After reading (and finally getting time to discuss with me) the collaboration post between BabsRN , Ambulance Driver and MattG Farmmom said to me:
"You know, the only way that could have been better, is if they'd had someone in Traffic Control collaborating too."
She's right, too. The things that we have to deal with at the scene of a wreck within our zone sometimes touch on what the cops or paramedics have to deal with as well, but they're often entirely different.
'Course, I've had state troopers tell me they were glad the accident happened where it did, because this way, *they* didn't have to deal with traffic.
Thanks, bud, I appreciate that. Meanwhile, I'll go back to telling a string of pissed off truckers that the fastest way to get to where they're going is to detour seventy miles out of their way, and then backtrack that same seventy miles when they hit the interstate......
Wednesday, August 1, 2007
Self Defense
Reading through archives on my occasional jaunts through other's blogrolls (gotta get one of those set up one of these days....) I've found a lot in the little sphere that I seem to have landed in that relates to self defense.
In particular, I've found a surprising amount that relates to WOMEN'S self defense.
Many Kudos to everyone who has posted about this topic with helpful hints, tips, and rants. None of it can ever be said enough.
I say that because I know women who haven't the faintest idea how to defend themselves, and refuse to learn. Or are afraid to learn. Needless to say, I try to remedy that wherever I can.
Don't get me wrong, I don't consider myself "highly trained" or anything. I have a little bit of training that I use to best advantage, and a mental standpoint that NO ONE has the right to hurt me, period.
Plus, I cheat.
A fair fight is fantastic for the playground, or two highschool kids trying to work out the pecking order. But, when it comes to my personal safety? Oh HELL no, I am NOT exchanging punches with an attacker that is almost guaranteed to outweigh, and out class me in the reach and upper body strength departments.
Unless, you know, I'm attacked by an anorexic midget, its a pretty sure bet that an attacker, especially male, will be bigger than I am.
So, I cheat. Kneecaps, eyeballs, manballs, breasts, solar plexus, the bridge of the nose, under the chin, anywhere that hurts like hell when its hit scratched bitten kneed or yanked on, thats what you go for.
Its always best not to fight, so practice watching for the best places to run to... busy intersections, into stores/office buildings. And ladies? Practice your scream. I'm serious here, go out into the middle of nowhere and practice screaming as loud and with as much ear peircing tone as you can put into it. You don't know how to sing, and sing well, until you've practiced. Experiment a little with different formations of your mouth and different strengths of pressure on your diaphragm.. does it make a difference? Would you have screamed that way in an emergency? No? Well now you know how to manipulate your voice to be heard at the furthest distance by the largest number of people possible.
Don't try to say anything in your scream, the simple fact that you're screaming like a banshee will alert people that Something Bad is happening. Words come after that. "Help!" "This man is hurting me!" "You sorry son of a..... LET GO!" You cannot effectively scream, really scream, while trying simultaneously to form words. Try it. Men, you try it also, because you never know when screaming like a girl will bring the help that you need in a bad situation.
Besides... going out with friends into the middle of nowhere and screaming your heads off seeing who can scream louder? Kind of fun.
Never discount ordinary objects as weapons, either.
Women who are opposed to carrying a "dangerous weapon" on their persons... You have your car/house keys, right? Hold them in a fist, so that at least some of the keys stick out between your fingers. Voila, one extremely useful weapon if you are unable to apply the "scream and run" plan. You can scratch by swinging your arm, or you can punch for the face/eyes and seriously hurt your attacker. Probably well enough, especially if you hit hard enough (punch THROUGH his face ladies, your target is *behind* his head) and accurately enough to puncture an eyeball.
A lot of the women and girls who are afraid of protecting themselves are now going "ewwww" and "but I *couldn't*!"
If you "couldn't" then I hope you're ready to be beat up, raped, and killed. In that order, quite possibly.
I am deadly serious here ladies... If you refuse to protect YOURSELF, and instead rely on others, your father, your husband, your brother, the police, the general public, ANYONE else, to do it for you, then you MUST assume that one day, they are NOT going to be there.
You are *going* to be all alone. You are *going* to be in a dark, secluded place. There *is* going to be a Bad Man (or Woman) there with you, and they *are* going to do whatever the hell they want to with you.
Unless you get violent enough to stop them.
Because, my gentle female friends, sobbing, begging, and trembling are NOT impressive.
And guess what? By not standing up for yourself, your personal safety and the inviolability of your person, you are handing them the right to do it, in their minds. If you can't stop them, then they have every right to do whatever their sick little minds come up with.
Oh, and every single thing you do to stand up for yourself? Makes you less of a target. It makes you seem like harder prey, and predators always go after the easiest prey available.
No coyote will try to take down a full grown, pissed off cow, if there's a sickly, weak calf in the herd.
And ladies, as difficult as this concept might be, you have to accept it, and plan on it. When (not if, when you think in if's, you never really believe it will happen to you, so think WHEN) you're attacked, your attacker might succeed in raping, or even killing you.
Your job, in this instance, is to make him as instantly recognizable as possible. Mark him, ladies. Mark his face, his neck, his hands, scratch and bite and kick and make as much of an impression on his physical appearance as you can.
Get his skin under your fingernails, make as many scratches on his face as you can. He can't hide his face forever. Scar the bastard. Make sure that he will have a definite mark of the fact that HE was the one who attacked you. Make sure, if you can, that he has a permanent reminder for the rest of his life that he can NOT attack you in any way and get off scott free. Draw blood, repeatedly. Bite off earlobes, take a chunk out of his neck or shoulder or arm, spit it out, and do it again.
Because, ladies, whether you live or die, the police are going to be looking for this man. If you're alive and conscious when the police find you, or you find them, tell them that you got his skin under your nails. Before they take their evidence do NOT wash any part of your body, do not pick pieces of him out from under your nails, between your teeth. Once they've got the evidence they need, some kind officer is sure to take you to a shower and let you scrub your skin raw if you feel the need. But until then, your entire body is evidence that will help them to find the man.
Tell them where you marked him, and how. Remember how his face looked, what body type he had, what color his hair and eyes were. Remember everything you can, because everything you remember brings them one step closer to catching him.
Because ladies, you must be prepared for the possibility, every day, that someone, somewhere, wants to hurt YOU, and that the only thing standing between them and hurting you is YOU.
In particular, I've found a surprising amount that relates to WOMEN'S self defense.
Many Kudos to everyone who has posted about this topic with helpful hints, tips, and rants. None of it can ever be said enough.
I say that because I know women who haven't the faintest idea how to defend themselves, and refuse to learn. Or are afraid to learn. Needless to say, I try to remedy that wherever I can.
Don't get me wrong, I don't consider myself "highly trained" or anything. I have a little bit of training that I use to best advantage, and a mental standpoint that NO ONE has the right to hurt me, period.
Plus, I cheat.
A fair fight is fantastic for the playground, or two highschool kids trying to work out the pecking order. But, when it comes to my personal safety? Oh HELL no, I am NOT exchanging punches with an attacker that is almost guaranteed to outweigh, and out class me in the reach and upper body strength departments.
Unless, you know, I'm attacked by an anorexic midget, its a pretty sure bet that an attacker, especially male, will be bigger than I am.
So, I cheat. Kneecaps, eyeballs, manballs, breasts, solar plexus, the bridge of the nose, under the chin, anywhere that hurts like hell when its hit scratched bitten kneed or yanked on, thats what you go for.
Its always best not to fight, so practice watching for the best places to run to... busy intersections, into stores/office buildings. And ladies? Practice your scream. I'm serious here, go out into the middle of nowhere and practice screaming as loud and with as much ear peircing tone as you can put into it. You don't know how to sing, and sing well, until you've practiced. Experiment a little with different formations of your mouth and different strengths of pressure on your diaphragm.. does it make a difference? Would you have screamed that way in an emergency? No? Well now you know how to manipulate your voice to be heard at the furthest distance by the largest number of people possible.
Don't try to say anything in your scream, the simple fact that you're screaming like a banshee will alert people that Something Bad is happening. Words come after that. "Help!" "This man is hurting me!" "You sorry son of a..... LET GO!" You cannot effectively scream, really scream, while trying simultaneously to form words. Try it. Men, you try it also, because you never know when screaming like a girl will bring the help that you need in a bad situation.
Besides... going out with friends into the middle of nowhere and screaming your heads off seeing who can scream louder? Kind of fun.
Never discount ordinary objects as weapons, either.
Women who are opposed to carrying a "dangerous weapon" on their persons... You have your car/house keys, right? Hold them in a fist, so that at least some of the keys stick out between your fingers. Voila, one extremely useful weapon if you are unable to apply the "scream and run" plan. You can scratch by swinging your arm, or you can punch for the face/eyes and seriously hurt your attacker. Probably well enough, especially if you hit hard enough (punch THROUGH his face ladies, your target is *behind* his head) and accurately enough to puncture an eyeball.
A lot of the women and girls who are afraid of protecting themselves are now going "ewwww" and "but I *couldn't*!"
If you "couldn't" then I hope you're ready to be beat up, raped, and killed. In that order, quite possibly.
I am deadly serious here ladies... If you refuse to protect YOURSELF, and instead rely on others, your father, your husband, your brother, the police, the general public, ANYONE else, to do it for you, then you MUST assume that one day, they are NOT going to be there.
You are *going* to be all alone. You are *going* to be in a dark, secluded place. There *is* going to be a Bad Man (or Woman) there with you, and they *are* going to do whatever the hell they want to with you.
Unless you get violent enough to stop them.
Because, my gentle female friends, sobbing, begging, and trembling are NOT impressive.
And guess what? By not standing up for yourself, your personal safety and the inviolability of your person, you are handing them the right to do it, in their minds. If you can't stop them, then they have every right to do whatever their sick little minds come up with.
Oh, and every single thing you do to stand up for yourself? Makes you less of a target. It makes you seem like harder prey, and predators always go after the easiest prey available.
No coyote will try to take down a full grown, pissed off cow, if there's a sickly, weak calf in the herd.
And ladies, as difficult as this concept might be, you have to accept it, and plan on it. When (not if, when you think in if's, you never really believe it will happen to you, so think WHEN) you're attacked, your attacker might succeed in raping, or even killing you.
Your job, in this instance, is to make him as instantly recognizable as possible. Mark him, ladies. Mark his face, his neck, his hands, scratch and bite and kick and make as much of an impression on his physical appearance as you can.
Get his skin under your fingernails, make as many scratches on his face as you can. He can't hide his face forever. Scar the bastard. Make sure that he will have a definite mark of the fact that HE was the one who attacked you. Make sure, if you can, that he has a permanent reminder for the rest of his life that he can NOT attack you in any way and get off scott free. Draw blood, repeatedly. Bite off earlobes, take a chunk out of his neck or shoulder or arm, spit it out, and do it again.
Because, ladies, whether you live or die, the police are going to be looking for this man. If you're alive and conscious when the police find you, or you find them, tell them that you got his skin under your nails. Before they take their evidence do NOT wash any part of your body, do not pick pieces of him out from under your nails, between your teeth. Once they've got the evidence they need, some kind officer is sure to take you to a shower and let you scrub your skin raw if you feel the need. But until then, your entire body is evidence that will help them to find the man.
Tell them where you marked him, and how. Remember how his face looked, what body type he had, what color his hair and eyes were. Remember everything you can, because everything you remember brings them one step closer to catching him.
Because ladies, you must be prepared for the possibility, every day, that someone, somewhere, wants to hurt YOU, and that the only thing standing between them and hurting you is YOU.
Credit to BabsRN
Yesterday I read a post over at BabsRN's blog about how guy friends rock.
I totally agree!
Apparently not everyone does, however, and some of the attitudes shown in the comments brought to mind some of the things that I've dealt with all my life, simply for being a "tomboy."
Yep. I am. Always have been.
When I was growing up, we spent a lot of time at my great grandmother's place, out in the country. Climbing trees and exploring pastures was always more fun than playing with dolls in the house.
My dad was also a police officer for ten years, and most of my memories from that time are from a town where most of the people he arrested on a regular basis were related to kids I was going to school with. It caused... friction. I learned to stand up for myself.
I've always related more to guys than to girls. With the exception of the other two of the Three Musketeers, my closest friends have all been guys.
And it has nothing to do with sex.
My guy friends have always been there for me. I've had guy friends who were just as available for me to cry on their shoulder over some jerk that broke my heart as to help me move heavy things.
Even though they were a little weirded out by the fact that I was in tears in the first place.
There is nothing in the world as comforting, when you're sixteen, as your guy friend awkwardly hugging you, and asking if you want him to go kick the guy's ass.
The healing process begins with the phrase "If I wanted his ass kicked I'd do it myself!"
The thing that some people don't seem to get though... I don't hang out with a bunch of guys because I like being the only female in the group, or for some twisted self esteem issue.
I hang out with guys 'cause they're more fun!
Very, very few women will suggest taking a .22 out and killing something as a stress release.
(*disclaimer: I realize that many women in the blogosphere would in fact do so, I'm talking about the women and girls that I have contact with here in my area.)
Not many women will look at a crazy hair dye job courtesy of your best friend and understand that its not about trends or fashion, but about having PURPLE hair.
And no women that I know would get a little tipsy and cook up a "brotherhood" plot of shaving their heads, and allowing people to film it.
Some of my guy friends should not be bald.
I simply cannot understand women who can't have an interpersonal relationship with a man without it being about sex, in some way or another.
Or the ones that think that *I* can't.
I don't need your issues, ladies. There is a small chance that you might be right, and a few of my guy friends might have once been interested in getting into my pants. A few of my guy friends have made it clear that if I ever got the inclination they'd jump on the opportunity... but ya know what? They don't push.
They value the *friendship.* Just as I do.
Thats another thing I've seen in girls, and I do mean girls and not women, although there's probably some of it there too...
Girls... when a guy says he wants to be friends, that is not code for keep hitting on me until I get drunk and give in. This will not result in a relationship. More likely, it will result in his friends, male and female, finding you annoying. And, if he does give up and sleep with you, it will result in his friends smacking him upside the head and calling him an idiot.
Just my take on things... probably not entirely coherent, I'm not completely caffeinated yet, but its the best I got, for the moment.
I totally agree!
Apparently not everyone does, however, and some of the attitudes shown in the comments brought to mind some of the things that I've dealt with all my life, simply for being a "tomboy."
Yep. I am. Always have been.
When I was growing up, we spent a lot of time at my great grandmother's place, out in the country. Climbing trees and exploring pastures was always more fun than playing with dolls in the house.
My dad was also a police officer for ten years, and most of my memories from that time are from a town where most of the people he arrested on a regular basis were related to kids I was going to school with. It caused... friction. I learned to stand up for myself.
I've always related more to guys than to girls. With the exception of the other two of the Three Musketeers, my closest friends have all been guys.
And it has nothing to do with sex.
My guy friends have always been there for me. I've had guy friends who were just as available for me to cry on their shoulder over some jerk that broke my heart as to help me move heavy things.
Even though they were a little weirded out by the fact that I was in tears in the first place.
There is nothing in the world as comforting, when you're sixteen, as your guy friend awkwardly hugging you, and asking if you want him to go kick the guy's ass.
The healing process begins with the phrase "If I wanted his ass kicked I'd do it myself!"
The thing that some people don't seem to get though... I don't hang out with a bunch of guys because I like being the only female in the group, or for some twisted self esteem issue.
I hang out with guys 'cause they're more fun!
Very, very few women will suggest taking a .22 out and killing something as a stress release.
(*disclaimer: I realize that many women in the blogosphere would in fact do so, I'm talking about the women and girls that I have contact with here in my area.)
Not many women will look at a crazy hair dye job courtesy of your best friend and understand that its not about trends or fashion, but about having PURPLE hair.
And no women that I know would get a little tipsy and cook up a "brotherhood" plot of shaving their heads, and allowing people to film it.
Some of my guy friends should not be bald.
I simply cannot understand women who can't have an interpersonal relationship with a man without it being about sex, in some way or another.
Or the ones that think that *I* can't.
I don't need your issues, ladies. There is a small chance that you might be right, and a few of my guy friends might have once been interested in getting into my pants. A few of my guy friends have made it clear that if I ever got the inclination they'd jump on the opportunity... but ya know what? They don't push.
They value the *friendship.* Just as I do.
Thats another thing I've seen in girls, and I do mean girls and not women, although there's probably some of it there too...
Girls... when a guy says he wants to be friends, that is not code for keep hitting on me until I get drunk and give in. This will not result in a relationship. More likely, it will result in his friends, male and female, finding you annoying. And, if he does give up and sleep with you, it will result in his friends smacking him upside the head and calling him an idiot.
Just my take on things... probably not entirely coherent, I'm not completely caffeinated yet, but its the best I got, for the moment.
Tuesday, July 31, 2007
Job Possibilties
Went to Lamar yesterday, had a job interview at one of the veterinarians' office. Heard about it from the roomate of the girl that he's losing to college in Oklahoma.
I think the interview went well, he seemed pleased with my answers to the questions on the application, anyway.
(What is more important, the animals we see or the clients we deal with? Animals!)
The job is, as he described it, a "Girl Friday" job. Basically whatever he needs doing, I would do. Nothing that he listed is anything I have a problem with, so I'm cool with that. I had to grin at hearing the phrase "Girl Friday" because its been a while since I've run across it, and then it was in an old detective drama novel.
He seemed really excited about hiring me, right then and there, then he asked about my schedule, and winced.
He's going to try to figure out how to make it work, and call me within a week. He even said that if he could figure out a way to make the schedule sit up and dance, we could try it for two weeks. He was impressed with my volunteering to work after normal business hours, I think.
Of course, he also seemed pleased with my experience at bottle feeding various mammals, and my experience with cattle.
So, if he doesn't call me in a week, I'm supposed to call him. I've got my fingers crossed on this one because he seems like he would be a lot of fun to work with.
Oh, and because of the office cat, who has one of those "I'm so stupid I'm cute!" faces, and three legs. Not that it slows the cat down any. We played and petted and fought while I was waiting for my interview.
Also talked to the sister in law's stepmom about a telecommuting job thingy that she had done, which is one that I'd found already, but its a bonus to know that its legit, even if it is being a home-based call center rep. Not gonna get involved with that one until I know I can't get anything else that I've applied for, though. The application for it is online, and I'll hear one way or another from it in a short enough period that I'm pretty comfortable not starting the extremely involved process until I know I need to.
Two weeks from tomorrow, I have my first class. YAY! and DANGIT! I'm glad to be going back to school but I would dearly love to have just a teensy bit more time. Ah well, I don't, so I'll deal with what I have.
I think the interview went well, he seemed pleased with my answers to the questions on the application, anyway.
(What is more important, the animals we see or the clients we deal with? Animals!)
The job is, as he described it, a "Girl Friday" job. Basically whatever he needs doing, I would do. Nothing that he listed is anything I have a problem with, so I'm cool with that. I had to grin at hearing the phrase "Girl Friday" because its been a while since I've run across it, and then it was in an old detective drama novel.
He seemed really excited about hiring me, right then and there, then he asked about my schedule, and winced.
He's going to try to figure out how to make it work, and call me within a week. He even said that if he could figure out a way to make the schedule sit up and dance, we could try it for two weeks. He was impressed with my volunteering to work after normal business hours, I think.
Of course, he also seemed pleased with my experience at bottle feeding various mammals, and my experience with cattle.
So, if he doesn't call me in a week, I'm supposed to call him. I've got my fingers crossed on this one because he seems like he would be a lot of fun to work with.
Oh, and because of the office cat, who has one of those "I'm so stupid I'm cute!" faces, and three legs. Not that it slows the cat down any. We played and petted and fought while I was waiting for my interview.
Also talked to the sister in law's stepmom about a telecommuting job thingy that she had done, which is one that I'd found already, but its a bonus to know that its legit, even if it is being a home-based call center rep. Not gonna get involved with that one until I know I can't get anything else that I've applied for, though. The application for it is online, and I'll hear one way or another from it in a short enough period that I'm pretty comfortable not starting the extremely involved process until I know I need to.
Two weeks from tomorrow, I have my first class. YAY! and DANGIT! I'm glad to be going back to school but I would dearly love to have just a teensy bit more time. Ah well, I don't, so I'll deal with what I have.
Monday, July 30, 2007
Threatened with a Puppy
I'm being threatened with a schnauzer puppy.
One of my friends' daughter received a white schnauzer puppy for Christmas. When my friend told me how rare white schnauzers are, I mentioned that since the puppy was female and already guaranteed to be carrying the gene for the white color, she might be able to start breeding her when she reached maturity and maybe make the money she'd spent on the pup back, and a little more.
Apparently, she laughingly passed this on to her husband, who promptly went out and bought another schnauzer puppy. This one black.
So now my friend is threatening to gift me with a puppy from the first litter. I've delayed this occurrence by making a recommendation that they wait until at least the second heat to breed the little female, since she was the runt, and the male is already larger than she is, even though he's a couple of months younger.
But I think she's gonna cheat and have her daughter give the puppy to me. She knows me well enough to know that I won't refuse a gift from a seven year old, and hurt the little girl's feelings.
*Sigh* At least its not a great dane, right?
One of my friends' daughter received a white schnauzer puppy for Christmas. When my friend told me how rare white schnauzers are, I mentioned that since the puppy was female and already guaranteed to be carrying the gene for the white color, she might be able to start breeding her when she reached maturity and maybe make the money she'd spent on the pup back, and a little more.
Apparently, she laughingly passed this on to her husband, who promptly went out and bought another schnauzer puppy. This one black.
So now my friend is threatening to gift me with a puppy from the first litter. I've delayed this occurrence by making a recommendation that they wait until at least the second heat to breed the little female, since she was the runt, and the male is already larger than she is, even though he's a couple of months younger.
But I think she's gonna cheat and have her daughter give the puppy to me. She knows me well enough to know that I won't refuse a gift from a seven year old, and hurt the little girl's feelings.
*Sigh* At least its not a great dane, right?
Saturday, July 28, 2007
Time's A-Wastin...
Well, time is rolling on towards school starting and I'm figuring things out slowly but surely.
F'rinstance... I just applied for a student loan. A $3500 student loan will cover eight months worth of rent, and I'll probably pay it in advance. Just so's I don't have to worry about it.
In the mean time I have enough to pay my first month's rent, so first thing Monday I'm calling the apartment complex and jumping all over the one remaining one bedroom.
If I don't, it'll probably be gone. As a matter of fact I may try calling tomorrow, set up to go sign the lease Monday. And cross my fingers that some better-financed person hasn't already snapped it up.
If I don't get the loan... I've got a couple of leads on jobs, which I'll check out Monday.
Monday is going to be a very busy day, I think.
F'rinstance... I just applied for a student loan. A $3500 student loan will cover eight months worth of rent, and I'll probably pay it in advance. Just so's I don't have to worry about it.
In the mean time I have enough to pay my first month's rent, so first thing Monday I'm calling the apartment complex and jumping all over the one remaining one bedroom.
If I don't, it'll probably be gone. As a matter of fact I may try calling tomorrow, set up to go sign the lease Monday. And cross my fingers that some better-financed person hasn't already snapped it up.
If I don't get the loan... I've got a couple of leads on jobs, which I'll check out Monday.
Monday is going to be a very busy day, I think.
Friday, July 27, 2007
Inspiration... sort of.
Reading the collaborative post between MattG, Ambulance Driver, and BabsRN has reminded me of things that I normally leave hovering in the back of my mind.
They're the crappy things that happen when you're growing up that you try to forget, until the memories pounce on you from out of nowhere, and sometimes out of everywhere.
See, the part about the kid dying... thats what did it for me. We have about one major wreck involving one of the young people a year, usually around prom time.
One year, it was Mitch.
Mitch was being a nice guy, giving a drunk friend a ride home after the after-after prom party. She lived out in the country... Mitch never made it back to town. They figured that he either fell asleep, or was leaned over looking for something in the floorboards, when he went head on with a semi.
They had a hard time sorting him and his dog out, afterwards.
There are three different crosses on the side of the road for Mitch, and his family keeps the area mowed, they decorate for Christmas... one year someone impaled a jack-o-lantern on top of one of the crosses, but that didn't last long.
That was the kind of thing Mitch would have loved, though. My clearest memories of him are from junior high, not long before he died, when he would come running through our cheerleading practices quoting Beavis and Butthead at the top of his lungs. If you looked down, he'd hug you. If you looked upset, he'd hug you and ask what was wrong. He always tried to make people laugh. Thats what I remember, the things that made me smile, rather than the shock the next morning.
Then there was Aaron. Aaron was a great guy, a couple years older than my brother, but never too busy to listen, and help if he could. I remember spending hours talking about stupid problems while he patiently listened, offered advice, and tossed pizza dough at his job. I remember shedding a couple of tears when he went away to the Air Force. I would miss him, but I knew I'd see him again.
He came home after Basic, or whatever they call it in the Air Force. I knew he was in town but hadn't had a chance to catch up with him yet, and I was looking forward to it.
Then one night mom took me aside. She told me that Aaron had died, stepped in front of a train. I remember my knees going out from under me, they just wouldn't hold me anymore. I remember going out, even though it was late, looking for more information. For some reason I thought if I could find out what had happened, it would all be ok.
I found out, and it wasn't ok. Apparently Aaron must've had a hard time of it since he left home, because he was a little depressed by the time he got back... and then found out his "girl back home" had been playing "girl next door" for several guys. She Dear Johnned him, and he decided there wasn't anything left for him.
I remember running into her. I remember her laughing about something, laughing on that night of all nights... and then I remember two of my brother's friends holding me against a vehicle, talking some nonsense about how she wasn't worth it. To this day I can't remember what I did in between. Grief does strange things to you, I guess.
Months later, my gym class was having a mandatory alcohol education session, and the teacher made the mistake of saying "Yeah, alcohol makes you think you're tough as nails... or tough as rails..." and chuckling.
Most of the class sat there slack jawed, one girl ran from the room in tears, and I forgot everything I'd ever learned about respect for your elders. That teacher and I had a "discussion" right there.
No faster way to lose my respect than to mouth off about things you're only half-informed about, and make a joke out of the death of one of my friends at the same time.
Yes, there was alcohol at the scene. Yes, there was a six pack of corona, minus two, in the car. Yes, its entirely possible that Aaron had had a couple before he stepped in front of a train with a beer in each hand and his favorite song blaring on his car stereo. But he wasn't completely drunk. He didn't step in front of a train because he didn't know what he was doing. He made a choice. A choice that, sometimes, still makes me want to bring him back just so that I can kick his ass, but a choice nonetheless.
I'll never stop missing Aaron. I'm not sure I'll ever be able to forgive him, either, but I'll always miss him.
They're the crappy things that happen when you're growing up that you try to forget, until the memories pounce on you from out of nowhere, and sometimes out of everywhere.
See, the part about the kid dying... thats what did it for me. We have about one major wreck involving one of the young people a year, usually around prom time.
One year, it was Mitch.
Mitch was being a nice guy, giving a drunk friend a ride home after the after-after prom party. She lived out in the country... Mitch never made it back to town. They figured that he either fell asleep, or was leaned over looking for something in the floorboards, when he went head on with a semi.
They had a hard time sorting him and his dog out, afterwards.
There are three different crosses on the side of the road for Mitch, and his family keeps the area mowed, they decorate for Christmas... one year someone impaled a jack-o-lantern on top of one of the crosses, but that didn't last long.
That was the kind of thing Mitch would have loved, though. My clearest memories of him are from junior high, not long before he died, when he would come running through our cheerleading practices quoting Beavis and Butthead at the top of his lungs. If you looked down, he'd hug you. If you looked upset, he'd hug you and ask what was wrong. He always tried to make people laugh. Thats what I remember, the things that made me smile, rather than the shock the next morning.
Then there was Aaron. Aaron was a great guy, a couple years older than my brother, but never too busy to listen, and help if he could. I remember spending hours talking about stupid problems while he patiently listened, offered advice, and tossed pizza dough at his job. I remember shedding a couple of tears when he went away to the Air Force. I would miss him, but I knew I'd see him again.
He came home after Basic, or whatever they call it in the Air Force. I knew he was in town but hadn't had a chance to catch up with him yet, and I was looking forward to it.
Then one night mom took me aside. She told me that Aaron had died, stepped in front of a train. I remember my knees going out from under me, they just wouldn't hold me anymore. I remember going out, even though it was late, looking for more information. For some reason I thought if I could find out what had happened, it would all be ok.
I found out, and it wasn't ok. Apparently Aaron must've had a hard time of it since he left home, because he was a little depressed by the time he got back... and then found out his "girl back home" had been playing "girl next door" for several guys. She Dear Johnned him, and he decided there wasn't anything left for him.
I remember running into her. I remember her laughing about something, laughing on that night of all nights... and then I remember two of my brother's friends holding me against a vehicle, talking some nonsense about how she wasn't worth it. To this day I can't remember what I did in between. Grief does strange things to you, I guess.
Months later, my gym class was having a mandatory alcohol education session, and the teacher made the mistake of saying "Yeah, alcohol makes you think you're tough as nails... or tough as rails..." and chuckling.
Most of the class sat there slack jawed, one girl ran from the room in tears, and I forgot everything I'd ever learned about respect for your elders. That teacher and I had a "discussion" right there.
No faster way to lose my respect than to mouth off about things you're only half-informed about, and make a joke out of the death of one of my friends at the same time.
Yes, there was alcohol at the scene. Yes, there was a six pack of corona, minus two, in the car. Yes, its entirely possible that Aaron had had a couple before he stepped in front of a train with a beer in each hand and his favorite song blaring on his car stereo. But he wasn't completely drunk. He didn't step in front of a train because he didn't know what he was doing. He made a choice. A choice that, sometimes, still makes me want to bring him back just so that I can kick his ass, but a choice nonetheless.
I'll never stop missing Aaron. I'm not sure I'll ever be able to forgive him, either, but I'll always miss him.
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