The Struggle...FTK

For the longest time, when I was asked to speak to a group on behalf of IUDM, and Riley Hospital, I graciously did so, but harbored a sense of guilt. I realize now, that was a selfish sentiment on my part and completely discounted the struggle our son faces in his life, on a daily basis.

My initial emotions, many times, were, 'What makes our story so special?', or, 'But, he doesn't look as sick as so many of the other children', but, truth be told...he is. The difference in his life, from so many others, is that he has a voice, and a platform, which is ironic in and of itself because he didn't speak until well after his 2nd birthday. We have a responsibility to be, for so many others, what they wish they could be for themselves; and so we press on and perform our duty with the utmost humility, and an understanding that we do so, for them.

The hardest part for me to wrap my head around, or truly grasp, is that 'life' happens to so many of the Riley children, most of whom were born normal, healthy babies. Another faction, which is easier to understand, are those born with genetic abnormalities; issues which are manageable, but require a great deal of service and care in order to be sustainable for their quality of life. Then there is the group of children who, by all appearances, are happy and healthy and require little to no outside assistance, to succeed and thrive in society, which, by my own admitted failings, are discounted because of the struggle they have faced in their past, and either overcome, or, silently to the rest of us,  continue to face today, and will for their remaining days on this earth. This is why I admire Makenley so much. Because, he has taught me you don't have to be bedridden, or institutionalized, in order to be affected; that this struggle will be real every day, that nothing comes easy.

How we win, or overcome the apparent injustices, is all in how we approach, or perceive, our circumstances. We can sit on the sidelines and mope, feeling sorry for ourselves, or we can get up off the floor...and fight. That's what makes all of the children at Riley so special; it's that they are fighters. They not only have wonderful support systems through the amazing staff and administration, but also through the brilliant and selfless students at IU and, of course, their families. Not every child will win the fight with their earthly bodies, but the results of the determined nature of their will, versus the struggle, will live on in their spirit. 

We love the people of Riley, and the family we have developed through IU, and IUDM, and gratefully accept, and humbly honor, the requests of our time and the need for our message to be heard; because it is important. Each story is meritorious. And, even though some children may not face a lot of the same physical struggles they once endured, there are so many who do, and will, as long as they are with us.

For this reason, I will continue to recount the story of our son, and how he came to us, barely able to walk...unable to speak. I'll tell of his countless hours of therapy, and the physical suffering and uncertainty for his future. I'll continue to discount the notion of so many who said that he couldn't, when he knew that he could...and would. And I will shout from the mountain tops, his success...in school, athletically, societally and interactively, with his peers. How, no matter what people said, or the cruel things he endured...he persevered. I will tell the story, for all of the children, that regardless of the nature of each struggle, they are an inspiration to us all; and the reward is worth the pain, whether in this life or the next...and that is what truly matters. And that is real.

FTK,

Scott

Yesterday, I Cried...

"But there never seems to be enough time

To do the things you want to do

Once you find them..."

To most, 36 hours is an eternity. To us, it is fleeting. There is only so much life you can squeeze into this small window in time; only so many deserving folks you can thank; only so many people you can say hello to, or hug, or spend quality time with...even though you promised. More than once.

And so you step aside and let these amazing individuals go about their business, because it is their job; no, their passion. Which, by its very definition, requires more effort and dedication than mere employment. It demands every ounce of energy, 24/7, for years of their lives, because this moment matters more than any other. And they get it. And so, you cry...

I cried for the BOM Squad; an amazing, eclectic mixture of talented professionals, each of whom know their role, down to the most finite detail, and don't miss a single 'I', or 'T'. I cried because they know their purpose. They know there are no corners to be cut, or stones to be left unturned; and they know enough to put the right people in the right place, to succeed...each and every time.

They know nothing is forever, except family and memories. They know their time to lead the masses will come to a close, much sooner than any could anticipate. And yet, they continue to fight, and lead, and sweat, and bleed; for the children, because they rely on them to do so. For these kids, it is not an option. They put their faith and trust into an organization which continues to inspire, and amaze; every day, every year. And they can rest at ease, feeling safe with the knowledge that their delicate lives are in very capable hands. And it makes me smile...and cry.

I cried for my family, who continue to struggle with many everyday challenges, like so many others, but with the added pressure of a sibling who requires just a bit more attention and compassion than most. The patience they are forced to demonstrate each day is undeniable; and they were rewarded this year with their own support system; a personal 'Buddy' to help them understand that they matter too, and deserve just as much love and attention.

With this great addition to the program comes great loss, as more honorable student representatives move on in their lives, graduating to leave their lasting imprint on this world. For children like my youngest two, it's not as daunting because both of their Buddies return. But for the two eldest, our son a Riley Kid, both of whom have faced tremendous loss, and been forced to overcome inconceivable circumstances, it is heartbreaking. They love these people like their siblings. They look to them as mentors; and it's not always easy to understand why they won't physically be there tomorrow. But, as with many other opportunities and situations in life, there are lessons to be learned...and they move on. They move on with the knowledge that they mean as much to their Buddies, as their Buddies mean to them; and that there is a silver lining. They will add two more members to our ever-growing family next year, in addition to the wonderful souls we've been blessed with in the past. Is it any easier? No. Is the initial sting of loss dismissed, or diminished, because of the promise of a brighter future? No. So, I cry...

I cried for the dancers, who had $3,880,025.22 reasons to celebrate, and did so...vigorously; for the effort they put in to do the right thing, and the enormous struggle it must have been to make it to the finish. I wonder how many truly appreciate the fact that their struggle pales mightily in the face of what most of these children face every day; many staring down death's door and daring anyone to open it. How all of them would give anything to change positions, for perspective..and health. How so many of these kids just want a chance to dance...and may never be able to do so. I marvel, equally, at those who do it for the credit they think they deserve and those who do it for the credit the children do deserve. The former are largely in the minority, but the reality is, that, to a small faction, this is nothing more than a weekend getaway; a chance to party and hang with their buds, and to them I also say, 'I get it'. I do. But, it is also my hope that these individuals hold the capacity in their hearts to let one inspiring story in, and to change their perception...and to never be dealt the hand we, and so many others were, and are, dealt every year. I wouldn't wish these struggles on anyone; and I mean no one. And so I pray for these people...and cry.

I cried for the precious souls who held on, wanting one more chance to be a part of something so special, either in attendance, or from their favorite nurse making the rounds, or tuning in the news for them, yet didn't make it; the innocent babies for whom all of these hours are spent supporting, so that there is never a need for another one of these stupid fundraisers...ever again. We l-o-v-e our IUDM family and all of the schools that dedicate themselves each year to moving toward the cures that must be found, who never give up hope; those whom would all agree, to a person, that the best day of Dance Marathon will be the last day. Not for them. For everyone.
Until then...we cry.

FTK,

Scott

Why They Dance...FTK

"In our work, we see reason, 

To give kids a chance,

We know they'll move mountains, 

This is why we dance."

They told us it would be a time we would never forget. What they didn't prepare us for, however, was the sense of loss, and just how abruptly it would all come to an end...

The Invitation

Approximately ten months ago, my wife happened across a gentleman, while shopping, who struck up a conversation, and before long the talk turned to their kids. He talked about his son, and the difficulties he had been going through, and happened to mention the fact that they were involved with a group associated with Riley Hospital For Children, organized by, and partnered with, Indiana University, called the Indiana University Dance Marathon.

What made this conversation so unique, is that our son, Makenley, also has extensive history with Riley, and some very dear friends of ours were preparing for their own Dance Marathon at the University of Florida, with their son Nick, who happens to be best friends with Makenley. The most interesting aspect, to me, is that I had just spoken to Nick's father that day, and he encouraged me to attempt to get involved with IU's Marathon, as it would be a memorable experience for our son. Little did we know, just a few short hours later, a chance encounter, with a complete stranger, would lead us somewhere we never dreamed imaginable. A few hours later, this gentleman offered my wife, unsolicited, the name of a contact with IUDM, and suggested she contact her. He assured my wife they would welcome us with open arms. 

I emailed Annie, the Riley Family Relations chair, the next day and, true to the word of a stranger, she graciously invited us to become a part of the experience and gave us a chance to do something extraordinary for our son, sharing his story and allowing us to say 'Thank You', to so many who have helped us on our journey. At the close of her initial response to my queary, Annie closed with,

Welcome to our IUDM family!!!

Family, or families, is the foundation of what they do with Dance Marathon. A generous portion of time is given to socializing with the families throughout the year, through different events, which bring together the children for whom the money is raised, and the students, who volunteer so much of their time, selflessly and tirelessly.

The time invested getting to know these people, is one of the most influential and memorable aspects of the marathon involvement. Events such as the Easter egg hunt in the spring, baseball in the summer, and visits to the children's museum and IU football in the fall, all play an integral part in forming these lasting bonds, driving the students toward their fundraising goals, with purpose, and breathing life into the word 'family'.

If there is one certainty in all of this, at the risk of sounding cliché, it's that it truly is an extended family.

We weren't expecting this

From the time we arrived, on Marathon weekend, we were completely overwhelmed. Upon entry to our room, the first thing noticeable was the gift basket, "swag bag", and homemade greeting card, offering well wishes and greetings to Makenley and his siblings. Inside were items of interest, for each of the kids, suggested to his 'Riley Buddy' approximately a week earlier, when she inquired as to each of their likes. Her request was made in such a nonchalant manner, I didn't even think twice about her making a shopping list, which is apparently just what she did, because she didn't..miss..a thing. There were books, and toys, and gift cards, and shirts, and tickets, and treats, and on and on. The time spent on this detail said, unbeknownst to us at the time, just how much preparation and detail went into the event, of which we were about to become a small part. 

Becca, her sorority sisters, and fellow committee members went way above and beyond here, and this was just the beginning...

Our Buddy Becca

Shortly after my initial email to Annie, we were paired with Makenley's Buddy, Becca. Little did we know, at the time, just how much of a pivotal role she would play in the lives of our kids. We first met Becca at the Easter egg hunt and, from the beginning, it was sensed that she would be a perfect match for our son and his siblings. She integrated herself seamlessly into their 'circle', and interacted with each of them, effortlessly, on their own level. The fact that they were 2, 5, 10 and 11, respectively, makes this a most impressive feat. She was patient, kind and attentive, which were all qualities we expected in this experience, but the impact of which were impossible to predict, until the dividends were paid on Marathon weekend.

Our kids cannot stop talking about her. The other day, while they were getting ready to leave for school, I had this exchange with my youngest, as I tied his shoes...

"Daddy, where are we going?"

"You're going to school."

"Is Becca going to be there?"

"No, buddy. Becca is going to her own school."

"I wish we could go to her school..."

You see, this is what I was told, and could not grasp, until being led through this process. These students are ultimately not your "buddies", they are an extension of your family, another sibling to your children and, most assuredly, a friend for life. Our only regret is that we were unable to spend more time getting to know her, leading up to IUDM. Now that the weekend has passed, and there is more free time for all, we have made a pledge to utilize that time, sharing new experiences and learning more about each other.

This is the reality of the life span of 36 hours. This is the impactful nature of the philanthropy of others. This is what opened our eyes to the truth; these kids are dedicated to changing the lives of those in need, specifically the children of Riley Hospital. Every fundraising event, planning meeting, family gathering and stress filled, fatigue laden hour, has led to this: The greatest 36 hour window of all of our lives. Becca is amazing, and she has friends...

Meet the random cast of characters

We've met Annie. She opened our door to this amazing world. 

Then there's Janaki, Director of Riley Development. She spends countless hours ensuring all events go off without a hitch, and making sure every email and phone call is returned and question is answered. I'm not exactly sure where her energy comes from, but I have faith it is an extension of her conviction to this honorable cause. She is a true champion, in every sense of the word, and the families love her.

Aaron was a committee member, who happened upon our toddler at the Lego table, Friday night. On this first night of the Marathon, Aaron did not move from his position at that table, and fielded every inquisition, pieced together every block and faced the wrath and adoration of our exhaustive little person, for 2 hours straight. I feel sorry for Aaron.

Meet Michael. Michael was rebounding baskets for Makenley, for about 45 minutes, when I walked over and struck up a conversation with him. He let me know he was from Illinois, was a freshman at IU, and had been diagnosed with Ewing's Sarcoma, 18 short months earlier. Michael also informed me that after 8 months, and 30 rounds of chemo, he was cancer free. When I asked him what brought him to the Marathon, he stated that when he learned of the event, he felt he needed to be there, and that it was his honor to rebound balls for our son.

There's the young man from Boston, who shared his energy bar with Makenley, encouraging him to push through to the end of the Marathon, and impressed by his athletic ability.

The spirit continued with Leigh, and Emma, and Mitch; Nina and Drew, and countless others who randomly introduced themselves to us, wished Makenley well, and spent hours entertaining ALL of our children.

And I can't forget our last encounter, on the day of the reveal, with the young man who wandered over to Makenley and me when he saw us enter the venue. He extended his hand to my son, told him he had heard me tell his story the night before and was moved. He then handed Makenley a large letter "T", from the infamous FTK slogan, and let him know he had been holding it all night, but that Makenley deserved to have it as a memento of the weekend. Then he turned and walked away, as if this were just normal.
This is what they do, not because they have to, out of some sense of duty, but because they are dedicated, and it is built into their DNA. This is what makes them all so incredibly special...

Why they dance

IUDM is made up of many groups of dancers. Some are dance teams, made up primarily of fraternities and sororities. Others are committee members, and some are individual groups. There are a multitude of 18 hour dance groups, and a 36 hour dance group. All of them have two things in common: 1) They are all present supporting the children of Riley Hospital and their families, and 2) They all have to pay, or raise funds, in various amounts, for the honor to dance; and they come by the thousands.

It's an exhausting, fatigue-filled, emotionally taxing experience. But, to a person, they will each tell you it's worth every minute, and every ounce of blood, sweat and tears.

What makes all the difference, and pushes these students past the brink, are the testimonials; the stories of the struggles of each child, some of whom have been lost, but all of whom have been touched and affected by the money raised through this event. How can you quit, when you are listening to a child tell you to suck it up and stay the course because, compare to 4 months lying stationary in a bed, 36 hours is 'child's play', if you will...

What's next?

This is the part that's not in the brochure; the part no one will tell you about, because, mainly, no one wants to think about it: The End.

After months of planning, and coordinating trips, time spent with your 'buddies', and the best weekend ever...it's over. Done. Period. As you stand there staring blankly at the results of the efforts of these thousands of heroes, tears streaming down your face, all you are left with is, 'Where do I go now?'

There is a tangible withdrawal cycle; pure grief, if we're being completely honest. Some might say it's almost like losing someone close to you. There are no good-byes, or happy photo ops. It's just a bunch of people, doing their best to pick up the pieces and move forward.
But, it's also much more than that. It's a throng of those who, although emotionally drained, and vulnerable, are inspired to do it all again next year; people who get why they do what they do, and feel compelled to make a difference.

This is what is next. This is the perspective we've gained from opening ourselves up to the raw feelings, and lasting relationships which will reveal themselves once there has been a moment to rest; knowing there are those who can't. 

This is life; the realization of love and loss, and moving forward...and dancing.

Until tomorrow,

Scott

Farewell, My Coach

I love you, Coach, but you were wrong. At least one time in your life, you did not have the predetermined answer to your own question.  When you approached me that day, in that sweaty high school gym, and mandated, "You really don't want to coach, do you?" "Barb could really use your assistance in the front office.", you were wrong.  You did make me think, however, and reflect, and prioritize, just like you demanded of all you players...and I went; and I listened, and learned. And I literally would not be who I am today, 25 years worth of youth coaching later, without that inquisition, and opportunity. That and, because of our discussion, you literally turned me into what I am today...The Bull.

It's funny to think about now, how one conversation, or coronation (I felt like I was being knighted), lead me to an alter ego, or identity, by which I've been recognized for over two decades: Bull Deuschle. There are some people who couldn't even tell you my real name, all because of that encounter.
To you, pop culture was the equivalent of winning a free Coke playing the bottle cap game, i.e-it didn't exist. When you approached me that day, you sounded more like Chris Farley in the middle of an SNL skit when you asked, "Have you ever heard of that movie, Bull Durham? You should have been in that movie instead of working at one of my camps, because you always have a baseball hat on."
"I used to play baseball. In fact, I was probably a better baseball player than a basketball player, but they told me I had no arm so I started taking basketball more seriously."
"So, at 6 foot nothing, and slower than a snail in a puddle of glue, here I am. Good choice, huh?"
"You're probably left handed too, aren't you? Lefties are all screwed up. They can't even wear their hats straight. Look at you. It's true. Well, are you a lefty, or not?"
"Yep."
"I knew it; figures."
"Go do something positive, that you'll probably forget but somebody else never will, Bull."
Here endeth the lesson, and I am reborn...

My Coach's personality was as complex as DNA sampling in the O.J. Trial, and his practices were Armageddon; like a sort of schizophrenic church camp. There were the blood vessel-in-the-forehead-bursting-aneurysm-waiting-to-happen diatribes that could be triggered by something as simple as the weather, and there were the quiet, sincere teaching moments, that could be affected by a child who was struggling, or a member of the extended family who had passed. Both were amazing to behold...from the outside.

I couldn't imagine being the target in one of his practices; or, being his player, for that matter. I received more than one eyebrow raising glare, just for being me, or breathing at the wrong time. My Coach was tough. Impossible, at times, because he demanded absolute effort and perfection. There were moments he made Herb Brooks', 'I play for the United States of America' after practice meltdown, look like the opening monologue at a Boy Scout convention. That's what I loved about him, and made me want to be around him; you didn't cut corners, you always gave more of yourself than you thought possible, and even though you might hate practicing for him, you would kill to play for him. I, unfortunately, just wasn't good enough, even though I tried my hardest to prove I was, especially when he wasn't watching.

My Coach had an innate sense about these things-realizing when a little something extra toward an individual might bring about a desired result, either for his team, or the person affected. Such was the case for me, on more than one occasion.
One day in practice, at a point where we were winding down, and he was in a 'fun' mood, My Coach had me come out onto the floor and post up our perennial All-America, all-time collegiate scoring champion, for what he termed, 'proper post defense and positioning', but was little more than my time to spend on the floor with the guys, against a player that, even though he had a vertical of approximately 12 inches, should probably have swatted every attempt I made at the goal. And he fed me the ball, over and over; and I scored, over and over. And he kept feeding me the ball, until the practice was focused solely on that exchange, and until he could tell I was near death..and he stopped. Then he brought it in, stacked it up and said, "Now, that's how we don't want to defend in the post, huh Hutch?" "Good work, Bull." And that was it. Never was another word uttered, and I never participated in anything other than a supporting role in practice, again. That was the genius of the man. He knew when enough was enough and he cared...about all of us.

As much as My Coach demanded excellence, I never heard him swear. Well, once. But, even then, the incident was so benign, he made it sound as if he were giving a lesson on one of the 8 wonders of the world. This is why he was so mesmerizing, so captivating and endearing. You could get berated, dressed down, torn to shreds and, in the end, you felt more like you had let down your father, than angry about the incident; at least 75% of the time. Why? Because you knew, above all else, he truly loved you and cared about your well being and improvement...as a person, as well as a player.

In all of this, I can't imagine how his family-Carmen, Jerry, Brooke and Brittany coped with the difficulty of sharing their Coach with hundreds of other brothers and sisters, and thousands of aunts, uncles, nieces and nephews, but I can tell you this; he loved his family more than all of the other stuff, and I know that because of the strength of his character, and character doesn't lie. Perhaps one day, if they haven't already done so, they too can reflect on the relationships they had with their husband and father, and see that some people are just born to serve others in a larger capacity than you and I. Thank God for those people.
I know they sacrificed many things for their father's relentless pursuit of perfection in life and sport, but man what a legacy to leave. And it's not about living up to something unattainable, it's about living with purpose and reaching others, by any means necessary.

I've seen the outpouring of support, all of the encouraging words and messages, and one thing is constant and true; as much as you may have hated losing to his teams, or enjoyed beating them, in the end we all stand with him...Our Coach. We love you, Coach Meyer.

Rest in Peace,

Bull

Kids Say The Darnedest Things

Kids are crazy...and brilliant.

Just last night, while changing my son's diaper, I found a penny inside; not exactly a 'rabbit out of the hat' moment, but pretty close for me. At first I was curious, then confused. But, upon further inspection (realizing there was nothing but pee inside), and the fact that it was "head's up", the powers of deduction lead me to the conclusion it was inserted there, not deposited, and I kept the coin.
What made the moment even more humorous was, during this morning's 'changing of the guard', in an obvious allusion to last evening's events, my son looked at me during wipe down and said, "Daddy, I have pennies."
Initially, I queried what might cause him to recall that insignificant moment in his life, before answering, "I know buddy, I was there. That was pretty neat."
"No daddy, I have pennis."
"I realize that. It was really fu..."
"NO, Dadd-y!" (Here it comes) "I..have..pen-is!" "Penis! Penis! Penis!"
Oh boy.
How we managed to transition from a 12-hour-old topic of innocent wizardry, to a toddler's version of pubic discovery, is beyond me. What it made me acknowledge, instead, is just how amazing, bright and hilarious the child's' mind truly is; and reflect on the fact that these little people really do say the darnedest things...

What's up, dude?
This was the first conscious example of my son's quirky, conversational tone. I had just put him in his bed, walked over and sat down on the couch, firing up my iPad, when I happened to glance up and notice him standing in his crib, legs crossed, with his arm draped lazily over the side. Looking like a Huggies-overnight-diaper-swaddled miniature James Dean, or a pre-crazy, bloated, botoxed Mickey Rourke, he took a pull from his sippy cup, nodded his head ever so coolly and uttered, "What's up, dude?"
Not wanting to draw attention to the fact that this might have been the funniest thing I had ever seen or heard him do to date, and because it was way past his bedtime, I simply played it straight and nodded back, "What's up?" What this accomplished, in his formative, impressionable, mischievous mind, was buy him more time; that, and provide license to give a voice to any, and every, variation of that phrase possible...for the next 3weeks. On this night, however, we mercifully ended our "conversation" with, "Night, dude."

No!
We transition from my favorite of phrases, to the least. We all know this one and it drives us equally insane. The 'no'.
It doesn't really matter, the request, or demand; the answer is the same...'no'.
"Let's change your diaper."
"No."
"Time to get up for daycare."
"No."
"Are you hungry?"
"No."
"Do you love me?"
"No."
"Do you love yourself, you narcissistic little..."
"..."
Where does this come from? Are they really that bent on independence from us, when they are so dependent on us? I mean, come on! He's two; not twenty two. I found myself constantly wandering aimlessly, asking, 'How did this sweet little angel morph into the devil's spawn, seemingly overnight'? Then, one day, shuffling through the living room in my mind's fog, a trail of 'No! No! No!' following me like a bad reputation, it hit me when I raised my battered, defeated head, to recognize the shadowy templates of my two pre-teen adolescents, pointing and laughing, in their smug, mocking tone. Evil is everywhere...

Guess what?
Speaking of insane...
Typically, I encourage my children to ask questions, in an effort to feed their quizzical little minds. But, there comes a time when it is deemed counter productive to the health and well-being of any of them to ask one..more..question. The 'guess what' is undoubtedly one of those times.
"Hey dad, guess what?"
"What?"
"Did you know Jacob's dog has two legs and two wheels?"
"Hey dad, guess what?"
"What?"
"Did you know I kissed a girl...and I liked it?"
"Hey dad, guess what?"
"Did you know I can drink Coke and blow it out my nose and make bubbles."
Now, that one's kind of cool.
"Hey dad, guess what?"
And on, and on, and on. I'm all for opening their minds and feeding their intellect, but sometimes it feels as if I'm stuck in the middle of a bad Jerry Maguire sequel...

The parrot
Equally as taxing on the 'patience meter' is the "parrot", or the recitation of every single thing that I say to any of my children (as if it bears repeating).
"Suzy, pick up you clothes."
"Yeah! Pick up your clothes!"
"Eat you vegetables, Dexter."
"Eat you vege-ta-blLlLlLes!"
"Go outside, Clarence."
"Go outside. Go Outside. Gooo Ouuut-SIDE!"
If I could retrain his little mind to actually follow the directives he mandates, my requests may sound more like, "I want to get dad a drink.", or "I really need to help dad with the chores." To this point he has proven much too smart to fall for such antics, and they are mere echoes off of our four walls. I am determined. I will find a way...

Shut up!
The independence previously touched upon, is quickly followed up by defiance; rude, disrespectful, vocal defiance.
"Sit down and eat."
"Shut up!"
"Go to your room."
"Shut up!"
"Stop clubbing the Chihuahua."
"Shut up!"
"You are the most awesome kid ever."
"Shut.."
Ha! It seems the old man still has some tricks up his sleeve. One of us may make it through this phase alive, after all...

You're not the boss of me
These two could probably be 1a and 1b, in the pantheon of disrespect. Although exclaimed with varying intonations, they both have the same long-term effects on the parental psyche'; sheer destruction.
"Go upstairs and pick up your toys."
"You're not the boss of me."
Get your coat on and get in the car."
"You're not the boss of me."
"Time to come inside." (Neighborhood full of children and adults witnessing the battle of wills)
"You're not the boss of me! You're not the boss of me! You're not the boss of me!" (Running up and down the sidewalk, in circles, ADHD in full effect)
(Parents and children still entranced)
"Yeah, well I may not be the boss of you, but I brought you into this world...and I can take you out!" 'Thanks, pops', I think, pointing upward (even though he still lives in rural Ohio), and getting a discreet round of thumbs up from the other dads standing within earshot of this showdown at high noon. The only thing missing is a slo mo of the smoking gun being thrust back into my holster, with the theme song from The Good, The Bad and The Ugly blaring in the background. It is a moment of great pride...

What does the fox say?
Mercifully we've graduated to a "Happier" place...

They make us laugh. They make us cry. They drive us mad with their unwavering spirit and dogged determination, and they make us beg for more. I don't know that pennies come from heaven, but kids surely do.

Until tomorrow,

Scott

This City Has Gone To The Dogs

My wife is a pet angel, pure and simple. She has known, since the tender age of 6, that she was put on this earth for one reason-to make a difference in the lives of as many animals, and their owners, as possible while she is here. The rest of us are window dressing, to be drug along with her, many times kicking and screaming.
Don't get me wrong; we all knew what we were signing up for, going in. Well, maybe not the kids-but the rest of us for sure. Okay...we had no idea the level of selfless dedication that would be poured into this calling, a borderline obsessive passion, which to some may appear on the surface to be, well, selfish.
To me, these are all wonderful traits. It's fascinating to watch someone work at a true craft, with an honest purpose in what they are doing. It's rewarding to share a life experience with someone who understands their purpose, rather than floating through life like so many of the rest of us. This has been my reality for 20 years, and I marvel each day at the exhaustive outpouring of emotion, and self, that goes into this 24/7 lifestyle.
Since arriving here in '99, she has spent a great deal of time networking and volunteering, in an effort to establish a true clientele, who get her, and her reason for what she is doing. She has served on the board of rescue groups, been published in several journals and foundation newsletters. She has surrounded herself with many dedicated and adept professionals, who share her vision and sacrifice their own time to help her run vaccine clinics, in order to help educate the public. And, she has committed herself to working with, and offering assistance to, two of the most wonderful organizations in this state, if not the country, and that is what I am choosing to write about today; her affiliation with FACE Low Cost Spay Neuter Clinic, and Indiana Bulldog Rescue.

FACE is a magnificent non-profit organization, whose mission is to prevent overpopulation and disease through affordable surgical and vaccine methods. My wife has worked with this foundation and its amazing director and staff for 6 years. This group has built such a positive reputation in the community, that they were recognized as March 2014's national Shelter Of The Month by Jackson Galaxy, famed feline advocate.
It is this dedication to service which drew her in, and continues to drive her in her mission to help all animals. The personal assistance they provide to each client, regardless of circumstance, is unmatched in the veterinary and rescue community. This is a true purpose driven work, and a great source of pride for my wife and others so fortunate to be a part of such a relevant cause.

Indiana Bulldog Rescue was founded by a dear friend and has also become a direct part of our "family". One of our 6 rescues, 'Rex', comes from this institution. The primary function of IBR is to inform current and potential owners of the benefit, and need, of pet adoption versus breeding, in this instance as it pertains to the bulldog. 

The staff of volunteers here work tirelessly and run a rescue, foster and adoption group second to none. They have made such an impact locally, that Indianapolis Monthly Magazine named them one of this city's 2013, "best of's". 

We have met a wealth of hard-working advocates for pet adoption through IBR, many of whom have become very close acquaintances. Their main source of income is through private donations and fundraising efforts like the "Bidding for Bullies", an online auction which they will hold via their web site March 13-16. Just 'like' the page and bid for an all-important cause.

There is a reason we were brought together, both personally, and to this fair city. There is work to be done, a true service for the local community. One that impacts us both directly, and through what she and other amazing professionals like her, offer our citizens. 

Certainly I am biased, but I have never met a more caring and compassionate individual in this field, as my wife. I'm proud of the work she performs, the commitment to her life's vocation and the fact that she chose me to pull along with her.

Take the time to spread the word about the benefit and duty of pet adoption and overpopulation, and next time you are faced with a decision about bringing another furry member into your family, look at one of these remarkable organizations. You'll be glad you did.

Until tomorrow,

Scott

Why I Run...Bully-Free Forever

I have a multitude of regrets in my life. Perhaps none more pervasive, or haunting, than that of the bullying I've witnessed, been victim to, or been a part of at different stages of my existence. This is one of the demons I choose to chase, rather than run from, in what I hope to become a habit forming venture in my 'new' life...the run.
Bullying is one of those high-profile, oft overused terms in our society today and, frankly, an issue I admittedly paid little heed to until it affected me directly as a parent. You see, what I had done, in my own manner of therapy, was manage to bury the various incidents of which I had been a part of, directly or not, growing into young adulthood. I tucked them away, very comfortably and neatly, hoping never to have those shameful memories invade my conscience again. I guess our Gods work in very mysterious ways, because since the issue has affected my son, I have not been able to let go; of him, and the repetitive nature of his encounters, or of those which have silently pursued me my entire life. This is why I run.

I run for the 'friends' of whom I inwardly feared; for the kid who was just a little bit larger than me, and used that to his advantage whenever he deemed appropriate. You know, the one that hides behind the veil of kinship, only to turn on you and betray that fragile bond, or trust, at a moments' notice, like a venomous snake, coiled and ready to strike. What I realize, or 'see' now, is, that this isn't necessarily the person he wanted to be, but rather the result of his own abusive relationship with an absentee parent. He had become the statistic in a household where he was forced to raise not only himself, but his brother...and he was lost. For all of the times he took those frustrations out on me, I am sorry. I am sorry because it causes me to wonder what thoughts had gone through the minds of others, when the tables were turned...

I run for those for whose trust I have betrayed, at some point or other, in our relationships, and marvel at their capacity to forgive. I have an aged mind, more than likely as a matter of convenience, when it comes to issues of my propensity for this behavior. To their credit, my friends, and I continue to call them friends with their grace and permission, have not been as willing to let me off the hook. I have been reminded, on several occasions, about past transgressions of which I was a part, and had one dear soul go so far as to tell me, 'It's okay, though. I forgive you.' Talk about a humility check.
Typically, I pride myself in the way I treat others I consider to be acquaintances, if not close friends, but it is their willingness to hold the mirror in front of me which had caused me to reflect, and admit, that there is just as much guilt in by-standing as there is in participation. In fact, it may be a more egregious sin, because the passive nature of ones' response is firmly within their control; meaning, there is more that could, and should, have been done...

I run for those for whom I did nothing, and for whom I bear the most remorse; for the girl that rode my bus growing up, and faced relentless attacks, almost daily, while I, and other cowards who shared the same route, sat by idly...and watched. She was badgered, had books knocked out of her hands, spit balls thrown at her, drinks poured on her and we sat there. The bus driver sat there. But, why? What did this innocent child do to any of the rest of us? What did she do to her tormentors, to cause such vicious and inhumane attacks? Was it because her clothes were a little different, or her house wasn't as nice? Was it because she had to wear glasses, out of need, that weren't quite as stylish as they would have wanted? What has become of her? Better yet, what has become of them? Do they harbor the same guilt and shame that I've carried with me for over 30 years? Have they shed tears on countless occasions, asking their God to forgive them for their actions, or inaction? I hope today, wherever she may be, she can find it in her heart to forgive me...

I run for my son; for the courage he's shown in undertaking his box top collection venture. I applaud him for standing up and saying, 'My disability is not an excuse for you to attempt to take advantage of me. I won't allow it'. I admire him for asking others, many complete strangers, to stand with him; to show solidarity through clipping, and saving and mailing these, Box Tops For Education, some 5,500 to date. I exalt him for saying, 'Thank You for your effort, but it's not enough'. It will never be enough. This is one of the reasons we've chosen to honor those willing to take the time, and dedicate themselves to this cause, by placing their name on the back of the shirt, or shirts, I will wear in this year's mini marathon, here in Indianapolis; the simple, selfless act of sending box tops to him, at his school, to say, 'We've got your back'.
I realize there are many who have read my blog, that have no idea what a box top is, but are curious as to how they can help. Well, friends in Canada, Germany, Russia, Great Britain, The Netherlands, The Ukraine, Australia, New Zealand, Paraguay, Uganda, Guatemala, Peru, Iraq, Poland, Iceland, Sweden, Italy, Korea, India, Afghanistan, Japan, St. Kitts and Nevis, Belize, Haiti and others I have missed...you are in luck. Send me a coin, pin, or trinket indicating your support of the mission, and I will carry you on my back as well. I will include anyone and everyone who chooses to stand beside my son, and run with me.

We all deserve to live the best life possible. At times it takes a difficult lesson to come to this conclusion, but the truth is irrefutable. There is no excuse for intolerance, only acceptance of others. Oh, and the realization that forgiveness is a key component; and attainable. Ask and you shall receive, but you have to be willing to forgive yourself first...and let go. And run.

The address:

Makenley Deuschle
C/O Robey Elementary
8700 W 30th St.
Indianapolis, Indiana 46234
USA

Share to make aware,

Scott