I learned About Stealing and My Dog Got Stoned

I skipped the kindergarten drama and went straight to first grade. I do not remember the first at school for disabled kids but I do remember my first day in the public school system. It was a little odd to me; my classmates were staring at me like I was from outer space. I thought it was because I was a new guy. Well, they were all new too. I was just put together and doing the same things a little different. A day or two later I was just another first grader getting to trouble like every body else. One day I was asked to pass out the pencils to my classmates and it felt like it was taking an eternity as I moved slowly around the classroom. In time, I got the job done but that was the last time I was the equipment distributor. To my knowledge, I never had a teacher treat me different or special as a student. I was rewarded and punished like all my classmates. I have to say friends came easy to me despite not being the best in gym class or fast on the playground. The teachers were pretty creative with me. I would help referee games of kick ball, keep score and count other’s push-ups and sit-ups. There was even after school fun.

As luck would have it I got to hang out after school with the football team during practice since my brother Chase was a player.  The coach would give these motivational speeches and I can still remember the echo off the walls as he talked about enthusiasm and teamwork. Even at that young age we were getting a taste of locker room humor. Farts start to be funny for guys around this time. The players were older than me and it was like having an insider’s pass to a pro team. Being a rural school, everyone loved football team and there I was several grades behind the players but and still attending practices, meetings and home games. I had no role on the team other than observer. I did not let that stop me from helping keep the locker room a funny place. It was cool. I never had to worry about getting hurt in a game or being cut from the team. Being an observer, that’s one of the best things about being handicapped but I’ll get into that later on. I did a bunch of other stuff as well.

I went to friend’s houses for sleepovers and had friends come to visit me. Mom and Dad taught me never to invite myself over to someone else’s house and to always ask them before I invited someone to our house. I never got homesick on these excursions and adapted well to in new surroundings. We did all kinds of fun things; games, building stuff, fishing and even some backyard camping. Childhood is not all school, fun and games. We have to learn some hard lessons. One that sticks out perhaps the most to me is when I decided to steal another kid’s little toy airplane.

Robbie showed it to me on the bus going home one hot afternoon as the school year was drawing to a close. It was the greatest thing I had ever seen. His stop was before mine and I realized he had forgot handing it to me. As he got off the bus, I thought I’d hang on it for him until the next day. I took it home and enjoyed playing with it that evening. The only problem was I broke it in several pieces. The next morning there was Robbie on the bus holding out his hand.

“My plane.” He said knowing he had left it with me.

To this day, that was one of the most mortifying moments of my life. I apologized and had to explain how I had broken it in several pieces. I have to say much to his credit he let it go. He was a good kid and in no way deserved to have his little plane stolen and destroyed. Mom and Dad never found out but had they done so his plane would have been replaced and I would have had to apologize to him again and perhaps even his parents.     

Mom and Dad were school teachers but they did not teach in just any school. They taught at a place called the “Optional School.” This was the school where all the problem kids were sent from the entire city. Mom taught basic writing and Dad taught Job Preparedness. Their students were high school aged and had every imaginable barrier one could think of, broken homes, abusive parents, no parents homelessness and God only knows what all else. On teacher workdays, Mom and Dad would take Chase and I to work with them. We had this seemingly endless old school building to run around in and explore. On some occasions there would be students there with no place to go and they would play games with us. We never had a problem. Chase got bored one day and was complaining to Mom when the principal overheard him.

“Mom, I’m so bored. When can we go home?”

“Not for awhile. Find something to do.” She said.

Hey Chase, I got an idea.” It was the Principal who was in earshot.

“Yes Sir?”       

“Go run around the building ten times.”

I don’t know if he was kidding but chase took him seriously being the football player and weightlifter.  He took off outside and after awhile came back in wet from head to toe with sweat. It was summer time after all and he was completely wiped out but no longer complaining. When I was not wondering the halls, I’d sit on the couch and watch the staff interact with each other. One guy seemed to think if he was there he was working even if he was only hanging out chatting and sipping coffee. Chase and I were not the only ones going to work with Mom and Dad. They took our dog Ralph so many times, the principle awarded him an attendance certificate.

Unfortunately, poor Ralph found the wrong crew to fall in with. On the way home one afternoon, Mom and Dad realized something was wrong with him. He was not acting right at all. Once home he could barely get out of the car and could not get up the two steps to go into the house. They worried some asshole may have poisoned him and rushed him to the emergency vet. Mom told us what happened when she got back.

“They checked him over and could not figure out what was going on. They asked where he had been earlier and we told him where we worked and that Ralph had been in the car on his own some that afternoon. The vet had an idea. He rolled an orange ball in front of Ralph and no response. The diagnosis was not so bad,”

“He’s okay. He’s just high. When he comes down, he’ll be fine.” The vet said.

Sure enough he was okay soon after they brought him home. We never knew what drug poor Ralph was exposed too but Mom and Dad thought it was a little grass. Unfortunately, that ended Ralph’s academic career. They would not take him after that.  The worry was some asshole would give him something much worse the next time. So Ralph stayed home from then on.

Early Years

Our early formulative years have much to do with who we become and I’m no exception.  A good foundation is a key to being successful in darn near anything, especially coping with adversity. This is just my story and what worked for me may or may not work well for you. I hope people will come away with some good food for thought. I don’t think we can overstate the importance to what happens to us in our most formulative years. Join me and we’ll have a few laughs along the way.

I spent my earliest years mostly in hospitals. I went through a number of operations on my feet and hips which I have no memory of. But I do remember looking out through the bars of the little bed they had me in. The room was dimly lit and I remember my grandmother there in the chair next to me. I remember one day crawling out into the bright hall way and seeing the nurses’ station and being picked up and taken back to my room. It was said by my doctors not long after I was born, that I would never be able to walk.  I only remember tiny fragments from this time. I did learn to walk.

My great uncle Frank was a World War II veteran who served as a medic in the South Pacific and an avid body builder. He used to take my brother Chase and I to the YMCA for exercise and a part of that was swimming. Uncle Frank stood me up in the shallow end of the pool and before anyone knew it, I was walking! He invited my Mom and Grandmother to come see for themselves! After some more trips to the pool, he stood me up next to the pool and I walked back to the locker room unassisted and I’ve been walking on my own ever since. Chase thinks he got the idea from President Roosevelt walking in the pool many decades before. I may have started walking anyway  but at the least, this got me mobile pretty early in life.  

I’m proud to say I grew up in North Carolina. My brother Chase and I were coming along not so long after the Civil Rights Movement brought about a bunch of change in the USA. Keep in mind we were in the south. My mom, Helen was a schoolteacher.  Early in life, my biological dad was replaced by my real dad, David LaVack. He is a big guy from California who at the time had a long black beard. He looked like a hippie biker, not the federal employee he was.  When he met mom, we lived in a small town home a very short walk away from my grandmother’s town home. Having sidewalks leading everywhere, I could get around quite well. I did not yet wander off like brother Chase but my wonderings would come later. Life was easy but I would soon be in for a few challenges. David LaVack hence fourth known as Bear / Dad had two children from an earlier marriage, Davie and Buffy. The first time we met it seemed awkward and weird, who were these kids? We would go pick them up every other weekend or so and do day trips to the mountains or simply hang out at home.  The awkwardness passed quickly and we all got along very well for the most part. I was only seven and life was changing fast.

Not long after they were married mom and dad bought an old house in the country down a gravel road. It was not just any old house. We children came to think of it as being haunted. It was built around 1911 surrounded by large trees and small field in the back. The front facing the driveway was red brick and the back added on a few decades later was dark red painted wood.  This place had a character all its own.  The living room and the den in front were nice and level as were some of the rooms above on the second floor. The kitchen, dining area, a small bathroom and laundry room sloped downward about 5 or 10 degrees. Walk into the kitchen and yes, you were going down hill. The large bedroom Chase and I shared upstairs was also going slightly down hill. We had a ton of room and a nice view of fields and trees. Outside there was a small shed and a large old storage building and a one-car garage.  I had visions of being stuck inside all day while my siblings ran joyfully through the fields and woods. What was I going to do with myself? I told Dad I could not walk in grass. He asked me to give it a try. I did and much to my delight, it was no problem. I could not run but in no time I could go damn near anywhere I wanted, including the woods. Dave and Buffy continued to came every other weekend and we played games outside like cowboys and Indians. We had a cool run down two-room shed we called our fort. Needless to say, we spent most of our time out doors.

Living there was awesome. It was a great place to inspire one’s imagination. In those days, we were left home most afternoons from school without mom and dad. We could hang out at the fort, do a little fishing in the nearby pond in the summer and explore seemingly endless thick woods and rolling fields. On long exploration trips Chase would haul me along in a little red wagon and later we would ride double on his bike. There was a small store about a mile away we would ride to for drinks. Before the age of internet access, cool video games and micromanaging parents, we had to entertain ourselves. Exploring became our favorite activity. At that place and time, we could wander off for several hours at a time and no one had to worry if we had been kidnapped by psychos or terrorists. We had a lot of freedom. Chase would dress me up in football pads and a helmet and we would play our own version of football in the field behind the house or in our huge bedroom. If I could pass the ball without him slapping it down, where it landed was my yards gained. I could also run into him and try to drive him back. If I caught him just right this worked.  It was a good excuse as any to knock the crap out of each other without getting into trouble. Our toys called for lots of role-playing, not pre-scripted games.

 We must have had well over two hundred little plastic soldiers from World War II guys, knights from the middle ages as well as civil war yanks and rebs. Cowboys and Indians go without saying. We made and destroyed forts and towns from Lincoln Logs, Legos and any other material we could find around the house. Characters of our own creation came to life and killed off each other weekend and week out. I planned out entire cities with matchbox cars and toy airplanes. I learned how to dream big.    

 I’m not a parenting expert but just like everyone reading this I have parents and they did a lot of things right by me. They did one simple thing that helped me more than anything else; treated me just like my siblings; Chase Dave and Buffy. I was never felt sorry for or denied an opportunity to try something I wanted to no matter how odd or crazy! From a very young age I’ve always been encouraged to do and try all I wanted to and then some. There was a time I wanted to be a long haul truck driver (there is a part of me that still does). Sure, Dad said, you can do it. Modify the truck.  Air Traffic Controller, yes and let’s find someone you can talk to. Fly a plane, give it a try, more on that later. When I was older I thought about being a bar owner, sure but think it over carefully. Do you really want to deal with drunks, ALE and cleaning spilled beer every night? If you are a parent or a sibling of someone with a disability this is the most important thing you can do. Let them dream big and do all they can for themselves but be available when the really need you. This also applies to schools, becoming more independent and the inevitable slips and failures. I owe a huge amount of my success to my family and how they tossed me into the world from a very young age. 

When I was very young, I started off at a school for “special” children. It was basically a school for children with mental and physical disabilities. Although the staff were good and caring people, Dad quickly realized this was not going to be such a good idea for me because he felt I was simply not learning anything. He felt for me to have the best chance in this life, I must face the challenges of the rest of the world. This is not to say anything bad about schools for the disabled; this is in my case. Dad talked with Mom and Grandma and they agreed to put me into a regular public school. I think this was the most important thing they ever did for me during my childhood for a lot of reasons. Most importantly, it would force me to adapt to being different in a positive way. I would have to be social and learn how to ask for help when I needed it. We lived in the countryside at the time so off to the nearest public school I went. 

The Cerebral Palsy School To The Bully Zone....

Just putting some thought into words friends. The book is also about my crazy, weird, interesting experiences growing up. Thanks for reading. Please give feed back! What would make it more interesting other than some senseless violence, naked dancing girls or farm animals behaving badly? Email me!!  

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As a child, I started off at a school for “special” children. It was basically a school for children with mental and physical disabilities. Although the staff were good and caring people, Dad quickly realized this was not going to be such a good idea for me. I may have some physical challenges but Dad felt I had a few brain cells to rub together and I needed to put them to use. For me to have the best chance in this life I must face the same challenges everyone else faces. This is not to say anything bad about schools for the disabled; this is in my case. Dad talked Mom and Grandmother, Muzza into putting me into the public school system. I think this was the most important thing Dad, Mom and Muzza ever did for me during my childhood for a lot of reasons. Most importantly, it would force me to adapt to being different in a positive way. Second, I would have to be social and learn how to ask for help when I needed it.Third, I'd learn much more. I adapted quickly.

I do not remember the first day at school for disabled kids but I do remember my first day in the public school system. This was the first day of first grade. It was a little odd to me; my classmates were staring at me like I was from outer space. I thought it was because I was a new guy. Well, they were all new too. I was just put together different and doing the same things in my own unique way. Things quickly changed for the better. A day or two later I was just another first grader getting to trouble like every body else. I never had a teacher treat me different or special as a student. I was rewarded and punished like all my classmates. Friends came easy to me despite not being the best in gym class or fast on the playground. The teachers were pretty creative with me. I would help referee games of kick ball, keep score and count other’s push ups and sit-ups. There was even after school fun.

As luck would have it I got to hang out after school with the football team during practice since my brother Chase was on the team.  The coach would give these motivational speeches and I can still remember the echo off the concrete locker room walls as he talked about enthusiasm and teamwork. Even at that young age we were getting a taste of locker room humor. Farts start to be funny for guys around this time. I had no role on the team other than observer and first string farter. Observing others is one of the coolest things about being handicapped but I’ll get into that later on. Down right normal was how I would describe my early school days. I think my life would be completely different had I stayed in the school for handicapped kids and doubt you would be reading this.

Then in early 1979 everything changed. Mom and Dad decided to buy a town house with Muzza. I liked where I went to school and did not like the idea of having to leave but I loved my grandmother. We moved into a nice large house in a quiet old neighborhood. There were parks close by and with the sidewalks I could go all over the place. Life took a sudden turn for the worse. 

Muzza lived with us for just a few short months before she passed away from cancer. There are a few people in the course of our lives that make our days just a little brighter and she was one of those for me. I have loved her as much as Mom and Dad, perhaps even a little more. It took many months for the fact that she was really gone to sink in. No doubt she is a big part of who I am to this day.

Then I started in a new school, Washington Elementary. It was the only school I ever had problems with other students. There were few white kids and I was white and handicapped. I was bullied and picked on pretty much the whole time I was there. I’m not sure how I fell into the role of bully victim but it was misery. I most feared big Tony. He was a big strong kid who could look at me and make my knees shake and then there was Michael. He was this blond dude who for some reason seemed to hate me as well. This is the only school I can say I truly had no friends. Each day was misery. Like most bullied kids, I kept my problems to myself muddling through as best I could. Remember big Tony, we will see him again. Things change. I was there for one long miserable school year.  Mom and Dad must have picked up on something being wrong because the next year they sent me to private school er, private schools.

But before I get into the series of private schools, let me pause a moment or two to talk about bullying. It can happen to anyone handicapped or not. Being new and handicapped (different) increased the risk of me being bullied. Don’t do what I did, which was nothing. I base my thoughts on first hand experience and studying conflict resolution for three years.

1.     Do not meet physical violence (or the threat of it) in kind. This most often will only escalate the situation and make it worse. This is what they crave most. Whenever possible, simply walk away. 

2.     Make friends to hang around with. Help classmates with assignments, find activities to participate in and be open to others. Bullies seek out the friendless.

3.     Tell a trusted adult what’s going on and if they do nothing find another.

4.     Deflect and deflate the bully’s aggression with humor. We all suffer in one way or another, even bullies.   

There are many resources out there for resolving such problems. But none can help you if you do not reach out. Parents, stay involved with kids. There’s no need to be a micro-manager but I feel it is important to know who your kid’s friends are, how their school days are going and what they are in to; music, athletics, art etc. If there is a change for the worse, address it. Let them know you will be there no matter what and no problem is to big or to grave to be over come.      

Readings September 15, 2012

Stem Cell Information

Learn all about it. 

Paralympics Team USA

Don't slow down. 

Disability Rights Advocates

Help defend your rights! 

Johnston schools cited for improperly restraining students

Schools behaving badly. 

Breaking Barriers: The Disability Rights Movement in Russia

You go Russia! 

Taser Happy Cops 

When Life Hands You Turds, Make Roses Follow.

I know I run the risk of sounding like a positive thinker who lives in a separate reality cut off from the real world. And to a degree that's true, I cannot know what's going on in your life at the moment. I do know every person suffers at one point or another for reasons often beyond our control. There is one thing we DO control, how we react to setbacks or hardships. Nobody likes a winebag. Of course it is okay to express frustration, sadness and disappointment but there comes a time when it is time to set these negative emotions aside and deal with life's turds as best we can making roses grow.

I was often told while growing up the doctors could not do any more for me until I was fully grown. Wow, with a little patience, I too could be like everyone else! It has not worked out that way. When I was a late teen, my parents took me to a big hospital to see medical specialists about what could be done. This was in the late 80's and at the time all they could do is take one working muscle and swap it out for one that was not. For example, I could bend my arm but no longer lift it as I could already. It was not a gain in my mind. I had already adapted to how my body worked so why switch things around and relearn how to do things I had already learned before? So I was stuck with just being me in my body as it always has been. I had a choice at this point, I could have stopped trying and angled for a life spent channel surfing on disability or continue learning and adjusting until I achieved Independence. I'm not going to kid you (or myself), I was pretty comfortable and lazy living with Mom and Dad. I stayed with them another ten years! But I knew I did not want to spend the rest of my life under their roof. I finally managed to move out getting an apartment with Uncle Bob. By this time, I could do everything for myself, except my damn socks! He helped me with that each morning and I helped him with his chronic diabetes.It worked out but I was still not fully independent. Finally, Joe the Vietnam War Vet I worked with, called with a possible solution. His idea did not quite work but I was able to fool around with it and make it work. I still remember the first time I put on my socks and drove off one day when Uncle Bob was not home! In less than a year after that, I had my own house living independently. Patience did pay off, just not in the same way I would have thought of. Not all the problems and set backs of a handicapped person are related to the handicap.

In 2007 Mom lost her long fight with cancer. In the natural order of things, parents usually die before their children. Everybody knows this but it does not make such a passing any easier. I lost more than a Mom, I lost my closest friend and best advocate. I lost the person I shared dreams with and always got the best advice from. I lost the person who by example taught what it meant to be a good human being. Friday she was there, her always cheerful self and Monday, she was gone. Her life ending early was to be mourned but more importantly celebrated. With the help of friends and family I was able to digest and cope with the loss.When she died, I was scheduled to fly to Hanoi in three weeks. Right away, I decided to go through with the trip. She would not have been happy if I cancelled it. I'm glad I took that trip. I met my wife to be Thu. What could I do to honor Mom with the little money I got from her passing? I gave up my second job as a gift from her and put that time to better use. I went back to school and earned a Master's in Conflict Resolution.I can think of nothing that would make her more happy than knowing I working on becoming an advocate for peace, justice and the disabled. This is work that's far from done but in large part thanks to Mom, I'm on my way.         

If I help even one person realize their true potential, it will be worth it. That's where you come in. Remember, you always have control over your reactions to adversity. Getting down or upset is okay and natural. But don't stay down or upset even going through the most difficult days. Bad periods in life are like spring thunderstorms. No matter how severe they may be, they always pass followed by clear blue skies and often rainbows.        

Readings 9.10.12

State accused of 'dumping' sick, disabled kids

I

Read more here: http://www.bradenton.com/2012/09/08/4190738/state-accused-of-dumping-sick.html#storylink=cpy

I thought we were in the 21st Century?

Disabled and Disenfranchised

Think about it. 

TODAY IN 1989: THE U.S. SENATE PASSES THE AMERICANS WITH DISABILITIES ACT

ADA Stuff. 

Against The Odds, A 'Miracle Boy Grows Up'

Good story. 

All I see is Hope - One woman's story of overcoming the odds

Orphan Disorder Story

Read more here: http://www.sacbee.com/2012/09/10/4804838/all-i-see-is-hope-one-womans-story.html#storylink=cpy

Na zdrave (Cheers) Part III

Varna was not as accessible as a city here in the states but quickly found I could mange pretty well. I don't remember having too much difficulty getting in and out of restaurants. It woud usually be just one or two steps up and if there was a rail, I could handle it on my own. Sometimes Vladi and Ganadi would haul me up. I learned how to take care of myself at the Acropolis hotel comfortably. I could dress shower and use the bathroom as well as I could here at home. One evening each of my hosts had something to do for a few hours and left me in the hotel room.  I found the TV remote and turned it on to check out the local programs.  I could find nothing in English but I came across something that looked like a cross between Lawrence Welk and Hee Haw on crack.  The people were dancing and singing on a stage in front of a live audience. I remember the strange music and the goofy costumes they were wearing. It was kinda like passing a really bad traffic accident,  I could not help but look. The time passed quickly and there was a knock at the door. Vladi, Ganadi and Ralitsa had come to pick me up to go out to dinner. A strange look came across Vladi’s face.

“Paul, why are you watching the chalga channel?”

“I'm not sure, what is chalga?”  I replied.

Vladi looked solemnly to Ralitsa to explain it to me.

She thought a moment or two and simply replied “Cultural shit.”

“I see. It was pretty strange.”

“Come, let’s go to eat my chalga man.” Ralitsa said smiling and the nickname stuck. That was the end of my TV viewing in Bulgaria and we went out to a very nice restaurant near the city center populated with “bad guys.” They were easy to spot once my hosts taught me what to look for.  They were dressed just a little too nice and in groups of men only. They also tended to be a little louder than people at surrounding tables. My hosts told me there was a good possibility they were armed. We were safe, they like us, were just there for a good meal. In time I learned Bulgaria is a part of a major opium smuggling route connecting the Middle East, Central and Western Europe. Just look at a map and you can see why.

The routine was pretty much the same, they would come pick me up early in the morning and we would do a day trip. We made up where to go as we went with little preplanning. Each adventure came unscripted. Keep in mind we are in a Resort town. Varna is the Daytona Beach of not only Bulgaria but Russia as well. Needless to say the cops are not the most friendly people in the world. They are not paid what we would consider a “living wage.” They make up the difference via extortion. The few times we encountered police I did not say a word.  Now I was not worried about being hauled away to jail never to see the sun again but they would want more money from us.  In my experience the police there make no bones about being corrupt.  Here our corruption is hidden nicely tucked away behind lawyers, judges and politicians. Not in Bulgaria.  We sometimes had to pay a little something going through a checkpoint.  In one instance, a policeman pointed to a small crack in the windshield of the “yellow submarine” and told Ganadi to give him some cash which he did. I watched as the money went in the policeman's pocket. No ticket, receipt or even a thank you, he just nodded for us to continue on not saying another word, business as usual.

I think I found the best way to see a new country.  Having Ralitsa, Vladi and Genadi was fantastic. During the whole time, I never felt like I was slowing the group down. Bulgaria is a great country to visit if you like history as much as I do. There are tons of interesting places to check out going back to prehistory up to the present-day. We went to a memorial for the battle of Varna with a small museum.  There was an old gentleman there who could explain what we were looking at and answer questions.  I had not studied this particular battle before but I learned more than most people about the Middle Ages.  I was able to ask questions to the man through Ralitsa.  He knew what had taken place inside and out and the impact on the country.  He was happy to share the story with someone with a real interest in history. I think he enjoyed the experience as much as I did. Before we left, we tipped the historian. It turns out this is how he makes a living. 

As I said before, Varna and the surrounding area is a bit like the Daytona Beach for Eastern Europe and Russia.  Being there one could hear many different languages from all across Europe.  The Black Sea has the most beautiful blue water I think I've ever seen.  I liked Ralitsa’s explanation for how it came to be named “The Black Sea.”

She explained it this way. “It was named the “Black Sea” by ancient Greek sailors. Great storms often came out of nowhere and the ancient ships were not so great. Many wound up on the bottom.” 

We visited the Archaeological Museum in Varna one late afternoon.  We were told the museum had closed but for some reason they let us in any way.  So it was the four of us on a self-guided tour. In one room there were these very small figures of people made out of pure gold. Too look at them, you bent over and looked through a magnifying glass. The detail was unreal!  We went from room to room looking at all the artifacts turning off and turning on lights as we went.  The museum had items from prehistory up to Roman and Greek times.  We had the whole place to ourselves. I’m not even sure there was a security guard there. It was like doing a self-guided VIP tour.

One morning we were driving south to Nesebar, another resort city on the Black Sea. We were pretty much in the middle of nowhere when all of the sudden we came to police checkpoint.  After a few minutes and a little cash they waived us through. We drove just another few minutes or so still in a very rural area with nothing around but fields and trees. Out of nowhere, scantily clad women began to appear alongside the road.  It looked like what can only be described as a West Virginia Red-light District. I felt like I was in some kind of strange twilight zone episode. Had the hookers just wandered up out of the woods? Where in the hell did they come from and what were they doing out here in the middle of nowhere? Ralitsa told me they were most likely connected somehow the police checkpoint we had just passed. They paid somebody off “to do business” here.

Ralitsa soberly concluded in her Eastern-European accent  “Prostitutes take your money and give you blow job and police just take your money.”

I laughed about this scene not only for the rest of the trip but to this day. Nesebar dates back to the very beginning of time. Okay, it is not quite that old but its history goes all the way back to the ancient Greek City-States. It’s a beautiful place with over forty churches. Outside of the Bible Belt here in the United States no small town needs forty plus churches. So many have been converted into other things such as gift shops and cafes. This was also one of the few places I had a difficult time getting around. Having one leg an inch and a half longer than the other makes for interesting walking almost anywhere but here on golf ball sized cobblestone streets I would have been done for had it not been for Ralitsa and sometimes even Vladi and Ganadi. It was well worth the effort. I’d never been to a single place with such a rich history everywhere I looked.  

My time to leave was nearing when I went to meet the rest of Ralitsa’s family; her daughter Lili from a previous marriage and her mother and father. They lived in a flat on the eighth floor of an apartment building not far from my hotel. Thankfully, the elevator was working. Had it not been I would have done my best to climb the steps. This was for me the highlight of the trip. Looking out one could see The Black Sea from the balcony. The flat was not large but comfortable. We sat in their living room and talked the afternoon away. I told her parents how much Ralitsa and Vladimer had done for me and how thankful I was. We drank and ate well asking each other questions about our respective countries. I had learned through Ralitsa Vladi had a great interest in The American Civil War. I gave him a large illustrated book that chronicled the whole war.  He showed me his collection of Civil War books and gave ma a coin dating back to the Roman Empire. It was a great gift and a true treasure.   

They had one last place to show me before I went home. I was to leave from Sophia. We left the day before and slowly made our way back across Bulgaria stopping here and there as we went.  That afternoon we came to Plovdiv another city dating back to ancient Grease. Here we made our own handicapped parking with Ganadi driving The Yellow Submarine into the ancient city center. Fortunately, no one hassled us. We ate ice cream and I got more practice on cobblestone streets. We happened upon musicians practicing for an upcoming show in the amphitheatre. The music was good and it was not just any amphitheatre, this was built by the Romans and had been in use right down to the present day. It would have been great to stay and catch the show but I had a plane to catch the next morning. 

Trips like this have a strange dream-like quality for me. Being in such a different environment seems almost unreal. I’m writing about this more than ten years later but I still remember these experiences as they happened just a few days ago. It almost goes with out saying but the time flew by. Before I knew it we were back in Sofia and I was headed home. I had grown close to my new best friends, especially Ralitsa. I have been many wonderful places since Bulgaria but this remains my favorite trip so far. It was an outstanding learning and growing experience. I felt like I had accomplished something not just anyone would do. When I got back home, everything seemed a bit smaller. The world was not the same. I learned lessons there that are still with me to this day. When I go overseas, like it or not, I represent the USA. I may be the only American citizens of other countries ever meets. It is important to me to take the role seriously. I try to always be as polite as I can be and think of myself as a guest in their house. That said, I have to know going in the culture is different, the language and the rules are different. Being flexible is also important. I’m traveling to learn first and teach second (only when asked). I’d say the most important thing I took away from Bulgaria (other than friendship) was a new self-confidence. No challenge seemed too great. Ralitsa and I stayed in touch and grew closer.  

In time we grew closer and agreed to marry. Being the romantic devil I am, I proposed through an email. We had discussed the possibility while I was there but it was still pretty far off at that time. It took almost a year for Uncle Sam to process the paperwork but it finally went through. Ralitsa and her daughter Lili came to live with me. It did not last long. Before we married Ralitsa told me she felt it would be a huge mistake for her to go through with it. Naturally, I was heart broken  but also thankful for her honesty. An older friend of mine, Patricia, reminded me to be a gentleman about it. It had been a huge leap of faith for Ralitsa to being her daughter here and if she felt it was not going to work out I had to respect her decision. I agreed but was still hurt to the bone. I have to say taking her and Lili to the airport has to be one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. But broken hearts and dreams are also a part of life. The wheels keep on turning. I wanted to never have any more to do with Ralitsa but she wanted to keep in touch and me to return to Bulgaria one day. Time healed my hurt and I’m glad to say I did stay in touch (if not often). I’ve not been back but still may and hope to one day. What would lead me to take such a trip on my own? Let’s go further back in time. 

Readings 09/06/12

Reading Material

Access Issues - Winston Salem, NC. USA

Handicapped Parking Space Abusers -Happens all the time. Shouldn't people be thankful when they DON'T need these spaces? Most will one day.

Housing Discrimination - Yup, this still goes on.

Let The Kid Go To School -Help me out, I missed the school's point.

Dehumanizing Doctors  - Bedside manners should be a requirement of medical school and manditory training for other medical professionals.

Na zdrave (Cheers) Part II

[I don't have any digital pictures from my trip but I found a few to give you an idea of what a beautiful country Bulgaria is]

  

It was a kind of surreal feeling sitting there in such a familiar place realizing I really was not sure what I was getting into.  I never had any doubts about going but I remember the old military saying, hope for the best but plan for the worst. In my mind the worst-case scenario was Ralisa and her friends would not show up at the airport to meet me for whatever reason.  Then I would be stuck in a strange city knowing only a few words of the local language alone.  I figured I would manage this somehow if it happened.  I also talked to another close friend, Ward, who had enough money to come get me if necessary.  Ward would not have left me hanging there.  He had always come through whenever needed. If we spend time listening to our fears, letting them grow uncontrollably we would never get anything done.  I wasted no time on worrying about being kidnapped, shot by drug running terrorists or falling and bumping head. All these are possible but I thought highly unlikely.  I spent the last day before I was to leave cruising around my hometown in my rickety old 1963 Cadillac. Somehow I realized I would not see it quite the same way again after his trip. I knew this trip could be a life-changing event and in many ways it was. It is not necessary to chronicle the entire trip day by day but rather share the feel of what was going on and what I was learning. Let’s pick the story back up at the airport on that warm afternoon.

I walked with Ralitsa, Vladi and Ganadi outside into the late afternoon sun. We piled into it Ganadi’s car, an older small Russian model. It was a faded yellow and looked like it had been around the world several times. Ganadi had named it “ The Yellow submarine” after the old Beatles song. Shortly after getting in the car Vladi asked me about my impression of his country so far.

“Does this look like Ghetto?” His question caught me a little off guard.

  “No man,” I told him “It reminded me of Southern California.” which was true.

The weather was perfect and the dry hills around Sofia reminded me of being in San Diego. This explained the brown look from above. One could easily tell some of the people may have poor but it felt nothing like a ghetto. There were no bars on windows, small angry groups standing around and guns seemed to be very rare. In fact this may not have been the case but more on that later.  During the time I was there, that funny car did great carrying the four of us all over the country. I'll never forget the trip and especially the first road trip in “The Yellow Submarine.”

Not too far out of Sofia as we were getting to know each other, we began to talk about the end of the Cold War how much things had changed.

“Just a few years ago Paul, if the police caught us with you in the car, we would all be going to jail.” Ralitsa said.

“For a long time.” Vladi added.

After all, at one time I was a “bad guy” American. I'm glad things changed. I thought it was really cool to go to a place not many others here would have gone to. The people there looked similar to me, your basic white people.  If I did not open my mouth, I think I could pass for a local. Looking back on it I guess my new friends were not sure what they were in for either. What would they do had I turned out to be an American asshole or needed much more help than they had bargained for? Knowing what I know now, they would have still taken good care of me but we would have had a lot less fun.      

Two hundred miles on a well-maintained interstate are not the same as two hundred miles across Bulgaria. At first it looked like we were taking a modern highway but that changed quickly. We got twenty or thirty miles out of Sofia and the road quickly narrowed to just two lanes, one for each direction.  The road was not bad just small and curvy.  It took over half the night to get back to Varna. Along the way Ralitsa pointed out some gypsies and told me how the government was still working to get them to join the modern world. They were very, very poor and even a little dangerous was the impression I got. We stopped at a roadside café to get a bite to eat. I ordered a chicken taco. It was good but there was only one small piece of chicken under much lettuce and cheese. Soon we were the only people on the road.

                               “Not many people travel at night.” Ralitsa told me. On the road there was only us, and the occasional large truck.

There was a bright almost full moon and countless stars over black mountains. It was one of the most beautiful nights I had ever seen.  Here I was riding along in the middle of an unknown foreign country in the middle of the night with three strangers!  Man, what a scary, nervous and exciting feeling. Around one or two in the morning we finally arrived.

We had to wake up the owner of the hotel to let us in. It was a small locally owned hotel called the Acropolis.  I don't think it had too many rooms but it did have a nice restaurant. My room was up a small flight of steps that was not too bad to negotiate.  The room itself was large and quite nice.  Best of all, there was no tub to deal with, just a nice large walk in shower.  I called Ward first to let him know I had made it and was being well taken care of by my new friends. There was no need to mount a full blown extraction operation. I admit being in the middle of a strange new country for the first time on my own unnerved me a little. The first night I did not sleep well. Were some dudes going to crawl in through the open window and get me? 

The next morning Ralitsa, Vladi and Ganadi came to pick me up.  We spent the first day tooling around Varna. The streets are narrow and there is a fair amount of trash like most any sizable city.  The other drivers seemed sane enough and the rules of the road seemed pretty close to what we have here in the United States.  I was there in late summer and it was very comfortable in the seventies with little or no humidity. Varna is a truly beautiful city dating back to ancient Greece and Rome. It is a combination of old classical and Soviet style apartment and office buildings. The traffic consisted of almost anything you can imagine on wheels from people on bikes, donkey drawn carts, large trucks, SUVs, small old cars and a few very expensive BMWs and Mercedes throw in for good measure.  The only bad thing was getting stuck behind ancient diesel city buses. When they would start to move from a traffic light or accelerate a huge black cloud of diesel fumes would engulf The Yellow Submarine. Ralitsa told me the old buses were “donated” from rich western countries. But there is so much more to any city than roads and traffic.

The food was fantastic! I think Greece and Bulgaria share the same cookbook. Lunch and dinner always started off with a shopski salad. This consisted of delicious ground white cheese over lettuce and vegetables with a tasty olive oil.  The other essential for each lunch and dinner was Rakia. This is the national drink of Bulgaria. It is very strong like vodka but unlike vodka tastes damn good. I come from a family of drinkers, have many drinking friends and a long history of drinking. I consider myself able to handle my booze for the most part but quickly realized I was now among true professional drinkers. I think any of the three of them could have easily drunk me under the table, including Ralitsa.  Fortunately, I was not unwise enough to try.

Vladi warned me. “Paul, rakia is very strong.. Drink slow.”

I took my host’s advice seriously. They were doing a great job of helping me and the last thing I wanted to do was make their job worse by getting too drunk to walk. So I had a shot of rakia and switched to Astika, a local beer. Ralitsa, Vladi, and I  would get a nice buzz going but not Ganadi. Now don't get me wrong, he liked to drink as much as the rest of us but Bulgaria has no tolerance for drunk driving.  Getting caught there means a minimum two-year prison sentence period.   They do not have Nixon vacation style prisons either. Many places we ate and drank were outside. Stray cats would wander around looking for handouts.  I found out they could pick up English pretty fast. Fortunately, only gave one or two cats small handouts. Later I was told by one of my hosts it was pretty offensive to give food to stray animals. Bulgaria is a poor country and not many can afford to eat in restaurants.  One should not waste food on strays when there are people barely scraping by. Those who do are the real “bad guys”, Mafia types who flaunt their cash but I’m getting a little ahead of myself.