My Dream.

“Dedicated to DC, one of the most intelligent and beautiful young people I have ever had the fortune to meet.” Nyk

What wondrous form, my dreams invade?

A flame thought dying, did only fade?

Its glow, no ember, its form too pure

Illumes the night, of that, be sure!

What wraith be not, did appear to me,

With mystic orbs of azure sea?

Twas not fear I felt, nor tear did shed,

Judgment at peace within my head.

With no call to account, nor lie dispel,

Risen anew, did waif emerge from hell.

Past sleeping eyes, sweet smile did grace.

As slowly it neared, to touch my face.

Upon my lips, velvet touch did come,

Tender voice declare, “I am now someone.

Thank you.”

No Price on Humanity

Recently, I met a young person who is going through a very traumatic period of life that is quite similar to what I endured for a number of years. I do not want to embarrassed or cause any further issues so I will simply call refer to this person as DC.

While growing up, DC was subjected to a pretty rigid life in a controlled religious environs that stifled creativity and individual thinking. When my friend was able to escape the situation, DC was preyed upon by sexual predators and cast off like a used paper towel to end up living in a vehicle, rather than a home with love and caring.

One day, DC met someone who offered a place to stay in return for physical activities, none of which are important to this paper. I only mention them to set the proper tone. Desperately in need, DC agreed to the terms, a mistake soon regretted. However, not to be defeated, DC endured while establishing a community presence and finding work. All the while with the specter of home life demands weighing heavily. Predictably, those demands erupted into a very bad situation placing DC at risk for injury or worse, and once again homeless.

In the short time I have known DC, I’ve discovered a very sensitive and remarkably intelligent human being who has made some bad mistakes, none of which cannot be overcome. The problem now being an overabundance of advice confusing issues!

Yes, I said advice; DC is getting a lot of conflicting advice which is having a dramatically negative effect. It would be horrible for someone not in such a critical situation but is even worse for DC.

Who to trust?

Who to believe?

Who to turn to for help?

To the best of my knowledge, no one in DC’s group of friends has offered more than temporary assistance. It’s tragic, but true of human nature. Can I blame them? No, of course not, they think they are acting in DC’s best interests when in actuality, they are acting in their own by thinking theirs are the only answers to the problems.

This is the current state of many “humanitarian efforts” these days.

I think it great that people sympathize and are willing to help but unless they’ve walked the path, they can never empathize. To push someone such as DC to make life changing decisions at this time is almost an assault on emotions however necessary it may be. That may only be accomplished by one who has walked in DC’s shoes.

As I have done before with others I have promised DC housing, sustenance, help getting into college and whatever other things I can do to make life easier and more successful without unwelcome stipulations. DC alone must make the decision to accept or not. Whatever that decision is, I will not abandon DC as I was once abandoned by my family.

The problems being:

Who can DC trust?

Who can DC believe?

Who can DC turn to?

People who know me say Nyk, you’ve been crapped on before by people you’ve helped, why continue?

My answer is because I’m me.

I believe that if we do not try to help those in desperate need, we not only work against them, we may even be defeating ourselves. Imagine, perhaps DC might go on to create a cure for hunger or cancer; may become a great world leader or even possess the knowledge to end wars. We do not know, nor will we until we step up and believe in people like DC and keep our promises to help.

Hugs to all who need one today.

Papa Nyk

One Note Away

I love music, especially what I consider to be good music.

I can hear you now, “So what’s good music to you? Do you like symphonic, rap, country, folk, dance, jazz, what?”

My answer is always, yes, to which I usually hear: “Say what? or Huh?”

OK, so I’m eclectic (no, not electric, eclectic, look it up) in my musical tastes; there’s a crime in that?

I can remember years ago; many years ago, listening to the Sons of the Pioneers sing “Cool Water” and Mahalia Jackson do “How Great Thou Art”, the only song I got tired of was Kate Smith doing “God Bless America.”

In my teens, it was the Goldbriars, New Christy Minstrels, Bob Dylan and the Grateful Dead followed by Joan Baez and others of the “Hair” era. It really was the “Dawning of the Age of Aquarius.” However, it was also the beginning of the one-note symphony for me.

I started working an orderly in the Emergency Room at Minneapolis General Hospital when I was just nineteen. Just before I turned twenty-one, Hennepin County took over the hospital and began an enlargement program. Part of that enlargement was the Ambulance Service. As I was known as a good worker, the Ambulance Service supervisor offered me a position as a driver on the service. Being the handsome young devil I thought, I decided I’d look great in the uniform. OK, I was thrilled to be on the service, and learn.

My symphony began with the first “Code 3” (Lights and siren) run I went on. The siren, the lights, the traffic, and the adrenaline were all flowing; it was a rush. What I didn’t realize was that my feelings of invincibility were masking a vulnerability – my hearing.

Unlike today, the sirens of those years were operated by the driver stepping on a floor button like the old high beam switch. You slowly pressed down on it and the siren gradually built up sound and tempo until you took your foot off. Often on long runs, my foot would get sore.

Now, if you’ve never heard a 1960s siren, know that they weren’t as loud as those of today, but they did affect the hearing. This was due to the fact that the only thing between your ears and the siren was the thin metal roof of the ambulance. Nobody thought to give us hearing protectors or earplugs, ergo, some of us had the beginnings of severe hearing loss.

When the new electronic sirens came out, they were great for traffic but worse than the old ones for hearing. I’m sure most, if not all of my readers have been close to an emergency vehicle with the siren going; loud, aren’t they a joy? Many of the doctors who rode with us complained about the noise, but no one I know of suggested that we, the EMTs at the time, have ear/hearing protection. Understand that we worked in a hospital with doctors, so it is a tad incomprehensible that they would ignore us, but they did,

After about ten years, I started to experience minor spells of dizziness, disorientation, tinnitus and diminished hearing. When I checked in at health services about this, they told me it was either the flu, aging or a simple inner ear infection.

I knew it was something more, but I had to believe in the medical staff I worked with. The only problem was, I was going deaf. I couldn’t hear clearly and words all sounded the same to me.

Eventually, this condition drove me out of EMS, and the teaching I was doing, mainly because I felt like a fool. I couldn’t understand what people were saying to me, especially women and children with high pitch voices.

As the condition had worsened over the years, rather than feeling like I was going insane, I decided to challenge it.

I was tired of saying HUH?, WHAT?, SPEAK UP, and only hearing buzzing, clinking, dinging and other weird sounds from the tinnitus, so I shut down and sought solace in the bottle. Rather than fight the demon, I surrendered – bad choice.

After a series of disasters and losses, I finally decided to face the issue that I was indeed a one-note symphony away from total deafness. I had to face my demon or die alone.

For those of you who have good hearing, and have never had an earache I say, lucky you.

For those of you that have hearing loss, I say, I understand your pain and loneliness. It is very difficult for us to help people understand that hearing loss is a soul-destroying event, especially when there’s is no hope for a cure or an improvement.

“WHAT” is a word I wish I could forget or at the very least, find a good replacement for. How many ways can it be said? How many times do we have to say it before people will accept the fact that hearing loss is a terrible disability?

Do we have to wear neon signs starting: Hearing impaired.?

“Oh, you’re just not paying attention!”

I wish that was all it is.

“If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a thousand times.”

My favorite one is the person who shouts thinking his, or her roaring voice will overcome deafness.

One of my biggest problems is what I refer to as Audio Dyslexia; words sound the same to me; example: round, pound, sound, mound, town, etc. Add that to trying to understand people who like drop-off sentences. You know what I mean, the person who starts a sentence in a loud voice and ends in a whisper. I often want to yell, TURN YOUR DAMN VOLUME UP AND SET IT ON MONAURAL.

How about this, let’s throw accents into the mix?

I live in Missouri but still retain a Minnesota accent, or is the word dialect more appropriate? How about idiolect? (you talk funny). Whether we realize it or not, we all speak in different dialects (accents) and idiolects (our individual way of speaking). Our speech patterns are exclusive to ourselves; check out this page, it does a better job saying what I want to say:

Ever wonder how a person going deaf handles that? I drank, because I thought it was my mind going haywire. Well, it was, in a sense, because the hearing receptors in my ears were almost destroyed by loud sounds (think music and sirens fits nicely right here). I needed to be able to hear and, more importantly understand what I needed to know to do my job, and I couldn’t. I could no long talk on the phone, hear the voices nature or understand what women and children were saying. It got worse, no, it is getting worse almost daily. People I’ve known and lived with get irritated at me because they feel I should be able to understand everything they say; I can’t, the words are no longer there for me.

There were many times when I thought a bowlful of double edged razor blades sounded delicious. But, either through cowardice or stubbornness I could not give in. I lost my family, my job and even my self-esteem, however, I refused to give in.

Then one day I decided to defy my mother, and go to college. I seventy years old at the time and she was, and remains deceased but her words to me when I was only 16 still rang in my ears: “You’re not smart enough for college.” She was partially correct, I flunked math, but she was wrong about everything else, I did quite well in writing and Psychology.

It’s tragically ironic that I clearly heard the voice of a deceased person giving me the incentive to overcome by attending college and struggling in every class to hear and understand the professors.

I still struggle to hear but I realize the last note of my symphony will soon be played and I’ll be 100% deaf. I’m no longer afraid of it, nor am I willing to concede before the last possible nano-second.

So why do I feel compelled to write this?

I write because I feel communicating is the key to better understanding for all of us.

Hearing loss is what I call an invisible disability.

“He don’t look hurt or walk funny, but he sure do talk weird.”

FYI, the deaf cannot hear their own voices. THINK ABOUT IT.

Communicate – An Ode to your Death.

Where once was I, a lad so young,

My before had not begun.

I thought my words told true my heart,

My strengths and knowledge, to all impart.

But alas a fire no more does burn,

Loss of love, life’s cruel turn.

Now it’s over, no time for hate,

To love anew please communicate.

Not a great ode, but then I’m no May Angelou. I think it puts my point across about the value of learning how to communicate.

“So what does that mean? I talk, I communicate!”

Umm, no, talking is not necessarily communicating in my book. Talking, as valuable as it is, is not necessarily communicating: relating information.

Get it yet?

We all talk to ourselves, others and even, on occasion complete strangers. guess which is probably the only one we really communicate with.

My guess is we communicate better with strangers than with anyone else. My reason is simple, more often than not, either strangers are seeking information from me or I from them.

“How do I get to the bus terminal?”

“Where’s the best place in town to get a hamburger?”

Long ago, and I can’t remember who taught me, I learned that there are six words that identify my need to communicate: Who, What, Why, When, Where and How.

For me, using any or all of those words is conveying to the person I’m talking to that I need information: I am communicating a need.

How does that work in a relationship? Well, tragically not well in many cases.

“Why did you lie to me?

“Umm, I didn’t lie, I simply fibbed.”

The question being asked is “Why did you lie to me?” The communication is, I know you lied, but I don’t know why you did.

An honest answer might be; “I lied because I didn’t want you to know I was cheating on you.” The communication is, I’m an asshole and not worth your time. OK, a bit extreme, but you get the idea.

To communicate effectively with someone you want in your life, you must learn to communicate your true thoughts, feelings and needs.

“Could you please explain to me why you felt the need to cheat on me then lie about it?”

Confronted with this question from someone you know you love and do not want to lose, how would you communicate your feelings without telling another lie?

Personally, I think the best way is to communicate the truth.

“I was drunk and made a terrible mistake. I regret it and would love to change it but I cannot. I’m sorry.”

At this point, I believe it contingent on the other party to communicate their feelings to you.

“I’m mad at you; angry and betrayed. I don’t know what to do or say right now.”

What would your response be?

Communicate does not mean accuse, lie, name call or physical attacks.

In this instance, it does mean to say, “You hurt me.”

“Can we talk about this later?” You’re communicating a willingness to be open.

“Maybe.” You’re hearing “I am willing to at the right time.”

Don’t push it by saying, “When?” That’s communicating your impatience. not your need to solve the problem.

For me, communicating is using truth, facts and tact to express my thoughts and needs.

“Tell me you love me.”


Challenging the Myth of Modern Love

“The Greeks had the good sense to break love into four levels: “storge” was kinship, “philia” was friendship, “eros,” sexual and romantic love, and finally divine love was known as “agape.”

They might interpret the sentence, “I love you, but I am not ‘in love‘ with you” to mean, “I feel philia toward you but not eros.”

However, while the Greeks gave love four spots in the dictionary, this emotion was feared.  Both Plato and Socrates saw this emotion as, “Love is a serious mental disease,” and “Love is madness.” Moreover, it was the Greeks who coined the phrase, “lovesick.” [1]

Here I go again, stirring up the brown; acting the man of the town. However, given the state of our world, I thought I might add a thought or about what I feel is missing.

For the past few years, we have been inundated with attacks on our vocabulary relative to whether it is conservative, progressive, independent or just plain ridiculous chatter inspired by those challenged in the arts of logic and reality.

“He told me he loves me, but how do I know?”

“She said she loves me, but she did not say it in a politically acceptable manner, so I am wondering if she does love me.”

It appears to me that the use of the phrase, “I love you,” is more of an emotional tool than an expression of true love. To my thinking, saying I love you projects an emotion that may, or may not be honestly felt by the person saying it because it has become mechanical for too many people.

I see nothing wrong in saying I love you, but let us not allow it to become complacent.

“I told you I loved you when I left this morning; all you said was “same here.” Gee thanks, love the effort!

            “I Love You” are three words, not proof of love; anyone who thinks they are is, at least in my book, a damned fool and ignorant of what love is.

            I would rather hear, “I am here for you because I love you.”

            “I am always on time to pick you up for dinner because I love and respect you.”

            I will never understand how people can relate sex to love. “I am going to go home and make mad passionate love to my mate!” Bullshit, you are going home and have wild sex, at least you hope you will. The love part comes in after the sex when you realize that the person in bed with you did not charge for his or her services, did not jump up right after climax to hop in the shower and leave, but stayed in your arms.

            Men are notorious for not saying I love you but equally notorious for using non-verbal forms to communicate their feelings. In relationships, women, or partners if you prefer, tend to listen for the words of love; they want oral communication. Men, on the other hand, tend to show their feelings of love and dedication to their mates with actions. The problem being, their mates, do not always see, or maybe appreciate those actions.

            Do you want examples? OK, how about the man who makes you breakfast, helps with household chores and kisses you, just because you are with him. Is he sending a message? I think so.

            What about the man you are dating; is he always on time to pick you up? Does he take out to beautiful places for dinner, maybe to the theatre? Does he act protective or dominating?

            There are millions of ways a man demonstrates his feelings for someone via actions, but there is only one way to say: “I love you!” You have to ask yourself if not hearing those words every day is more important than all the little things he automatically does because it pleases you.

            Now someone is going to ask, what about the gay relationships? What about them? You have to be a biological male to want to demonstrate your love, nor do you have to be a biological female to receive that love. The key, at least for me, is both the verbal and physical demonstrations of love and union between humans, they are equally important.

“What one does is more important than what one says as in Politicians need to be reminded that actions speak louder than words. This statement, a proverb found in many languages, including ancient Greek, was first worded in precisely this way in English in Colonial Currency (1736).” [2]

I say, look to the mountain to hear the voice in the wind.

[1]              How Do You Define Love? | Psychology Today, (accessed February 20, 2019).

[2]           The American Heritage Dictionary Of Idioms : Npr, (accessed February 20, 2019).

Humanity or Insanity?

The Choice is Ours.

Is American becoming, or has it always been, the land of hypocrisy?

“If the state will not trust its citizens to act temperately and sanely without restrictive legislation, let the state use its laws to enforce temperance and sanity. If the state will not allow the conscience to function, let the commands of conscience be unheeded, and commands of state are enforced-if possible. The state has arrogated to itself the power of defining goodness; let it now do its utmost to make its definition felt. If the power of defining goodness is substituted, let the enforcing agency of goodness be substituted, too; i.e., let the police, and not the conscience, make men good. “It is true,” in effect say the mass of people to the state, “we shall render your silly laws lip-service, for you are powerful, and such oral obeisance is expedient-and cheap. But further than that we will assume no responsibility; yours is the law-yours too is the duty of enforcing it.” So, the game begins. Men gravely nod their approval of paternalism when uncompromising zealots are present but thumb their noses and drain their cups when only laughing companions are near to see. Even what sincere observers of Prohibition there are violate with impunity other laws the rationality of which is certainly more evident.” (Ruddy, 1929)

“Hypocrisy is the art of affecting qualities for the purpose of pretending to an undeserved virtue. Because individuals and institutions and societies most often live down to the suspicions about them, hypocrisy and its accompanying equivocations underpin the conduct of life. Imagine how frightful truth unvarnished would be.” [Benjamin F. Martin, “France in 1938,” 2005] (Online Etymology Dictionary: “hypocrisy”, n.d.)

“John Stuart Mill when he observed:

The disposition of mankind, whether as rulers or as fellow-citizens, to impose their own opinions and inclinations as a rule of conduct on others, is so energetically supported by some of the best and by some of the worst feelings incident to human nature, that it is hardly ever kept under restraint by anything but want of power. On Liberty 28 (1885).” (Furman v. Georgia – MR. JUSTICE BRENNAN, concurring., n.d.) (Furman v. Georgia – MR. JUSTICE BRENNAN, concurring., n.d.)

Today, in our Congress, those we elected, pay, and deserve respect from are working long hours on two major concerns in America:

  1. How to keep out borders open, eliminate all our national security and introduce a neo-Socialism.
  2. How to legalize infanticide.

Am I the only one to see the hypocrisy?

To attain these goals, the people who allegedly work for all Americans, are busy concealing facts, disregarding witnesses and ignoring experts in both the national security sectors and medical fields.

Those we trusted to protect us, are playing political games with the lives of every American citizen.

            How, in the name of all that is sacred to our country and society are they getting away with this?

            They can do it because American voters have surrendered to false promises and hypocrisy of radical Socialist agendas.

            Here is a list of Federal Laws Providing for the Death Penalty.

                        18 U.S.C.  23326        Murder involving torture.

                        18 U.A.C.   1958         Murder for hire.

                        18 U.S.C.     111         First Degree Murder.

                        18 U.S.C.   1091         Genocide.

                        18 U.S.C.   241, 242, 248, 247 Civil Rights violations resulting in death.

My questions regarding this are:

Which, if any, Federal Laws would be broken by the recent enactment of the New York state Abortion law allowing for full-term abortions?

If a Planned Parenthood clinic receiving taxpayer money (Federal funds) to operate performed abortions which, if any of these Federal Laws would they have broken?

            If a doctor working in a facility that received Federal Funding, which, if any of these laws would he or she have broken by leaving a delivered, full-term infant then setting it aside to die because the mother didn’t want it.

            The same questions must be asked of the clinic staff and of midwives.

            I, for one, feel that the use of taxpayer funds murder innocent children is a Federal Crime and should be treated as such.


Federal Laws Providing for the Death Penalty. (n.d.). Retrieved 2 1, 2019, from

Furman v. Georgia – MR. JUSTICE BRENNAN, concurring. (n.d.). Retrieved 2 1, 2019, from

Online Etymology Dictionary: “hypocrisy.” (n.d.). Retrieved 2 1, 2019, from

Ruddy, C. J. (1929). Hypocrisy–A By-Product of Paternalism. Notre Dame Law Review, 4(6), 374. Retrieved 2 1, 2019, from


Read an article this morning about those states that are passing legislation to allow the murder of innocent children under the guise of a woman’s right to choose. In essence, what this appears to mean is that a woman can go out, have unprotected sex, get pregnant then has nine months to decide the fate of that that innocent child.

The most grotesque part about this is there appears to be no limit in the number of times a woman can do this.

THAT IS NOT CIVILIZED. Fact of the matter is, that is beyond the comprehension of the average person. It is making an innocent child the sacrificial victim of an out of control society.

While I acknowledge that there are exceptions to everything, I personally feel that any woman who demands the murder of an innocent child because she failed to protect against creating an innocent child should be sterilized.

These woman who demand we respect their decisions because it’s their body, should not be allowed to use it as an execution chamber. I also feel that any man who fathers a child because he also was too self-absorbed to prevent creating a new life should held accountable for the future of that child and, allowed a presence and voice in that child’s future.

It is long past time we stop making others pay for out irresponsible actions.

“Dear Papa Nyk, why should I have to give up eighteen or more years of my life because I made a mistake and got pregnant?”

Dear Ms. ****, Why should an innocent child give up his or her life because you made a mistake and got pregnant?

When did Women decide they are God?

As an ex-paramedic, my memory is filled with stories of human cruelty to other humans, but nothing in all those years compares to what is happening in our country today.

I’ve assisted with emergency childbirth on a number of occasions and actually assisted with a couple of Cesarean Sections in the operating room.

Of the twenty-three deliveries I’ve been involved with, two, both of which occurred in rural Minnesota, stand out as clear as if it were yesterday.

The first one involved a young married woman having her first child. She and her husband had a small farm about twelve miles from town. Now, if you are familiar with winter weather in Minnesota, you know it can change in a heartbeat and most weather forecasters, at least at the time, were not experts.

Very early one morning, we received a call for a woman in labor with special instructions from the doctor. Those instructions stated that we should attempt an on-site delivery, but should simply bring the woman to the hospital He actually stated that he was sure it was going to be a still-born. Aside from this slight detail, the only problem we faced was about thirty-seven inches of snow and winds were making drifts over the roads.

The road we had to take to get to the farm, was a county one and we needed help to get through. Luckily for us, the state had two large graders working the area and they volunteered them to go ahead of us and open the road. There was also a state highway patrol unit escorting us but still took almost three hours to go the 12 miles, and one grader in a ditch to do it.

When we arrived at the farm, a very nervous young father-to-be met us and led the way into the house where the mother (his wife) was laying in bed. Her water had broken and she was in full labor but contractions were not very frequent yet. I examined her doing the normal vitals (pulse, respiration and blood pressure) then I did the abdominal exam to see if I could determine the position of the fetus. While doing this, I was listening for fetal heart tones with a pediatric stethoscope and wouldn’t you, I heard that little ticker (fetal heart) pounding away like a jackhammer.

As we didn’t have any of the new communications devices, I had to run back out into the snow to radio what I had found to the doctor who was in the hospital.

I told the doctor I felt we had a viable fetus and that I planned not trying to deliver it at home. The ambulance was better equipped to handle a birth if we had to. The doctor was pretty negative stating he felt it would be a still-birth. Without saying it, I got the impression he didn’t think me qualified to determine, but I said we’re coming in fast and there was nothing we could do about it.

With the help of the highway patrolman and the road crew, we got momma bundled up and loaded for a fast ride to the hospital. Just before we pulled out, I checked for dilation and she was at an estimated seven centimeters, so things were starting to move.

We got her to the hospital in about thirty minutes, and about forty-five minutes later, she had a beautiful, healthy little boy. I got a hug from Momma, and a hug from Papa and, to my surprise, a well done from the doctor.

The other case was more tragic. It happened in another small town nine miles from the hospital. A call came in for an unknown issue. As was the policy then, the dispatcher notified the local constable (yep, the town was that small) who was sent to the scene.

On arrival we found the constable standing outside with an elderly woman. When asked what the emergency was, we were directed to an attic room in an old two story house where we found a young mentally challenged girl covered in blood. When we asked what happen, she simply screamed and pointed to a bloody towel on the floor.

On examination, I found a newborn fetus in respiratory distress. Immediately, I began infant CPR and told my partner to get help to take the girl out as I was going to rush the fetus to the hospital in with the constable in his squad car.

When I got outside, I grabbed the constable and ordered him to rush me, and the fetus to the hospital and to radio ahead.

“The radio doesn’t work.” was his reply.

OK, let’s get going – turn on your lights and siren this is critical!

“The siren doesn’t work.”

Get in the damn car, turn on your lights and let’s go.

After a twenty minute, scary ass drive with the constable, we made it to the hospital and, luckily, there was a doctor immediately available, but it was too late. The fetus had bled out.

The story was, the mentally challenged girl was raped by her uncle and the family decided to keep it a secret.

When the girl woke up the morning of the incident, she apparently had some cramps and her water broke. From what we could ascertain, the fetus had already started to deliver but was in a footling breech position. When the girl reached down between her legs, she took hold of the fetus’s leg (a girl) and traumatically extracted it causing severe tearing from the anus to an inch or so in front of the vagina.

There was nothing anyone could have done to save this infant. To see her lying all twisted and bloody on the gurney made me cry.

Now, when I read about how women are demanding the right to murder, yes, I call it murder, innocent fetuses, I remember that innocent child on the gurney and want to scream.

Yes, I agree that women should have the right to say what happens to their bodies, but that right should not include the right to determine who lives or dies. Once it is known that there is a life form (or more than one) growing within the woman’s womb, she is no longer making decisions only for herself. In the case of abortion, the woman is making decisions concerning the life or death of another person who, at the time, is not able to speak for his or herself. Allowing women to be judge, jury, and executioner is giving her the authority to be God over another human being.

I’m neither a Christian, Jew, Muslim or follower of any other formal religion. I’m simply a man who believes there is a power greater than any of us that allows us to think for ourselves. When we can’t, that power steps in to help. I believe that power stepped in to save one baby and allow another to pass out of this realm with only the love and compassion of those who cared for her in the end.

I believe that our court systems have gone too far with the insanity of infanticide caused by the Roe v Wade ruling. In essence, it has given women the right to play God and murder an innocent (or more) to assuage their guilt for not being responsible for their actions.

Infanticide is not the answer!

The Love Program

“You never tell me you love me anymore!”

There are hundreds of retorts I could use against this comment, but the one most important to my personality is, I didn’t say it very much when I asked you to become my life partner.
As a writer, I like to think I know the importance of words, especially in relationships, but for me, overusing a word in the hopes of keeping someone in my life is like building a relationship on sex. It does not work, here’s why I think that way.
One day, long, long ago when I was a paramedic on the Minneapolis General Hospital Ambulance Service, we used to transport patients with severe mobility challenges to and from various clinic appointments both at the hospital at other government-sponsored clinics. One of my favorite runs was to pick up someone I referred to as my Keller Angel (I won’t use her real name). She was a very pretty younger teenage girl who had lost her eyesight and abilities to speak and hear due to a very abusive parent. The details of her trauma are not the critical issue, how she handled the aftermath is the real story.
Now, I was young myself at the time, just barely twenty-one and in pretty good shape. I was no supermodel hunk, but I wasn’t ugly either.
When it was my rotation to work the clinics run, I was always excited to see my Keller Angel’s name on the trip sheet. I made it a point to schedule her for the first stop coming and the last stop going home so we could communicate between stops to pick up other patients if we had any on the schedule.
Now, you may ask how we communicated, well it wasn’t easy at first, but she and the staff at the clinic taught me enough to interact with her. You see, she was a student at the Helen Keller Institute in Minneapolis and lived with a lovely family who also had a Keller child who was a graduate and in college.
We communicated through touch; simple gestures that sent messages between people. Things like a tight grasp of my hand told me she had a problem or was in pain, but a soft brush of it meant she was happy to see me. She also likes to give me pointers on my aftershave lotion or cologne by either pinching her nose or touching it with one finger and smiling.
At the Keller Institute, she was taught to spell out words on the palm of someone’s hand, but I had trouble learning that one; didn’t spend enough time with her I guess. Then that one day came, the day we dread, but life goes on; her family was moving to Arizona where her father had gotten a great job. When we brought her home that last time, her mother asked me to wait a short time because my Keller Angel had something she wanted her to say to me.
My Keller Angel said, through the interpretation provided by her mother that she had never felt so loved before. She apologized for not being able to tell it to me but wanted me to realize I had helped her learn that love, true love is not in words, but is in deeds, commitments, and promises kept.
“I will always love you because you are what love means to me.” were the last words she gave me.
I had forgotten those words until recently when I was accused of not loving someone because I didn’t say enough, or do the kinds of things this person felt I should do to demonstrate my feelings. I guess I was supposed to act in a manner appropriate to the demands of my partner, rather than being myself, the original object of affection.
That may be true, at least in that person’s eyes, but then merely echoing “I love you” over and over again does nothing more than making the words, just words sans real meaning.
There is an adage; “Actions speak louder than words.” The actions of my Keller Angel spoke of a real sense of caring for someone. Because she took the time to overcome the communications challenge and expressed herself in a very non-verbal way every time we were together.
I learned that perhaps I couldn’t, or wouldn’t say I love you all the time, but if love means being there for you; never letting you down or breaking a promise, then I am saying I do love you, you just aren’t listening.