, repeat your name.  Another question that may be posed upon first meeting is, “Can you tell me about yourself?”  With this we may proceed to declare what job we do for a living, our marital status, offspring, etc.  These are things that identify us just as much as our hair color, eye color and the way we dress.

But, who are you?

We hear tell of those (usually kids in an attempt to keep from going to college or to work) who use their money to “go and find themselves”.  This may seem frivolous to many.  I find it so in the regard that usually all they are doing it romping about exploring life.  How often do they actually “find” themselves?

Many people look to religion as the source of identifying who they are, others their families, education or even hobbies.  These are things that can, once again, identify us, but do they tell us who we really are?

I had always heard that praying is the act of “speaking to god” while meditation is the act of “listening to god”.  I hear so much of people talking about praying, but rarely about meditating.  After getting sick and being mostly confined to my apartment I started searching.  One of the worst things you can do is leave a writer alone with her/his thoughts.  We can get into all sorts of turmoil this way.

I cannot go back to the me I used to be before the illness entered my life.  Believe me, I have tried and I have sought to “find” the me I used to be.  Only now am I realizing this is never to happen.  When I am in a bout of vertigo (which lasts two days) my head conjures up all kinds of things.  Some is good, some not so much and others just plain out in left field.  One thing, however, that is prevalent, is trying to find me.

The first time I went to have a check-up with my current primary physician he stepped back and asked me if I were a singer.  I affirmed this and he went on to state that it was his experience that singers know themselves well, some better than even professional athletes.  True he was speaking of knowing myself physically.  But this is something I have been pondering of late. 

My mind also travels back to  time when my best friend, Sissy, her husband, two other friends of ours and I all went to Kings Dominion for an outing.  Anyone who knows me well enough, knows how much I really hate roller coasters.  Sissy, her husband and our friend Loretta convinced me to get on this new coaster called the Shock Wave.  It is a roller coaster you ride standing up.  Loretta and I were in the car behind Sissy and Al.  I pulled the straps and bar over me and leaned my head back and closed my eyes.  As the ride was ending, Sissy and Loretta were unstrapping themselves even before the ride stopped and shaking me.  They said they thought I was dead as I had turned as white as the tank-top I was wearing.  All I know is I put a death-grip on the bar holding me in and went deep inside myself.

Do I know myself?  Hardly.  I know my name.  I know I am single, never married, no children and I am a fair writer.  I know I have a hideous disease.  I know these things about me that identify me to the outside world, but I don’t know me – yet.  I read things that force me to look inside myself.  When I meditate, I look inside myself and explore those areas that I am afraid to look at or didn’t know exist.

There are times I write things, especially here in my blogberg, that many have told me they cannot comment here or even in Facebook or Twitter because they don’t know what to say.  They explain that I write in a manner that makes them think and causes them to look deeper then they ordinarily would.  These are things that help me explore my greatest frontier.

Space may be quite unexplored by humankind, but the greatest and most final frontier is in exploring ourselves, our own minds.  The Buddhists have a way of spending time with themselves and looking deep and when they come out on the other side, they are more peaceful more at home with who they are.  Their way isn’t the answer for everyone.  We must find who we are on our own and in our own way detached from all other influences.  Get to the heart, the soul, the very core of you.

Francis Bacon once wrote, “It is a sad fate for a man to die too well known to everybody else and still unknown to himself.”

Take time to explore your greatest frontier.

When I was growing up, I was taught to treat people with respect, especially my elders.  When addressing an elder it was always Mr./Mrs. So-and-so.  When responding to them it was “Yes, Sir/Ma’am” or “No, Sir/Ma’am”.  This is how it was and I never questioned it.  Besides, if I had questioned it, I probably would not have lived to see adulthood. I thought thing were this way with everyone.  Apparently I was misinformed.

After I grew up, I remembered my lessons and used them when engaging in conversation with my elders as well as those my age and younger.  Addressing people in this manner is just showing respect and has nothing to do with age, at least not for me anymore.  One thing I learned was that not all parents taught their children the same kind of respect.  The first time a child called me by my first name, I cringed.  Even if my last name (which is really long) is not known, they could still use Miss with my first name.  However, this was not the case and the parents didn’t seem the least bit phased.

From children that I nannied and/or sat for to the adolescents that I counseled, I found the same thing.  It felt as if the minors were trying to place themselves on the same level as adults.  I find this to be equivalent to parents who believe they should be their child’s best friend instead of their parent.  I may not be able to be a parent, but in my nearly thirteen years as an adolescent counselor working mainly in juvenile justice, I saw the fruits of this process.

In 2007, after dealing with my illness for three years, I found an on-line virtual world that gave me back a lot of what I lost from the illness.  This wonderland is called Second Life ® .  My training carried over into this world and I address people in a respectful manner.  I am continuously ‘chastised’  for referring to people as Sir or Ma’am.  Usually the males protest vehemently.  I still cannot understand why people would feel older by being treated with respect.

Another issue I encountered in Second Life ®  was that the majority of the people who used the same kind of respect I display for others are doing so because they are involved in BDSM or prostitution.  It seems that submissives are told to use Mr./Ms. and Sir/Ma’am when addressing people even if they are asked not to by the person being addressed.  I was told early on that others were believing I was involved in these groups because I was respectful.

What has the world come to when you cannot treat others with respect just because they are human beings?  Yes, I still cringe when not treated with respect, especially by children.  However, I learned to not care what others think in Second Life ®  and still continue to address people with respect.  In real life (and other places on-line) I continue to do the same.  I will address people with Mr./Mrs and their last name unless introduced only with the first name or until that person invites me to address them in a more informal manner.

Respect should never be out of fashion.  We should always show we have respect for others, even if it is just because they are a human being.

This scene reminded me of my grandmother years ago. She had Type 2 Diabetes and back then you pretty much went to one doctor and since he was “educated” you trusted him.  My grandmother didn’t ask questions, but took what the doctor said as being the bottom-line truth.  She took more medications then I could count (and I tried since I was, at one point, responsible for giving her her medications each day).  I was a young teen and didn’t know any better so I accepted what was said by the doctor via my grandmother.

In the present day, I consider my own illness.  When I saw my ENT for the first time and he ordered a bunch of tests, I looked over the slip of paper in my hand.  At this time we were trying to determine what was causing me to suffer from vertigo.  He had just ruled out inner-ear infection which was my speculation.  Having worked in a doctor’s lab which ran blood tests and such, I knew most of the tests on the list.  The ones I didn’t recognize, I brought the doctor back in the exam room and questioned.  It was a good thing I did as one of the tests the phlebotomists in my primary doctor’s office had never heard of either. 

Through the entire seven month process of diagnosing me, I questioned.  I asked every question I could think of.  I went on the internet and researched.  In this modern age we are forced to reside in, we have no excuse to remain silent with our doctors.  I know my body better then they do (everyone should get to know their body better).  Many doctors still take offense if you know more about you then they do.  But if it is the first time they are seeing you, how can they know you better?

Let me go back to a previous thought – Get to know your own body.  Allow me to repeat that – GET TO KNOW YOUR OWN BODY!!  When I moved to Knoxville and my previous doctor in Morristown referred me to my current doctor, I went in for my first physical exam with him.  I told him straight up my normal temperature (which is not 98.6), my normal blood pressure and other idiosyncrasies of my body.  (There are ways to determine your normal BP, temperature and other thing)  At one point in the exam he stepped back, looked at me and said, “You’re a singer, aren’t you?”  In his many years of practice he had come to see that singers tend to know their bodies better then the average person.  I would have thought athletes would be in that class, but apparently not.  Know yourself inside and out.  You are the only one who can tell your doctor things to help him help you instead of him playing guessing games and you getting sicker.

If your doctor is requesting tests, especially if he has never requested them before, find out what the test is and exactly why he is requesting it.  I once suffered from headaches for a few months and was seeing a transitional doctor who took offense that I knew myself better than he knew me.  I was thinking the headaches had something to do with an illness I had just before they started which this doctor said was the flu (it wasn’t).  I said I had headaches to him and he had me move my head around and said, “I think you have a brain tumor”.  I nearly fell off the table.  He ran all kinds of tests and found nothing.  I still held to the fact it was that I had an infection (I rarely get fevers and if I do, since my normal body temp is lower than the average, it doesn’t register as a fever).  I still had some left over antibiotics from where my oral surgeon switched them out when I had my wisdom teeth removed several months before.  I took those and the headaches went away as did other minor symptoms I still had.

Bottom line on this post is to be smart.  Get to know your body.  If you are unwell and need to go to the doctor, have a list of questions to ask your doctor.  You are paying for his time, don’t let him rush you.  Ask the questions until you are satisfied with the answers and know what is going on.  You are part of your medical team.  Even if you don’t have a chronic illness like I do, you still have a team of doctors (GP, Eye doctor, dentist, OB/GYN, etc) who all should have one goal – to keep you healthy.  Make the most of it.