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Boofshavik
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read my profile
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Name: Jordan
Country: United States
State: Texas
Metro: Waco
Birthday: 3/18/1983
Gender: Male
Interests: Behavior, Brewing and Baseball (also disc golf, and other transient obsessions)
Expertise: Social neuroscience, Alton Brown
Message: message me
Website: visit my website
Member Since:
4/25/2003
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| D-Day for Me:
I need your help
In my last entry, I mentioned that my grandfather's scars taught me a lot about what it means to follow your honor and sacrifice for others. I also mentioned two heroes who had recently been lost to me, and that the lessons of my family had driven me to do things in my own life to prevent the untimely loss and suffering of friends and family.
Over the last several years, LaRae and I have lost several people to blood cancers. We've seen them suffer and ultimately fall to their bodies attacking themselves and their medical aid. I've watched friends and family purposefully get up every morning for weeks to go spend thousands of dollars to poison themselves in hopes that they'll kill off the right cells along with the wrong ones.
I'm tired of standing idly by and letting these people fight by themselves. I'm going to do something about it.
I'm a scientist. I spend the majority of my days in a lab playing with statistics and people. The best thing I could do is find a cure, but I don't have the expertise or the funding. The next best thing would be to provide patient care, to develop a system where people with Leukemia or Lymphoma could be cared for throughout their treatments...but I don't have the space or the organizational acumen.
But I can run. Not very well. I'm overweight and I enjoy good beer. But I can run.
So I will run. On October 7th I will run the Chicago Marathon for the Leukemia and Lymphoma society. Along the 50,000 steps of that marathon and the 10,000,000 or so prior to it, I will have my friend Cory C. in the front of my mind. I know Cory through Baylor. He has struggled with cancer for more than the 6 years that I've known him. He's been through dozens of chemo regimens, each knocking him out of commission for weeks at a time. I've seen him in absolutely horrendous shape. But I have never seen him with a low spirit. This gentleman has faced some of the most difficult things in life and has done so with humility and an infectious excitement about life that still stuns me...and I research this stuff for a living.
So this is my D-Day. Not to lesson the sacrifice of those boys who went ashore at Omaha Beach, but to say that I have learned a lesson from their sacrifices. My training will be tough. But my running the hills of Cameron Park in a Texas summer is nothing compared to the years of medical care, the months of chemotherapy and the endless needles that people like Cory have to endure. To the thousands of leukemia patients, every day is a test of endurance that I cannot imagine; theirs is the longer race.
People like Cory have a much better outlook now than they did just a few years ago, largely due to the efforts of The Leukemia and Lymphoma Society. The funds that they raise go to support research, medical aid and patient support across the U.S. The commitment I've made to Cory, the Society, and others is to raise $4,000 toward that goal. And I need your help.
You can track my progress in both running and fundraising at my personal running site (http://www.active.com/donate/tntctx/Boof). There I'll update on my distance and my personal heroes, and there you can donate directly (and 100% tax deductively) to the cause.
Thank you to my family for teaching me that these kinds of things are important. And from the true endurance athletes - the ones who fight off their own bodies every day with chronic illness - thank you too.
Please visit my site and help me run for Cory.
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| We took flowers...
Monday morning, he would wake me up and I would roll groggily out of bed or off of the couch and in to the car. We would listen to Billy Joel's Stormfront album, or Barton & Sweeny, and head north on I-44. A road I rarely traveled. We'd stop at the station on the turnpike at the then world's largest McDonald's and pick up some Mt. Dew, some laffy taffy, and some flowers.
Always the flowers.
About the time we reached the exit on 44, he would start telling me about his memories of this place. What it was like to be there. What his father was like before I knew him. He sold RVs. Sometimes well, sometimes not. He was a hard man. But there was love in him, if you knew where to look. He would tell me about his mother. Her life in the lucid and not-so-lucid times. He would tell me bits of her incredible fantasies that simply could not be made up. Then we would slowly pass the old house, and he would tell me about the cellar. The harder times and the happier times. He would tell me what he never wanted me to feel, and what he wanted me to always feel.
Finally, we would make our way to the small cemetery. I remember it well. Tree lined gravel road leading up to the small chain link fence (always well-kept) and then the plots, next to one another, just a little ways off the road. Paul and Roberta LaBouff. He would tell me of Grandpa's involvement in WWII. He was in the Normandy Invasion. Third wave. Cleanup. While he'd never speak of it, it was obvious that it was more than formative for him. We'd lay the flowers. Then take a moment, and wander on.
We would spend several minutes looking over the stones of the Bump family (his mother's unfortunate maiden name.) He would explain how they were related, where their offspring might be, and when he had seen them last. We would always take extra time at Marty's stone though. Marty was more brother than cousin. I always knew that he Marty's death had marked him more deeply than he'd ever really admit to himself. I think it showed him a path that could have been his. Thank God it wasn't.
All the while people would be coming and going, probably the same people every year, though we never acknowledged one another. Laying flags, flowers, telling their own stories. Finally, we'd get back in the car, "not start the fire" for the 3,000th time, and head home.
It was always just us, Dad and me. Those Memorial Day trips are some of the most interesting childhood memories I have because they taught me so much. They taught me a lot about my father. But through the stories about my grandpa they taught me about sacrifice. About how honor, no matter how great, can absolutely scar a man. About how there may be no price too great to pay for a worthy cause. They taught me that the love of a family is sometimes tenuous, but nearly indestructible at its core, for even the darkest of memories carried with them a kind of reverence...
Those trips taught me why we celebrate this day. They taught me what kind of man my father is, and ultimately, what kind of man I am. I miss those shady oaks and that worn out cassette. I miss the man under that stone too, his boots that I would cling to as we shuffled off to Shoney's or the arcade.
But most of all, I miss going to visit the graves of people that I have not had to bury. Tomorrow, I'll attend the funeral of an honored friend and veteran. On Wednesday, I'll attend another veteran's funeral. A veteran of America's wars and Baylor's: Herbert H. Reynolds. The unexpected deaths of these men and others are leading me to do things in my own life to try to prevent them. I'll write more about that in the future.
Tonight, I just want to say thank you to those who serve. Know that even when you feel you're not recognized, someone is thinking of those shady oaks and the flowers. Always the flowers.
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They say it's your birthday
Today, somewhere in the rolling green hills of northeastern Oklahoma a great man creeps one year closer
to the dreaded AARP. While this gentleman has had 48 years to learn a few
things, I'm sad that I've only so far had 23 to learn things from him.
Judging by his entry today, he
doesn't seem to think he's learned all that much. I want to take a moment
to share a scant few of the lessons that I've learned from him.
· Do what feeds your soul -There are a
multitude of pressures in the world that will steer you towards and away from
interests and pursuits. If weasel urine (beer) and football feed your
soul, then you're doing yourself and your friends a disservice by avoiding it
because they want you to. If musical theatre feeds your soul, then you
harm yourself by buying in to societal gender identity nonsense and ignoring
it. If a typically non-productive undergraduate major feeds your soul,
you'd better go after it with everything you have.
· Family can be friends - Friendship is
defined by someone who will stand by you unwaveringly. Someone who will
have no fear of correcting you when you start down the wrong path but who will
refuse to leave you there. Someone who will use all of their resources to
ensure your success and for whom you will give all of yours.
(Aside: I mean really, I sprung so many so expensive things on this
guy...I can't believe how tactfully he handled how maddening I had to have
been.) Friendship is unconditional and though always changing, never
fading. This man has taught me that family, parents in particular, can
perhaps demonstrate friendship better than any other relationship. I am
as proud to call him my friend as I am to call him my father.
· Making mistakes happens - It is
ridiculous to live a life in fear of failure. Everyone, at some point,
will make a galactic mistake or twenty. The real character of a person is
dependant upon their response to those mistakes. Perfection, and
even perfect responses to mistakes is impossible. But fulfilling your
obligation to own up to failure is a cornerstone of a good person.
Realizing that you are just as capable of making the mistakes that others have
made against you also breeds empathy.
· Meet each person, not a group of people
- My father has introduced me to some of the most eclectic people in the
world. I'll never forget (coming from a southern Baptist background) my
day-long state of shock when I sold tobacco and alcohol to the pastor of the church
(and good friend of Dad's). I don't know that there's a culture on earth
that Dad has not encountered in some way and demonstrated that the stereotypes
about it just aren't worth paying attention to. Every single person has a
story. The fabric of those stories is what makes up our
communities. If you discount someone's story because of ANY preconceived
classification...well...your rug is going to be missing some crucial
threads. It may even fall apart. Talk to the rabbi (and even be
scared that their synagogue will fall when they march around it 7 times).
Befriend the irritating wannabe rock star; she's got some great stories.
Spend time getting to know individuals and every single one of them will hold a
surprise for you.
· Never whore yourself - There is not
enough money in the world for you to have to do something that makes you
genuinely unhappy. If a customer makes your life miserable, then your
obligation is to fulfill your part of the bargain to the absolute best of your
ability and then cease doing business with that person. If a boss or a
mentor is directing you towards something that makes every day a chore instead
of a joy, it's time to find something else. This isn't to say "never
do things you don't like." There are plenty of times where the right
thing to do is to persevere. You have control over the long-term goals in
your life. Do not sandbag them for brief financial security.
· There is never an excuse for not helping
another human - Growing up, my Dad and I very rarely talked about ideology
or politics. Somehow, somewhere, we ended up coming to the majority of
the same conclusions about things. Which, considering the strange
placement of our convictions across the political spectrum is quite amazing.
The foundational principal of my guiding ideology I see evidenced in him on a
daily basis - Your primary obligation as a human is to help other humans.
Whether it be short-term (picking up some dropped groceries) or long-term
(responding to global crises) aid, there is never a valid excuse to not follow
through with your actions what you spew in words. Several huge examples
of his behavior in this regard are...quite evident. I admire his humility
in bringing another friend into his home who needed a little hand. His
example makes it very difficult for me to say, "I'm too busy," or
"I don't have the cash either."
I wouldn't want to give a wrong
impression of my Dad. These dramatic things are lessons learned over
years of his successes and missteps. I've learned a lot of other very
important lessons from him that I use on a daily basis:
- Mountain Dew and Hostess
Cupcakes is fuel enough for anything you need to do between the time you
awake and 3:00pm.
- Never, EVER let something
near your forehead reflect light when playing paintball against an evil
preteen son.
- A bachelor's kitchen is fully
stocked if there's mayo and meat (bread optional.)
- Altitude sickness and the flu
is not an excuse to not ski
- Just do what she wants.
Really. You'll be better off for it.
- If you happen to run into a
co-worker dressed in leather at the horse races...don't mention it at work
the next day.
- There is no church name that
cannot be turned into something funny.
- There are few things better
than making music with friends.
- Being a "warrior
monk" is a pretty sweet gig.
- And many, many more.
So here's to you, Dad. At 48 you lived more than many of with wizened old
profs I work with on a daily basis. There are more people in the world
who owe their happiness to you than you'll ever know. I look forward to
the LONG DISTANT day when I can share your lessons with my own children.
Have a wonderful birthday, Dad. I hope the candle in your hostess cupcake
doesn't melt too fast.
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Sharing with Strangers
Mark LaBouff's funny and very true post sparked something I've been thinking about for a while.
In my short vocational life, I've had a rather large number of jobs spanning many different sectors of society. I've been everything from an oil field hand, truck unloader, and convenience store clerk to a college professor all to make a buck or two. In that time, I've learned a thing or two about how our culture interacts with strangers in a business as well as in a social environment. What I see makes me sad.
We, as a culture and a nation, have forgotten about hospitality and what it means to be hospitable. Customer Service exists, but it only exists anymore as part of a business model, an attempt to increase profit margin. Where once customer service and hospitality sprang from a mom and pop owners pride in their business and interest in strangers, it's now lost its direction as part of a culture of mutual human respect and got co-opted into Wal-Marts and Gas Stations. "Hi sweetie! How are you doing today?" is no longer a reflection of personal interest, it's one of the 10 things you have to say to a customer at QuikTrip if you want your hospitality bonus if the customer is a secret shopper. The point where hospitality becomes scripted is the point where it ceases to be hospitality. I think that's why we don't do it very well anymore. It's disengenous from the start. Civility, Service, Kindness, what good are they if the goal of giving them is to receive something? They lose their power. They lose their place.
The problem doesn't just lie with the businesses. We, as customers, are too busy, isolated, and detatched to bother to accept hospitality when it's offered. We don't do things (like say, eat) with strangers. We'd rather grab a Big Mac or some Chili's Ribs than stop at that shoddy diner a little off the path where you might actually have to ask a stranger to pass the potatos. We're so busy rating experiences with comment cards and criticizing things that we've forgotten how to just...do things with fellow human beings.
I tend to think that experiences and services are at their best when they're both unexpected and delivered with a level of hospitality that puts you in a position of having the grace to accept it. This is completely left out of corporate customer service and typical rushed acceptance. It's become a big show - a Cirque du Soleil with frosties - when in reality, the ultimate act of hospitality is being gracious enough to accept what is given to you gratefully. When we realize that we're important to the company because of the money that you spend. We can couple that with the understanding that we can also be important to Sammy, the 16 year old behind the register where you're picking up your thirteenth can of spray paint because nothing seems to be working just because we bother to call him by name and thank him for his help.
He might not notice, but it might brighten his day, or encourage someone behind you in line to do the same. It might inspire the young one you've got with you to recognize the humanity that's left in service and try to bring it back out once they start swiping your credit card everywhere they go. It might make you feel a little bit better knowing that you didn't just "run down to Wal-Mart for something." Instead, you ran down the street to grab something you needed from Sammy, that kid who always is so helpful at the paint counter.
Service, like any human relationship, is two way. One of the things I've relished since coming back to Waco is finding those places again where the customers are known as individuals and respected for such. I can walk in to Don's Humidor here in town and Cindy will ask how I liked the last tobacco I tried (by name) and if I need some more. I don't think relationships like that are impossible at a Wal-Mart or a Wendy's either. The trick is graciousness and and acknowlegement that a blue smock doesn't take away someone's humanity.
*Thanks to Alton Brown for inspiration and a couple of choice phrases.
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| I'd really like to write the post about the need for a literal
resurrection, but I'm trying to move this week, and that makes thinking
long and hard about something rather difficult. I started it this
evening, but it wasn't flowing or making much sense, so I'll try to get
it out soon.
In the meantime, make plans to come help us move on Monday the 12th. :)
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