tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-77732112087396320362024-03-05T08:16:49.642-08:00Samoana (The No-Handed Bandit) MatagiSparse notes of life lessonsSamoana (The No-Handed Bandit) Matagihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06040820120416228392noreply@blogger.comBlogger29125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7773211208739632036.post-7161531212312385742023-10-29T21:28:00.000-07:002023-10-29T21:28:45.993-07:00A Mother's Love.....<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjX_rORplr6_4mMoavBr_-V8fXJB6-VY122BLX826f7xGVPI_IjMA3QaglqvCJyYUmpFVcIjpZTmxkiRUe0A9FxcvlpzwzggC-4Gzn-qXEEWTr8_6HDscgShf0CSKAInhVZuvDj_RMKVDaN/s1600/IMG_0661.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjX_rORplr6_4mMoavBr_-V8fXJB6-VY122BLX826f7xGVPI_IjMA3QaglqvCJyYUmpFVcIjpZTmxkiRUe0A9FxcvlpzwzggC-4Gzn-qXEEWTr8_6HDscgShf0CSKAInhVZuvDj_RMKVDaN/s320/IMG_0661.JPG" width="320"></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Funeral Feb 25, 2012</td></tr>
</tbody></table>In 1996 I was in my third year at Utah State University. I have no idea what I was studying. Neither did I have any idea what I wanted to do for the rest of my life. Because of that I don't call it a junior year. It took meunix years to graduate so I call it the beginning of my sophomore year. The only thing I did know at the time was that I was a part of the Polynesian Student Union. PSU, as we called it, gave me a chance to serve. Perhaps it is no coincidence that it was through service that I met one of the most unselfish women I have ever met,Tuali'i.<br>
<br>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFcglscAtiMdHz-tS8g60h1oBew0EXUaenC9nEhqq-qXA6qU8zK8oJKdo42e0TRJqfhJudy7M5yBnby-iqtmzRa6cx7JJbpk6NCBcGixbtI3YNZnU7__ZNbDdF7CltKE8N-bAOIsI7nLGV/s1600/Tua+at+service+projet.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="209" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFcglscAtiMdHz-tS8g60h1oBew0EXUaenC9nEhqq-qXA6qU8zK8oJKdo42e0TRJqfhJudy7M5yBnby-iqtmzRa6cx7JJbpk6NCBcGixbtI3YNZnU7__ZNbDdF7CltKE8N-bAOIsI7nLGV/s320/Tua+at+service+projet.jpg" width="320"></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">L to R top row Tua, Anne Keiaho, Tonga, Sau<br>
L to R Lisiate Keiaho, Kamilia (Sau's daughter) me<br>
after performing for an old folks home in Brigham City</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Back then, she was married to a man by the name of John Halloran. She worked at a dental office as a dental assistant, while her husband worked as an engineer. They lived in the most affluent neighborhood in the small city of Logan. Although they were very well-off, all were treated like a brother or sister to her. Tua, short for Tuali'i, had this enormous heart that allowed everyone in as a great big family. In fact, I had slept in their guest room many times and for some reason I don't doubt that many whom she called 'bro' or 'sis' have also recieved of her hospitality.<br>
<br>
I have this uncanny ability to play practical jokes, tease, say the rudest and most sarcastic things to the point that people get offended or in the least get angry at me. Tua would just laugh and smile and say, "Shut up Sam!" I can only remember one time that she yanked my ear a little bit. Because she didn't ever do that it was way more effective than when others did it.<br>
<br>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgs_xMoWMc4d-QGGq7ZKUWGJesx7nqd8pSoGtAtfA0F5KYHCUDCWGT-L4szFoKqryCOA0df77s7UlJ2_x5TmpfOhNNqDbhjzyFIqtQ-dK9MfdNzRf9fU3sj_ons9CuRbgZaJ-UYyOwRowqq/s1600/Tua+at+Saus+house.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="188" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgs_xMoWMc4d-QGGq7ZKUWGJesx7nqd8pSoGtAtfA0F5KYHCUDCWGT-L4szFoKqryCOA0df77s7UlJ2_x5TmpfOhNNqDbhjzyFIqtQ-dK9MfdNzRf9fU3sj_ons9CuRbgZaJ-UYyOwRowqq/s320/Tua+at+Saus+house.jpg" width="320"></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">L to R top row Tua, Anne, Sau<br>
bot row Samoana and Lisiate<br>
at Sau's baby blessing of Mosiah</td></tr>
</tbody></table>In 1997, somehow, the Polynesian Student Union and community in Logan saw fit to elect me as president of the PSU. I knew it was an undaunting task but I also knew that my two friends, Sau and Tua, who call me little brother, had my back 100 % and with their help I would not fail. Now they weren't the only ones. There were the Keiaho's, the Pauni's, Walter Mila, the Ka'ilis, Mele Lauti, Wayne Ngaluafe etc. <br>
<br>
Somewhere during that school year, the Keiaho family joined in our little group and formed what I call the Logan family. The Keiaho's had two of their five kids super involved and the very youngest was super excited to join in when he got old enough. I still consider Sau, Tua and the Keiaho's family to this day.<br>
<br>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNHGDUttpR1PXKO2kTRWLP_kRTVh__6lhT8Cv1K_18fDO5qkb0CrUHG48Z0DeP97QQGx6xU6qg81yAF0Ws-_gmneCWq7T4n1K6BXkATc9VlTCFsxVL_Di-7N14lGPSLpkw0FIeV6UcvS2t/s1600/Tua+at+family+reunion.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNHGDUttpR1PXKO2kTRWLP_kRTVh__6lhT8Cv1K_18fDO5qkb0CrUHG48Z0DeP97QQGx6xU6qg81yAF0Ws-_gmneCWq7T4n1K6BXkATc9VlTCFsxVL_Di-7N14lGPSLpkw0FIeV6UcvS2t/s320/Tua+at+family+reunion.jpg" width="320"></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">L to R forgot her name Sau, Tua, Anne<br>
performing at my family reunion</td></tr>
</tbody></table>The club, with the most rookie of rookies as their leader, somehow managed to put on the clubs main event, a luau, by the skin of my teeth. At the same time Sau, Tua, the Keiaho family and I created a bond that was inseparable. Whenever one of these brothers or sisters in this bond needed help we were all there for them. They have come and danced for my family reunion, my sisters wedding, old folks homes, a troubled teens school, etc. With Tua being so well-off, she needed us least and in turn gave the most.<br>
<br>
At the end of that school year, in 1998, I decided I wanted to serve a mission for my church. Tuali'i, who at the time was a member of a different church, supported my decision full-heartedly. I remember her giving me a check that amounted to more then everyone of my family members had given me. She was at the farewell and the gate for the airplane as I began my journey out of the country.<br>
<br>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgK8NaumjsDzaIfZ-pnIKsm4Rj0fffuZ8LqZmyx8Szcw8hAs4b9hFjtXv7YYyGIX099a2ZNFI_NQWlmhzqIAc0MtUX26l8sljXL0_kE_MZBVwpG_BLbhlmP7TwxkZedx58OC4y14LSgwNRq/s1600/Tua+in+living+room.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgK8NaumjsDzaIfZ-pnIKsm4Rj0fffuZ8LqZmyx8Szcw8hAs4b9hFjtXv7YYyGIX099a2ZNFI_NQWlmhzqIAc0MtUX26l8sljXL0_kE_MZBVwpG_BLbhlmP7TwxkZedx58OC4y14LSgwNRq/s320/Tua+in+living+room.jpg" width="320"></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sau, baby Mosiah, Anne and Tua having a sleep over at my<br>
house with irons out to flatten hair</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Of my Logan family, the one I recieved a letter from the most was Tua. In fact when I needed something from the states, I wrote to either my mom or Tua. One time the missionaries decided to put on a luau for a missionary activity. I was going to teach my fellow missionaries some dances and show a movie of other dances. It would necessitate a cd and a VHS cassette. I wrote to Tua. Not only did she send me all of the above but she went beyond and sent me an Aloha shirt.<br>
<br>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqi0GeGTjZ_auV6pqvKP2yEvikdbnF3AE-xH68w9BV-yVHnbWV9oyn46jwgUdnSjYrYHwULS4cjx83dh0pS1DVxVdCNkw2JURH26dp7buV82m8Qv52WnB6-gEGjp10MeNjlH4wWFdLBxbN/s1600/Tua+at+Felicias+wedding.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="215" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqi0GeGTjZ_auV6pqvKP2yEvikdbnF3AE-xH68w9BV-yVHnbWV9oyn46jwgUdnSjYrYHwULS4cjx83dh0pS1DVxVdCNkw2JURH26dp7buV82m8Qv52WnB6-gEGjp10MeNjlH4wWFdLBxbN/s320/Tua+at+Felicias+wedding.jpg" width="320"></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My sister Selesitila and Tua at my little<br>
sister's wedding</td></tr>
</tbody></table>I returned from Brazil and she and Sau were there at the airport. Tua and Sau were always trying to hook me up with a girl. The first thing Tua did was have a party with some of the new PSU members, all with the aim of introducing me to a girl. I remember distinctly that there was food and drinks and even boos for those that drank alcohol. She was the greatest of hosts because she always thought of what the others wanted.<br>
<br>
Her marriage to John ended and she moved away to Salt Lake City. In a couple of years she married Papu Enosa. She had a kid named Katelin Eventually she was baptized in the same denomination as I. I wasn't present for any of those events, which I regret. <br>
<br>
I would see her occasionally at flag days, a celebration of the Samoan culture. We would chat for a bit and then be on our merry ways. The last time I saw her before seeing her in her deathbed was in the summer of 2011. She was taking care of her primary duties. We talked briefly, then she returned to her duties serving in the primary.<br>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh12HudMCg22m8d3FJ07fhZhjc5zK_20f6jRhTNahoLpPMmGAnQH1UduNsHIN2Tk9nyF57rSsRZjAX16KiV_rgrngtXl4bsvZUKiQAFcYWQqy-bb4wGmfyUF69keT42qUuPQDeqYcpm6a7V/s1600/IMG_0658.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh12HudMCg22m8d3FJ07fhZhjc5zK_20f6jRhTNahoLpPMmGAnQH1UduNsHIN2Tk9nyF57rSsRZjAX16KiV_rgrngtXl4bsvZUKiQAFcYWQqy-bb4wGmfyUF69keT42qUuPQDeqYcpm6a7V/s320/IMG_0658.JPG" width="240"></a><br>
Later on I found out she was fighting cancer. Just like her to not even mention that she was fighting cancer. She was too unselfish to burden anyone with that knowledge. Tua would rather carry her burdens in addition to any other burdens her friends had. Rumor was that every night she was sick to the point of throwing up.<br>
<br>
"Call ASAP", was the text message I recieved from Sau, on February 11, 2012. She broke some bad news to me, telling me that Tua was sent home from the hospital and that she was on her deathbed. We planned to visit her the next day. <br>
<br>
It's a very humbling experience to visit someone who is going to die. What do you say? What do you bring? I wondered if she would even recognize me. Sau had told me she couldn't talk. When we went she talked to Sau a lot. <br>
<br>
She looked at me, her eyes lit up. Her eyes lit up and she said, "Samoana!" We embraced. I asked her about the dumbest question you can ask, "How are you doing?" Obviously, she was not doing well. She gave me a long frown. <br>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEvc-K4LDA3H81Qg-0I_OYSQUug9KpRGpkIqT42f313PXm6RbLnolILEqyAW97zCFFBwRvwN6F9F_-NiR4P8fT_Foq8upsK_34uuuNiR-RVPKavfGeB9s-fW-maH1u_7xeu2_WFT-eONp0/s1600/IMG_0660.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEvc-K4LDA3H81Qg-0I_OYSQUug9KpRGpkIqT42f313PXm6RbLnolILEqyAW97zCFFBwRvwN6F9F_-NiR4P8fT_Foq8upsK_34uuuNiR-RVPKavfGeB9s-fW-maH1u_7xeu2_WFT-eONp0/s320/IMG_0660.JPG" width="320"></a><br>
My guess was the long frown was her version of crying. At her funeral we had found out that due to dehydration the Doctor had said she wouldn't be able to cry. She, however, did later on cry one more last tear. <br>
<br>
We found out she had allowed her significant other to go to the rugby sevens tournament. To me it showed that even on her deathbed she thought of others before herself. But it also made me mad and sad, as we left, to know this. <br>
<br>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifbsKtkMQn3QADzQ3usHUK7VlrEZKmNHPc4aV3-CLJPs7vhqv8bfCIi_U4EEiGRhricA14LwLoIizfk5tWc2OPKBuYVuxFUdnUjigfAAxiAdCIjIGHgZCds0XtCcQmNiXnitiiVdHZjGpg/s1600/IMG_0657.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifbsKtkMQn3QADzQ3usHUK7VlrEZKmNHPc4aV3-CLJPs7vhqv8bfCIi_U4EEiGRhricA14LwLoIizfk5tWc2OPKBuYVuxFUdnUjigfAAxiAdCIjIGHgZCds0XtCcQmNiXnitiiVdHZjGpg/s320/IMG_0657.JPG" width="240"></a>I visited again with some of the Keiaho family, my mother and my sister. To know that my sister and mom visited showed me how much she had done for my family. My sister is a homebody and my mom is pretty much homebound because she has dialysis three times a week. We all began breaking out with our fondest memories of Tua. I asked Tua if there was anything she needed me to do before she passes away. She kept saying no as if she had forgiven everyone on this earth.<br>
<br>
The Divine Heritage Choir came to sing to her on Thursday. I regretfully wasn't able to go but had planned to go again on Sunday. Unfortunately for me, I didn't get to see her as she passed Sunday morning.<br>
<br>
The funeral came the following Saturday. I attended with hundreds of other people. The gym was packed with people who's lives had been touched by the warmth of her love. There were touching testimonies of her love and selflessness. <br>
<br>
One of her close friends shared, to me, the most touching testimony of all. She told of Tua's last moments on earth. Early in the morning, Tua started breathing fast. Her friend said she could tell that Tua wouldn't make it much longer so she grabbed Katelin, Tua's daughter, and brought her in front of her mom to see her last breaths on Earth. She said Tua's breaths slowed down to a very slow pace. Tua looked over at her daughter and with her last breath a tear came out of her eye.<br>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy0ewSRTPyj3aMx7QIbd6PUnWOlUKECasJ5pFyG6XVed6PDoOQJNTTwI5pL5jB6HZp4icIM8hCFGX3lhAxvItUPRYZ0pk7mvvJ8R8tajKATzrvf-IakKVtmZJH05X0GRnoNkrbgMg88Kf8/s1600/Tua+funeral.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy0ewSRTPyj3aMx7QIbd6PUnWOlUKECasJ5pFyG6XVed6PDoOQJNTTwI5pL5jB6HZp4icIM8hCFGX3lhAxvItUPRYZ0pk7mvvJ8R8tajKATzrvf-IakKVtmZJH05X0GRnoNkrbgMg88Kf8/s320/Tua+funeral.jpg" width="212"></a></div><br>
Something tells me she had been saving that tear for her daughter. Although the Doctor, a learned man, and his years of schooling would say, "She will not be able to cry," the Doctor couldn't account for a mothers love for her child. Tua, a person who was selfless and always serving, ultimately spent her last breath serving.<br>
<br>
I can't help to notice the similarity between Tua and my mother. My mother goes to dialysis three days a week. She has outlasted everyone of her colleagues at dialysis as they quit and pass on or just pass away in the chair. Dialysis is a grueling process that involves needles and bruises, the feeling of being light headed, sore bones, and throwing up. I feel like what drives her is her love and selflessness for her children.<br>
<br>
Hopefully one day I can be found with that same love because I know it will be good with me in the next life to posess it. Moroni 7:47 47 But charity is the pure love of Christ, and it endureth forever; and whoso is found possessed of it at the last day, it shall be well with him.</div>Samoana (The No-Handed Bandit) Matagihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06040820120416228392noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7773211208739632036.post-77175004264082706092021-04-12T11:41:00.003-07:002021-04-12T11:41:40.295-07:00Kiziks Cairo Box OpeningHands-free shoes that look good<div><iframe frameborder="0" height="270" src="https://youtube.com/embed/_b6yF8XD5sw" width="480"></iframe></div>Samoana (The No-Handed Bandit) Matagihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06040820120416228392noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7773211208739632036.post-24443974565307985522020-10-19T12:15:00.003-07:002021-04-02T09:26:30.386-07:00The Legacy of Lady Lou the Shih Tzu<span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsBO5_A7SQQorealfWbNbJ4WBzs2y_5fFwLHY99McXD4BNjMzDobP-0W4Xw2DZWLBygQwA0JE5gaaeq9cSh-p1pG15GBMbD2LP5SkJw91eWoMpJPOsFqtzlGdFeoQNR7rsH1eeJagwhQ4y/s2048/2014-02-07+15.03.18.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsBO5_A7SQQorealfWbNbJ4WBzs2y_5fFwLHY99McXD4BNjMzDobP-0W4Xw2DZWLBygQwA0JE5gaaeq9cSh-p1pG15GBMbD2LP5SkJw91eWoMpJPOsFqtzlGdFeoQNR7rsH1eeJagwhQ4y/s320/2014-02-07+15.03.18.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgO40nKqCnJ67DVW8pbz8mEZ4zSXD69fG3YwnGAMQxQ7VN9ZSWcQyz3kBGXPNSUzGrqUF82BqxCIsRuAV7m8mf0Fn-CXT_Zngc_DN3LIYXRglPrhF-7q7Od9VdagHwZNOm9CiAkZmUJ8ThK/s2048/2013-10-06+17.37.42.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgO40nKqCnJ67DVW8pbz8mEZ4zSXD69fG3YwnGAMQxQ7VN9ZSWcQyz3kBGXPNSUzGrqUF82BqxCIsRuAV7m8mf0Fn-CXT_Zngc_DN3LIYXRglPrhF-7q7Od9VdagHwZNOm9CiAkZmUJ8ThK/s320/2013-10-06+17.37.42.jpg"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaccHsCpp7-llzgMQWLkN7zLkPX6EfsX0dZDwEtUWsEL6H1KFAyzzDRaeJlZZjmDvletbWar9cChR1cqhvV9VPayC4NWGzJ0zFvut2XBAznlH2qMEYTeJR30b1Tyq6j9_aekaYNVdTV0G0/s2048/20160124_152917.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; 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text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwuWR6fnkX228IC5GX9VpG50536Mo0v0qEhsUIyMsTAFrDNPQAB5p9ZvFi5Mqcz9KO-j7qjxOGTStDRY6XvHW4u3-wvXgGhUaHWnP13CH8DtkEcjmqbzIvojyP4aB4amXSnef587knV0aM/s2048/IMG_20160818_230836.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="2048" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwuWR6fnkX228IC5GX9VpG50536Mo0v0qEhsUIyMsTAFrDNPQAB5p9ZvFi5Mqcz9KO-j7qjxOGTStDRY6XvHW4u3-wvXgGhUaHWnP13CH8DtkEcjmqbzIvojyP4aB4amXSnef587knV0aM/s320/IMG_20160818_230836.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwDVj3EOTCKVwnxCXcW0Y6scn1jiXrT5Tz75AfgfXRZUL0afPLRbytddjY-9sG44mtb-XnXpIoRdtMvdtjiXMJrBd6-cF1RCGV-gvvkjkZ8SdZs565AW7Hl6_xRMrsLTfQ8mM0sc1jzRF7/s1564/IMG_20171121_005209_597.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1564" data-original-width="1564" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwDVj3EOTCKVwnxCXcW0Y6scn1jiXrT5Tz75AfgfXRZUL0afPLRbytddjY-9sG44mtb-XnXpIoRdtMvdtjiXMJrBd6-cF1RCGV-gvvkjkZ8SdZs565AW7Hl6_xRMrsLTfQ8mM0sc1jzRF7/s320/IMG_20171121_005209_597.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjF-6CYrmlxAF6j4E7icHzD6bThn1i8bH6zrRwvG2fiCL2WE-SPchsIBdZbChtnXdHBTDjaVKgK17b7gnGz7PwcKrLS6Ahwdt0ACRm8dNt3oTuiCqQ1Ccha2YWBuR1JIhQUCHNVF-F2sO_f/s1564/IMG_20180930_181821.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1564" data-original-width="1564" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjF-6CYrmlxAF6j4E7icHzD6bThn1i8bH6zrRwvG2fiCL2WE-SPchsIBdZbChtnXdHBTDjaVKgK17b7gnGz7PwcKrLS6Ahwdt0ACRm8dNt3oTuiCqQ1Ccha2YWBuR1JIhQUCHNVF-F2sO_f/s320/IMG_20180930_181821.jpg"></a></div><br><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;">Lady Lou had lived a long life receiving love from me, my sister, and most importantly the amazingly super strong love of my mother. My mom was very chill in her earthly days and it rubbed off on Lady Lou. She was the most chill dog with humans. One time I told the mail lady that was scared Lady would bite her, "you don't need to be scared unless you wanna get licked to death." </span></div></span><br><span>Lady was born the same year I graduated from college, 2004. She is a full breed shih tzu. A neighbor was breeding shih tzus and my mom would see her on her excercise walks. They became friends. When the litter came, Lady was the biggest of them all. I'm talking if Shaq was a shih tzu, he would have been the same size as Lady. The neighbor, the same one my mom would give, every year, lagoon tickets from the kidney foundation to, gave my mom Lady in show of her gratitude. </span><br>
<span>Lady was giant for a shih tzu but still tiny though. So small she could fit in my coat pocket when she was young. I would often carry her in my coat pocket. One time I went to the family of my fiancé at that time, and her dad said what's that in your pocket. "It's my dog" I responded. He said, "you can let it out if you want." she crawled up the stairs and on the stairs in the front room took a tiny dump. I was embarrassed at the time. Now that the relationship didn't work out, I'm kind of proud and jealous that I didn't do that. </span>
<br><br><span>We had been taking care of another dog named Coco for a while before Lady came. When we returned Coco to my brother, I have a feeling my mom missed the company of Coco, so when the neighbor offered Lady, she accepted Lady in a heart beat.</span>
<br><br><span> She was a smart dog. She potty trained very fast. She was very nice to humans. She would bark a ferocious storm when she would see another dog. I used to warn the other person walking their dogs, "don't worry she's not mad she's just loud. </span>
<br><br><span>Coco came back to us via my brother and so Lady and Coco became a tandem. Every once in a while they would fight each other over my mom's love. She would break the two up and have a stem talking to them. Then they would be a tandem again. </span>
<br><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiOu9pFqJWa5sF0RKuq8ZiQ34fSm6EH8NSZbAqmUUyzDA1Ebd4sjn0Fnq3_BCyG4RBufzIS3gGpfBogLIjyYvz7HGbjioW_leRo_UfEJnTynesnxKYK6wpniu-vk4ujwEEHVjvDraFAU1K/s2048/20141226_050345.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1152" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiOu9pFqJWa5sF0RKuq8ZiQ34fSm6EH8NSZbAqmUUyzDA1Ebd4sjn0Fnq3_BCyG4RBufzIS3gGpfBogLIjyYvz7HGbjioW_leRo_UfEJnTynesnxKYK6wpniu-vk4ujwEEHVjvDraFAU1K/s320/20141226_050345.jpg" width="320"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi5zKARf2V4EEvSJ4F6liZHwmhRn807ViF3mkKfSsoTYMmB9LuhMwoswNklzwkI8zykG8AIJcD12TaxJBljuzHOnEdLMgj7U6f_IGfQSMqENFXja7TiCSlrkBa9D9XYnRewhxO50NM3wyu/s1920/1415309873279.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1920" data-original-width="1080" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi5zKARf2V4EEvSJ4F6liZHwmhRn807ViF3mkKfSsoTYMmB9LuhMwoswNklzwkI8zykG8AIJcD12TaxJBljuzHOnEdLMgj7U6f_IGfQSMqENFXja7TiCSlrkBa9D9XYnRewhxO50NM3wyu/s320/1415309873279.jpg"></a><br><span>The dogs had many walks with my mom. Lady would follow the rules until she saw another dog. Once she saw another dog she would bark and get up on her hind legs. She would pull and charge towards the other dog. She was the muscular biggest Sister of the litter and when my mom walked Lady by her sisters she would be barking and in the hind legs and doing a charge towards her sisters, who were doing the same thing only behind the fence. That's where I developed the idea that maybe she was showing her love in the way that the loudest Aunty I have does. </span>
<br><br><span>Lady would be like the bossy rule keeper of the tandem. There were times when Lady would grab Coco's leash with her mouth and walk Coco while Lady was being walked by me or my mom.</span>
<br><br><span> Lady would rarely run outside the fence unless she was enforcing the rules for her sister Coco. Coco liked to run to a couple of houses but Lady only a couple times was found at another house. </span>
<br><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqMekwXKPLdjFlCOGhLjyujZS7f_6D5im7h6gIpgymDaBeHxPnGUVEzHevSuQJ6gAXD6JvxmGoyiGYyRVt79eP2NyrIDnMLSvh7QLEn3DklxHTsAjRqevLMZSQgMopIhYrvPxKINWE76iH/s2048/20160129_215902.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1152" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqMekwXKPLdjFlCOGhLjyujZS7f_6D5im7h6gIpgymDaBeHxPnGUVEzHevSuQJ6gAXD6JvxmGoyiGYyRVt79eP2NyrIDnMLSvh7QLEn3DklxHTsAjRqevLMZSQgMopIhYrvPxKINWE76iH/s320/20160129_215902.jpg" width="320"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiahmtq4HA1A5tP4PDZYXWIKO0WwHW9PWm_OIy_RcOoM2rDdwfKAdMQp9qATSnOf_Z0Y1XNIVlDQ4ZMcKiEeHaqA71jsdj4U25zZffyJjdSX9scL3qZYcukqUVwAvXJK-GSV2fh9dARJAsY/s2048/IMG_20180930_180954.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiahmtq4HA1A5tP4PDZYXWIKO0WwHW9PWm_OIy_RcOoM2rDdwfKAdMQp9qATSnOf_Z0Y1XNIVlDQ4ZMcKiEeHaqA71jsdj4U25zZffyJjdSX9scL3qZYcukqUVwAvXJK-GSV2fh9dARJAsY/s320/IMG_20180930_180954.jpg"></a><br><span>I used to run with both the dogs on my 4.7 mile jog. Both would run at first. Then as Coco got older she got lazier. Sometimes I would have to pick up Coco and run with her, while lady ran along side. </span>
<br><br><span>Coco would sleep on my mom's bed and Lady would sleep next to me in my bed. Lady seemed to like me the most and my mom even used to talk to Lady and tell her that she was my dog.</span>
<br><br><span>Mom loved the two dogs so much. I remember one time Lady was sick. My mom was so worried about her that she asked me to give Lady a priesthood blessing. In the sect I belong to, we believe that we have the power to bless people who are sick to get better. I had never blessed a dog but because it was my mom's wish, I did. </span>
<br><br><span>The dogs returned my mother's love as much as they could. We used to put our couch under neath the window in the front room. When mom would go somewhere they would watch her from the window. They recognized her walk and when they saw her come home, they ran to the door to happily meet her. </span>
<br><br><span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEja9R5vI5TRu7X28-lCT9wdU3kaF4H5g4JFNzWGT3EYWmFn94DAWTi0mxrRDPABLi-MT1KYbGCItg8Dbm2ZTUzVfRhDceMwD9UpzvBRNFW4dcygNvBqhfDVjzSXtIxtYjcFYP2HBdcQMzcP/s2048/20140331_231151.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEja9R5vI5TRu7X28-lCT9wdU3kaF4H5g4JFNzWGT3EYWmFn94DAWTi0mxrRDPABLi-MT1KYbGCItg8Dbm2ZTUzVfRhDceMwD9UpzvBRNFW4dcygNvBqhfDVjzSXtIxtYjcFYP2HBdcQMzcP/s320/20140331_231151.jpg" width="320"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzhkxBs5YvGtIY0WkV0sKHKqcSUQ1uCSfULBicLKi9BAbaL9jgETmzUyiMAh_uhcDlibafbZeDgAWoKAc3V3O6tH0pkx-EJQBJLigsyzIlisxT7iOMOj8yhyPAtgVo_yGSZwk1P5V-2Kl9/s2048/20141121_072106.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1152" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzhkxBs5YvGtIY0WkV0sKHKqcSUQ1uCSfULBicLKi9BAbaL9jgETmzUyiMAh_uhcDlibafbZeDgAWoKAc3V3O6tH0pkx-EJQBJLigsyzIlisxT7iOMOj8yhyPAtgVo_yGSZwk1P5V-2Kl9/s320/20141121_072106.jpg"></a></div><br>My bed height changed with Lady's ability to jump. I would initially sleep on a mattress on on the floor. Then I got a bed on a platform. Coco could definitely jump higher than Lady but Lady was much stronger. I remember as Coco got older, she couldn't jump as well. There were a few times where she could only land her front two legs and had to pull herself up like that or hang as long as she could. </span>
<br><br><span>So often if I was not sleeping at home Lady would sleep at the foot of my mom's bed or they would sleep on opposite sides of my mom. They didn't fight often but when they did, it was usually over my mom's love. </span><br><br>
<span>Lady Lou, as we would sometimes call her, always had my back. She was my ride or die chick. Because of this Lady, was a tremendous blessing in my divorce and also in my hand amputations. </span>
<br><br><span>I remember one time where my ex wife had come home and got next to Lady. Lady turned her nose up and walked away from her. My wife at the time mumbled, "she knows!?!" I often wonder if Lady had smelt another man's scent on my now ex wife. </span>
<br><br><span>When I had hands, Lady and I would play a game. I would pass my right hand really close to her face and she would quickly snap at my right hand with her mouth and arm and then I would do the same thing to the opposite side and repeat until she finally caught my hands with her mouth. She would play bite and thrash a little. </span>
<br><br><span>When I came home from my amputations, I wanted to do that with Lady and so I tried it with my residual stumps. She caught my arms a couple times and after that, I feel like she sensed a difference and that I was missing my hands and was hurt. She stopped playing with me in that manner but changed the way she interacted with me. </span>
<br><br><span>Lady was mischievous, sometimes. I remember one time I had a pack of red vines. She was left in the car with the red vines. Her and Coco got into the red vines. When I can back to the car, Lady tried to act like she didn't do anything. The only problem was that her face has white fur around it. At that time it was red. </span>
<br><br><span>A couple of the things she hated was people touching her paws. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdX82afmircXJIZKprTaETbffICxGp1sdXo9oQCkYqUp73JyJOFZ7BIWmEM3_Vq_OqaV7ZsBQ35Cd3yjwgCrgNuARJw5WWS79sKtbr7ud2ED4ayu8BJJ0vxR0FzOnuZ9jsPdTg7dqYpXbN/s1620/IMG_20180121_110455_021.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1620" data-original-width="1620" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdX82afmircXJIZKprTaETbffICxGp1sdXo9oQCkYqUp73JyJOFZ7BIWmEM3_Vq_OqaV7ZsBQ35Cd3yjwgCrgNuARJw5WWS79sKtbr7ud2ED4ayu8BJJ0vxR0FzOnuZ9jsPdTg7dqYpXbN/s320/IMG_20180121_110455_021.jpg"></a>I used to do it to annoy her. She also didn't like me blowing on her ears or face. I also did that to annoy her. Swimming and water was another thing she hated. We assumed it was because she had a short snout and the water went in her nose easily. </span>
<br><br><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><span>She loved to put her neck on your neck. Or put her neck on a blanket or your chest. </span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkfAI_SnFAuQRooyb-Qtsemg7ZByybIaqAmknp4fXx1HsvKyciwkV1NBn40QbMxGSE3MrEWWgJxCTYm5IDiBG50QLoXw_XAOEM2G1uyxtC_WbEOQAomH9j5Q3uvXRt0BbfAfEA8c3-ttC7/s1080/FB_IMG_1570491171275.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkfAI_SnFAuQRooyb-Qtsemg7ZByybIaqAmknp4fXx1HsvKyciwkV1NBn40QbMxGSE3MrEWWgJxCTYm5IDiBG50QLoXw_XAOEM2G1uyxtC_WbEOQAomH9j5Q3uvXRt0BbfAfEA8c3-ttC7/s320/FB_IMG_1570491171275.jpg"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQzzBvwNh7t5cWMU3bFkzOiQvdqnIF0D_9sYwaVdlV2kw7tCP58sBSni7H2HHyQnQk90IvDu2BTC3X-esV5O-ri9PQ3zfRzoNNvMaBkjsS-VxFkzEQENUJIS47t02scbvMHvKoWYohTFV4/s2048/20200901_075606.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="2048" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQzzBvwNh7t5cWMU3bFkzOiQvdqnIF0D_9sYwaVdlV2kw7tCP58sBSni7H2HHyQnQk90IvDu2BTC3X-esV5O-ri9PQ3zfRzoNNvMaBkjsS-VxFkzEQENUJIS47t02scbvMHvKoWYohTFV4/s320/20200901_075606.jpg"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjau3Ogg71YWyupUgCljATeqtV96cUxMI6RzvJyHAo3RSLV4G_8iFEpaQV2f_-4tCtHnqqhiQcLgjULDlci3zNPxzWAaACxzIq9KIcPdZ57gcDVt6np-Frm5Q15ciMKIDopaASjryoRCGdj/s2048/20200706_231930.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="2048" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjau3Ogg71YWyupUgCljATeqtV96cUxMI6RzvJyHAo3RSLV4G_8iFEpaQV2f_-4tCtHnqqhiQcLgjULDlci3zNPxzWAaACxzIq9KIcPdZ57gcDVt6np-Frm5Q15ciMKIDopaASjryoRCGdj/s320/20200706_231930.jpg"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioEBq1UbleCwE_rZMl2oJZeyVjE0BHZiLgVAlchObiSgr5ooIM6DpK5q-pjaJ7hICQ6jNG9UrNb9hlLD5tyoM2uO3FBT7XbB2lPutjVO8zeNUJvgZP4aArcMIPh-9FzZnWqySZB-dR6GH0/s1920/20141212_234027.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1920" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioEBq1UbleCwE_rZMl2oJZeyVjE0BHZiLgVAlchObiSgr5ooIM6DpK5q-pjaJ7hICQ6jNG9UrNb9hlLD5tyoM2uO3FBT7XbB2lPutjVO8zeNUJvgZP4aArcMIPh-9FzZnWqySZB-dR6GH0/s320/20141212_234027.jpg" width="320"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgicwluSZ9PVDAMJdii05V_sJ_wYs_D4SDQDy5pG8PzhGtY4vweR7xnP4oljtMhaEq86M_HAmBFzSdcC1s5UR9NcNkBV1jv75yy5iDwssrQMRsyCzChzzKVFGxSRssNazm9laxhdz5dQTXV/s1920/20141212_234105.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1920" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgicwluSZ9PVDAMJdii05V_sJ_wYs_D4SDQDy5pG8PzhGtY4vweR7xnP4oljtMhaEq86M_HAmBFzSdcC1s5UR9NcNkBV1jv75yy5iDwssrQMRsyCzChzzKVFGxSRssNazm9laxhdz5dQTXV/s320/20141212_234105.jpg" width="320"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjye-sTMVcRaQDvqykmm0XRhkD5EVeKNIclfiC5WTvoSYW4J9A2JO991rQ_dI3LPEK_xlmK42dCDH3XqsfWXil6VzJnFxUR7mXOFTs1WokgvuAvi-yxSujMQY_gy1aYwzFYRDLzQ-hkw0Ob/s1920/20141212_234107.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1920" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjye-sTMVcRaQDvqykmm0XRhkD5EVeKNIclfiC5WTvoSYW4J9A2JO991rQ_dI3LPEK_xlmK42dCDH3XqsfWXil6VzJnFxUR7mXOFTs1WokgvuAvi-yxSujMQY_gy1aYwzFYRDLzQ-hkw0Ob/s320/20141212_234107.jpg" width="320"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimOUqO7ap8y863XCZDSIo2Z45F6_Elp9yAua-WnePMI8cPZChkoyYQ3oCCM4refNAZWeVSGBjlvLq64Js-y2fNuHHGWIlYxrTb1wLfIoaq2SijG-ExTFBhpz0fUSfPyBc1HpjsLnDZysv5/s1920/20141212_234109.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1920" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimOUqO7ap8y863XCZDSIo2Z45F6_Elp9yAua-WnePMI8cPZChkoyYQ3oCCM4refNAZWeVSGBjlvLq64Js-y2fNuHHGWIlYxrTb1wLfIoaq2SijG-ExTFBhpz0fUSfPyBc1HpjsLnDZysv5/s320/20141212_234109.jpg" width="320"></a></blockquote><br><span>She used to ride with me everywhere in the car. She would stand on my lap and put her two front paws on the car window frame. Then she would stick her head out the window and bark. One time the window was too wide open and as I made a turn she fell straight out the window. She hit the ground hard and had a seizure. I was afraid she was going to die. She pulled through and from then on we never had the window open that big. </span>
<br><br><span>She would ride shotgun with me and often look out the window and bark at everything. Sometimes if I was traveling I would be packing my suitcase. She would often sleep in the suitcase as if to suggest that she was going with me. </span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXihGdYflhUynGYN_ymI2rY68IL3VA0ZVWrmJG2VTfTm4RHtfIX4q9a1BOgFCDincB7czzUm1nRuJaS25BaEB6Ugc4E6xINobEcDVmZEQO9ND-a1ntuLFhpeS4T-XQ7QwFjQbAu_-hsL3A/s2048/20150106_072902.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1152" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXihGdYflhUynGYN_ymI2rY68IL3VA0ZVWrmJG2VTfTm4RHtfIX4q9a1BOgFCDincB7czzUm1nRuJaS25BaEB6Ugc4E6xINobEcDVmZEQO9ND-a1ntuLFhpeS4T-XQ7QwFjQbAu_-hsL3A/s320/20150106_072902.jpg" width="320"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiH0N_ZN8N9JzIqeEQx_Pg2jS5UZySf8yPEioO7RLwn_MIMdnZQhvf7ypq-M-sd1Kp-o9OU1qAJ9t1fqOOm7LxL0Vpk0zgqKg4zirgI1jvUpETkAlNJnCTpvqDfdwSk2tIJDlrImynQUtC/s1920/InShot_20180701_215825871.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1920" data-original-width="1920" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiH0N_ZN8N9JzIqeEQx_Pg2jS5UZySf8yPEioO7RLwn_MIMdnZQhvf7ypq-M-sd1Kp-o9OU1qAJ9t1fqOOm7LxL0Vpk0zgqKg4zirgI1jvUpETkAlNJnCTpvqDfdwSk2tIJDlrImynQUtC/s320/InShot_20180701_215825871.jpg"></a><div><span><br></span></div><div><span>Lately, though she had lost her sight and hearing. Her eyes are all scarred over by her cataracts. She can't see where my bed is to jump on, so I would lift her up. She couldn't hear my whistle that she used to respond to with the quickness. At that time a couple years ago, I started to realize that her life might be coming to an end. I started taking her everywhere with me to play pokemon. She loved it.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzlTc3_FPXUZtVRpcYebzFX2fvjiBzKNIj2_UvRu6GwMedQFcNLkneh-54doBYyQodRyXta8sX0sIe-efu079ON1Ze0pfs0Q3hnGyhO99KcW1Xt596CpKpFD9RtBx95f8jHMVoQ716i_wu/s1280/IMG_20170407_130428.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="1280" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzlTc3_FPXUZtVRpcYebzFX2fvjiBzKNIj2_UvRu6GwMedQFcNLkneh-54doBYyQodRyXta8sX0sIe-efu079ON1Ze0pfs0Q3hnGyhO99KcW1Xt596CpKpFD9RtBx95f8jHMVoQ716i_wu/s320/IMG_20170407_130428.jpg"></a></div><br><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br></div><br><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFABdO21MPkwxyvJbdcArN-NBRyiE-flnTsC4iF2S59ZzPy8r0YpqYqQjoqUcHDmUH-CYPSt2zXRvH6LpN8kL_VT6xOTvxk3_7zUpEZoWbNKq80Xa_3jy05SRThjhfNWkdY2_-OMCorUU9/s1280/IMG_20170407_121457.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFABdO21MPkwxyvJbdcArN-NBRyiE-flnTsC4iF2S59ZzPy8r0YpqYqQjoqUcHDmUH-CYPSt2zXRvH6LpN8kL_VT6xOTvxk3_7zUpEZoWbNKq80Xa_3jy05SRThjhfNWkdY2_-OMCorUU9/s320/IMG_20170407_121457.jpg"></a></div><br><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiy-K1qQnEQ0i8TDnKGX2ypFzCnfuM-585kT3uvLFPdKC01KSU4JuhjAlyk-VzytUxP4qz26I8UF8zoFENl0zk4cPEy7hjQfk6lY32zSow1C90hZwYRR0w3WrhzF2j2CqwkLWSZ9FccaqCI/s1280/IMG_20170407_124156.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiy-K1qQnEQ0i8TDnKGX2ypFzCnfuM-585kT3uvLFPdKC01KSU4JuhjAlyk-VzytUxP4qz26I8UF8zoFENl0zk4cPEy7hjQfk6lY32zSow1C90hZwYRR0w3WrhzF2j2CqwkLWSZ9FccaqCI/s320/IMG_20170407_124156.jpg"></a></div><br><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzfbaedc_We386GRhQEqP9hzJKM6hGpx-CbhOESX6psUrROowhBAxleghW5CHrwkA2Hd3LVWaA05aP7L1tvBhJKsBJDFxQMm5VBMhnu_JQfZW45IJBGowXFUicBKKx3qQjWOIkv7OMNoYh/s1080/no_handed_bandit___BKR91mYDL9T___.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzfbaedc_We386GRhQEqP9hzJKM6hGpx-CbhOESX6psUrROowhBAxleghW5CHrwkA2Hd3LVWaA05aP7L1tvBhJKsBJDFxQMm5VBMhnu_JQfZW45IJBGowXFUicBKKx3qQjWOIkv7OMNoYh/s320/no_handed_bandit___BKR91mYDL9T___.jpg"></a></div></span><div><span><br></span></div><div><span>It eventually got to the point that Lady didn't enjoy riding with me anymore. She also didn't like going on walks anymore. She started to have blood in her feces. She was not eating for a couple days. </span>
<br><br><span>I told Lady the last few days that she had done a fantastic job. She would for sure go to dog heaven to be reunited with her "sister" Coco and my mom would be there to welcome her. I told her those things and I told her she had left a legacy of one of the greatest dogs the Matagi family had ever had. She and Logan would be the dogs that all my future dogs would be measured against, Lady being the one that lived for sixteen years. Manuia lau malaga, Lady. </span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYx19XlK7jAiJ2hM0DWzR4pDKGwxFF8k6ILr24xM84nP45v1wjwCsUE7NA8eBDULlZ2fdRP00RT1YGzMum5zGGk_DtQEol_rxU_izGlh7vE2XeYikIt7DvwvtvyUPFddfb3IxCiqz3rh7n/s1564/IMG_20180930_181436.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1564" data-original-width="1564" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYx19XlK7jAiJ2hM0DWzR4pDKGwxFF8k6ILr24xM84nP45v1wjwCsUE7NA8eBDULlZ2fdRP00RT1YGzMum5zGGk_DtQEol_rxU_izGlh7vE2XeYikIt7DvwvtvyUPFddfb3IxCiqz3rh7n/s320/IMG_20180930_181436.jpg"></a>
<!--/data/user/0/com.samsung.android.app.notes/files/clipdata/clipdata_bodytext_201019_115838_718.sdocx--></div></div>Samoana (The No-Handed Bandit) Matagihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06040820120416228392noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7773211208739632036.post-16124078300362533802020-07-30T08:07:00.001-07:002020-07-30T08:07:12.503-07:00Zeba Hands-Free Shoes and Kiziks Review<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="270" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/U19M0iCt7U4" width="480"></iframe>Samoana (The No-Handed Bandit) Matagihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06040820120416228392noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7773211208739632036.post-26897206277630315562020-07-24T11:35:00.002-07:002020-07-24T11:35:32.928-07:00How my Brother, Fatu, Became an Amputee<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Samoana (The No-Handed Bandit) Matagihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06040820120416228392noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7773211208739632036.post-39767246748351166162020-07-09T17:53:00.001-07:002020-07-09T17:53:42.457-07:00Hook Options and Soda Can Poppin'<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="270" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/Slzr5ZkF4_8" width="480"></iframe>Samoana (The No-Handed Bandit) Matagihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06040820120416228392noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7773211208739632036.post-89111528095759147542020-06-12T13:41:00.001-07:002020-06-12T13:41:25.646-07:00The No-Handed Bandit Reads Fiona It's Bedtime and Reminds to Check on Fr...<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="270" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/1JB96o3UqAM" width="480"></iframe>Samoana (The No-Handed Bandit) Matagihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06040820120416228392noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7773211208739632036.post-50807134373683327752020-05-24T07:39:00.001-07:002020-05-24T07:39:23.266-07:00PechaKucha Vologda #52 in EnglishPechaKucha Vologda #52 in English<br /><br />
tune in here https://youtu.be/tsXVregcPNA<br /><br />
<div class="text_exposed_root text_exposed" id="id_5eca86bab811a1f80392598" style="background-color: white; color: #1c1e21; display: inline; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">Speaker #3 | PechaKucha in English<br /><span class="_5mfr" style="font-family: inherit; margin: 0px 1px;"><span class="_6qdm" style="background-image: url("https://static.xx.fbcdn.net/images/emoji.php/v9/te0/2/16/1f30f.png"); background-repeat: no-repeat; background-size: contain; color: transparent; display: inline-block; font-family: inherit; font-size: 16px; height: 16px; text-shadow: none; vertical-align: text-bottom; width: 16px;">🌏</span></span> Samoana Matagi (Utah, The Usa)- From the Loss of Both Hands to Lending a Helping Hand; Tips to Tap Into Resiliency<br /><span class="_5mfr" style="font-family: inherit; margin: 0px 1px;"><span class="_6qdm" style="background-image: url("https://static.xx.fbcdn.net/images/emoji.php/v9/tf1/2/16/1f1f7_1f1fa.png"); background-repeat: no-repeat; background-size: contain; color: transparent; display: inline-block; font-family: inherit; font-size: 16px; height: 16px; text-shadow: none; vertical-align: text-bottom; width: 16px;">🇷🇺</span></span>Самоана Матаги (США) - История жизнестойкости. Путь от потери рук и беспомощности до организации помощи другим пострадавшим.<br /><br />Samoana Matagi will tell his story about his journey through bilateral limb loss to making YouTube tutorials for other p<span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline; font-family: inherit;">rostheses users. Along his journey, Matagi will share some tips that helped him go from tragedy to triumph. These tips will help anybody tap into one of their strongest tools for traversing through life's adversity, resiliency.<br /><br /><span class="_5mfr" style="font-family: inherit; margin: 0px 1px;"><span class="_6qdm" style="background-image: url("https://static.xx.fbcdn.net/images/emoji.php/v9/ted/2/16/2764.png"); background-repeat: no-repeat; background-size: contain; color: transparent; display: inline-block; font-family: inherit; font-size: 16px; height: 16px; text-shadow: none; vertical-align: text-bottom; width: 16px;">❤</span></span> We will be grateful if you support our project financially. Your donations will cover the expenses of the event organisation and the amount of money which is to be paid to the International Pecha-Kucha franchisor. Donation can be sent via PayPal - <a data-lynx-mode="asynclazy" href="https://l.facebook.com/l.php?u=http%3A%2F%2Fpaypal.me%2Fjustanotheroneman%3Ffbclid%3DIwAR1xAi01nKhZfDgZvm-3iaLJlVF3OjqWb-yPQc-7wR_CG3UYZVZ2CyGtYAU&h=AT2wuYGp9rShxOIGjfumMHXR-KfubWb5xIRKF_ZYTcxiNHGY9HpyoI2_9havRyh-ISjfII4tpjs8kPoBfz_-GgxeVfbe8kh2JeWwpTXSKoWL5MIO5JKSP_yU0zOAFPDq3by_FG0" rel="nofollow noopener" style="color: #385898; cursor: pointer; font-family: inherit; text-decoration-line: none;" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: inherit;">paypal.me/</span><wbr></wbr><span class="word_break" style="display: inline-block; font-family: inherit;"></span>justanotheroneman</a><br />________________<br />Самоана Матаги расскажет о том, как ампутация обеих рук привела его к работе над созданием обучающих видеороликов для тех, кто только начинает пользоваться протезами. Что помогло ему пройти путь от трагедии до победы над самим собой? История о том, что каждый может найти в себе ресурсы, которые помогут справиться с жизненными трудностями.<br /><br />В воскресенье, 24 мая, в 18:00 подключайтесь к нашей открытой трансляции на YouTube-канале "Печа-куча Вологда". 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Recently, I've been called on to write emails, call, and visit brand new amputees. It's tough. Writing this part of my story is tough. I've delayed it a long time. At this time though, I'm finding a purpose of writing it.<br />
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For all those recently amputated, you may be feeling a lot of different feelings. Even if you are going through a tough trial you can experience these same emotions. If you are like me, the range of emotions touches everywhere on the spectrum of emotions. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsOb0rSIXEOsaqomZkRLZmhOtnY-Na07xLEOwK6xXT_X0JJbgtRfMtG0KdCMI2TcE9YRJy0BWOPGhxDDJgIM2b9VgSj6eN-MLLuYhQ47jtFKekSwDH2Phtib1a8o7_id2mo8zfapyiojxa/s640/blogger-image-1583793351.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsOb0rSIXEOsaqomZkRLZmhOtnY-Na07xLEOwK6xXT_X0JJbgtRfMtG0KdCMI2TcE9YRJy0BWOPGhxDDJgIM2b9VgSj6eN-MLLuYhQ47jtFKekSwDH2Phtib1a8o7_id2mo8zfapyiojxa/s640/blogger-image-1583793351.jpg" /></a></div>
I remember waking up from the medically induced sleep in a hospital bed. At first, I was confused about tons of things. Mostly I was confused about why God would let this happen. "What did I do to deserve this?", I asked myself hundreds of times a day. I remember talking to God and saying, "I didn't cuss and I didn't drink or smoke or chew tobacco, where was my protection in return?"</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXZsEjPXSi9MIkq_0jIZSuVH42dy8UmoKTU_xTJFxiGuvSdi7EOfrehtfNZnf8i4A-VCJ9Wx5mJcMUdAk-nmLTmUbz0jYTPxlaaE0MDTJDTxIOuHc2-8-doCTrmK9OYdtrkEkjiGM5mjnd/s640/blogger-image-600929903.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXZsEjPXSi9MIkq_0jIZSuVH42dy8UmoKTU_xTJFxiGuvSdi7EOfrehtfNZnf8i4A-VCJ9Wx5mJcMUdAk-nmLTmUbz0jYTPxlaaE0MDTJDTxIOuHc2-8-doCTrmK9OYdtrkEkjiGM5mjnd/s200/blogger-image-600929903.jpg" width="200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifTkvxjtdcefVrMGNXAc5WjYnQwmDhtSW7W6E_8HTPHhDyI8Znvc8bG-pgj4DP0kt3OR4mjgNqAarZ2pJDp21LsXZ3Bk0hfR0cg78jQ0_LiQyLl4x2QFyYlhu3QSZMKV-NT5vrq8WWp-00/s640/blogger-image--1953944668.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="132" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifTkvxjtdcefVrMGNXAc5WjYnQwmDhtSW7W6E_8HTPHhDyI8Znvc8bG-pgj4DP0kt3OR4mjgNqAarZ2pJDp21LsXZ3Bk0hfR0cg78jQ0_LiQyLl4x2QFyYlhu3QSZMKV-NT5vrq8WWp-00/s200/blogger-image--1953944668.jpg" width="200" /></a>I also had hope because my hands were still attached and had some movement. I hoped my hands would be saved. "Please Lord, let me keep my hands!" I would pray. One of the good things that my company did was to fly my brother to Colorado to be with me. I will be forever grateful for that. Then my Aunty, that was in Colorado, had my three Uncles flown out. They gave me a blessing but as usual, they ended with, "if it be thy (God's) will..." Again, I hoped that was His will.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjE8xVmj4uULhK5iBbFSIG3NTSepQmgr0MW1ZVk1OO7O6_leTyqvR7XN7VzRB9qQKI_XXRIJYae8TSUs2A6TaL2RCyB5pfJEngjr-qr0_zfW6h5vGWuroYXVbxMquhYhC_-dnZPJhtTJZ6Z/s640/blogger-image-285843727.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjE8xVmj4uULhK5iBbFSIG3NTSepQmgr0MW1ZVk1OO7O6_leTyqvR7XN7VzRB9qQKI_XXRIJYae8TSUs2A6TaL2RCyB5pfJEngjr-qr0_zfW6h5vGWuroYXVbxMquhYhC_-dnZPJhtTJZ6Z/s200/blogger-image-285843727.jpg" width="200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh26qD6FjOPt6qvYF_2hqZknE_5abbRaGnR1E6QGPhp9YIyT5tMsyQjl35JCeeNsZoA7d9R2rz4PmNa7ewSV_dt0O4utPh6bdr_n2mo2q_wynIJ5U-jjqA80x72e9SJKnNKVERTxlw9DnGA/s640/blogger-image-1009329088.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh26qD6FjOPt6qvYF_2hqZknE_5abbRaGnR1E6QGPhp9YIyT5tMsyQjl35JCeeNsZoA7d9R2rz4PmNa7ewSV_dt0O4utPh6bdr_n2mo2q_wynIJ5U-jjqA80x72e9SJKnNKVERTxlw9DnGA/s200/blogger-image-1009329088.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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Gratitude was a feeling that kept returning. I remember all the people visiting. I was extremely grateful for that. I had fellow apprentice friends come and linemen come. Their wives and children came with them sometimes. I was grateful for every single message on social media.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZ0X2wmK6ALaHA7XMYiPNlFuPZzyzeNd-43czD69IOkbHZs9jt-5Y7ejps_E_utmyQiANasPEOEz_QmPdT8fMyoU7421wlGZAC9T8uzSN4x7UhNk8cNOjKiEQ2Bct4KUC289Gd7bPoL52l/s640/blogger-image-370412523.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZ0X2wmK6ALaHA7XMYiPNlFuPZzyzeNd-43czD69IOkbHZs9jt-5Y7ejps_E_utmyQiANasPEOEz_QmPdT8fMyoU7421wlGZAC9T8uzSN4x7UhNk8cNOjKiEQ2Bct4KUC289Gd7bPoL52l/s320/blogger-image-370412523.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Two days after my accident, I dictated as my brother typec my first Facebook post.<br />The responses are below. With each response my courage grew.</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDt_7FbbrqdKidwWkxuFFTGVK68a4OR1b2hg0gUWAVAwc6SRZ4A0CCdzdm7hE53XgLf_MsA30wt4o5U-4PjAbDMfp10IYEOk9sFhQlX1QAXS1NQmbUql_rpDYmxLYyosJyW-efJlXE8zf1/s640/blogger-image-1632796997.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDt_7FbbrqdKidwWkxuFFTGVK68a4OR1b2hg0gUWAVAwc6SRZ4A0CCdzdm7hE53XgLf_MsA30wt4o5U-4PjAbDMfp10IYEOk9sFhQlX1QAXS1NQmbUql_rpDYmxLYyosJyW-efJlXE8zf1/s200/blogger-image-1632796997.jpg" width="150" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhU1tyEfzA6ZqSWJ-WzVQCEOq-1wbOzg8Pqdtc5yl0iNhyF3YdIv-ePjwYetYfL-myck9SQwgSorQfx3Cr0gb_KEvUEd-ojyv2Oy5Wb49mevnlWaHMKR0gu-P4gXnGFiVeQDWhcgorpUs-T/s640/blogger-image--1284797585.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhU1tyEfzA6ZqSWJ-WzVQCEOq-1wbOzg8Pqdtc5yl0iNhyF3YdIv-ePjwYetYfL-myck9SQwgSorQfx3Cr0gb_KEvUEd-ojyv2Oy5Wb49mevnlWaHMKR0gu-P4gXnGFiVeQDWhcgorpUs-T/s200/blogger-image--1284797585.jpg" width="150" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4L9k13wjIK_BUdtwFretokhlTKDCjGrqfWZbtIY8v8ovLEnwXZBGcKyCyWvabvltcOk_ZbZvv5STzP24IZC_ycm7JhsSTTpslG74qEgztLrIYh7pgwvoTjAYL1HhPNE7o_0f1R2LcSPkA/s640/blogger-image--1096919375.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4L9k13wjIK_BUdtwFretokhlTKDCjGrqfWZbtIY8v8ovLEnwXZBGcKyCyWvabvltcOk_ZbZvv5STzP24IZC_ycm7JhsSTTpslG74qEgztLrIYh7pgwvoTjAYL1HhPNE7o_0f1R2LcSPkA/s200/blogger-image--1096919375.jpg" width="150" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCXNjA92MMvXwQZ9wDbKozdPBRec4bV_jdnANJxi15qCggJk4vWLYrFPwA_7Gaua8Zqx4_Cus753sCWbFrjFgRASVy1cgdPWgubv1ggsQX7HSw42bb0Ks5ErL8CDgnHPxwf1DokjSpMtQ-/s640/blogger-image-2021917229.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCXNjA92MMvXwQZ9wDbKozdPBRec4bV_jdnANJxi15qCggJk4vWLYrFPwA_7Gaua8Zqx4_Cus753sCWbFrjFgRASVy1cgdPWgubv1ggsQX7HSw42bb0Ks5ErL8CDgnHPxwf1DokjSpMtQ-/s200/blogger-image-2021917229.jpg" width="150" /></a></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjwFzOI6zPhCviwiMTiww6hk8E0OFXm7bhp3fkJSU-w48QtR4vmypbMXdPqKNVuYR29dwN3c1JUKy_VhX-v5PFuBvFzt4GDhMK02F9h8LVwbUDKZl3uk947Z-CfDTxXG8iec7xbQ7zx-Vs/s640/blogger-image-1611402424.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjwFzOI6zPhCviwiMTiww6hk8E0OFXm7bhp3fkJSU-w48QtR4vmypbMXdPqKNVuYR29dwN3c1JUKy_VhX-v5PFuBvFzt4GDhMK02F9h8LVwbUDKZl3uk947Z-CfDTxXG8iec7xbQ7zx-Vs/s200/blogger-image-1611402424.jpg" width="150" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiODdKqXb9gBTXeEtBfMsOky8TjSWySc1EcCQ6R3HLNs8SsP3RcsfOjjj_Tv7VJFhyt7Kswp1M8VJ1oEXd-0XpIEm3iV4neS4pFN0hQf8YtWaUvu8GNFppHP9Zki6Jqi7IYxA1Xx0oN03hX/s1600/blogger-image-601873023.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiODdKqXb9gBTXeEtBfMsOky8TjSWySc1EcCQ6R3HLNs8SsP3RcsfOjjj_Tv7VJFhyt7Kswp1M8VJ1oEXd-0XpIEm3iV4neS4pFN0hQf8YtWaUvu8GNFppHP9Zki6Jqi7IYxA1Xx0oN03hX/s200/blogger-image-601873023.jpg" width="150" /></a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_iwRZgO1c1Ueh-2cGRcvfbfk5skpObTNP32_WZXvgJfuV6GlTTDFU8yulyDAxc0uShUYBAfiXTuX3GQqGAYwF_U1dclaRXt-LV_regXHESF6Gyouq1-XxzvalbRHJQgQ-eyHh51eT7LGD/s640/blogger-image-1972212039.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_iwRZgO1c1Ueh-2cGRcvfbfk5skpObTNP32_WZXvgJfuV6GlTTDFU8yulyDAxc0uShUYBAfiXTuX3GQqGAYwF_U1dclaRXt-LV_regXHESF6Gyouq1-XxzvalbRHJQgQ-eyHh51eT7LGD/s320/blogger-image-1972212039.jpg" width="320" /></a>My friend, Meat came from Salt Lake. The fact that he had come, on his own dime, from Salt Lake during the Christmas season hit me especially hard.<br />
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All the lineman started a thing called "passing the hat," which is passing around a hat (or any container) and if they felt like it, they could put in money. They did this from different job sites that I had worked at and different crews I had worked with. I felt gratitude for every act of kindness I had received, from the smallest thing like the janitor emptying the trash to the biggest of things, but it was a gratitude like I had never felt before. It was deeper and more profound.</div>
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With that gratitude, I felt guilt. I felt guilty that the job in Kremmling had stopped because of me. My superintendent called me to see how I was doing and when he told me the foreman was fired I said, "Why? It wasn't him up there!" I was trying to get him his job back because I felt like he lost his job because of me. I felt guilty for people spending their time and resources on me. I am an independent person and I felt guilty for needing and accepting all this help.</div>
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I had sadness, happiness, and anger mixed in there too. The sadness and anger, I kept between me and God. The happiness, I shared with my visitors. I didn't want the visitors coming and feeling sad for me. </div>
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The feelings would replace each other often. I would have fear of the future and then a feeling of peace would come. The peace would come when I would think, "God has huge blessings for huge trials!" Sometimes my inner voice would say, "God has big plans for you!"</div>
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When I stand six and a half years out from the accident I feel I have been blessed and I have fulfilled many big plans but I also pray for more blessings and hope to fulfill more big plans. I hope by reading this story, anybody with huge trials, like lost limbs, can receive a glimmer of hope and work from there. </div>
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Romans 8:24 For we are saved by hope: but hope that is seen is not hope: for what a man seeth, why doth he yet hope for?</div>
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It is very hard to see what is in your future but if you work with your hope great things will happen. You will have a decision to work with hope or fear. I encourage you to choose hope!</div>
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Samoana (The No-Handed Bandit) Matagihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06040820120416228392noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7773211208739632036.post-61552436897874671682016-06-15T17:32:00.000-07:002016-06-15T20:00:56.274-07:00Until We Meet Again, Mom Part 1<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My mom in her younger years</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1XbXfHgeDfUbNRvfnva4ppl2abTifh1vgxRespqc3AHOy6FjOU3eC9GOjBTmJeQj3tfgVAJNSGs4Lk14H5ypzn8HJltSHVFY8nUjyY-ZzBE7IiRh3ly9ELAE7Pd3e6-LIOB8d0kUUXJL0/s1600/Alice.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a>I wanted to write about my mother at the time of her funeral but I just couldn't because the whole thing was just too unreal, the feelings too raw and recent. Three years have passed and I wanted to tell the world what a special lady she was. Probably, my words won't do that much justice and certainly one blog will never suffice but here goes.<br />
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Because I knew I would spend this memorial weekend with my girlfriend's family all the way over in Georgia, I visited my mom's grave the week before. It was a fun weekend. When I, saw this family having so much fun and showing so much love for one another, my mind drifted often to my mother. <br />
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Words that come to mind were selfless service, peacemaker, forgiving, sacrifice and love. On the four hour drive back to Atlanta, I saw several things that reminded me of her. <br />
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One of the things I saw was a Cracker Barrel. That was one of the restaurants she used to take me and my sister to. It seems like a simple thing but for a woman with a fixed income of just over $500 per month, it's quite the sacrifice. Math says, on a $50 meal, it's one tenth of your income. Often she would save for months to throw a birthday party. It isn't until now that I realize the size of the sacrifice. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our family Christmas party one week before I lost my hands</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_TswhOVRgSj7ZqemuQHqkr_pq_otWvbBevuqC-UkTtF2Ukay9BSTif3yo7V164ld4hFJqIjFdLySidNfswh6jqq33tP-y2nO0Gt1xZx2XeXefJ0n_TbG0Jpw-ev59u8UrE_Sg8A6wW2bE/s1600/christmas+2012+026.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a>Another thing I saw was a car next to us with a Pennsylvania license plate. At a quick glance, it may seem like coincidence. From my perspective, the chances of a car with Pennsylvania plates driving in the middle of the night all the way in Southern Georgia at the same time that I was thinking of her was a sign. It reminded of her lowly upbringing as a foster child who had nothing but despite that, turned out so giving. There's one power that explains it, love. <br />
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Then a song by DRS talking about homies who have passed on starts blaring over the radio. "I tip my 40 to your memories..." Some of the passengers began talking about their passed homies. I'm thinking of my greatest homie ever. She was loyal and always there for me. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1XbXfHgeDfUbNRvfnva4ppl2abTifh1vgxRespqc3AHOy6FjOU3eC9GOjBTmJeQj3tfgVAJNSGs4Lk14H5ypzn8HJltSHVFY8nUjyY-ZzBE7IiRh3ly9ELAE7Pd3e6-LIOB8d0kUUXJL0/s1600/Alice.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a>Then all of a sudden 'dear mama' by Tupac comes on. One previously obscure line in the song, stands out to me like never before. It goes, "all my childhood memories are full of the sweet things you did for me." Normally that line doesn't have much significance but for me, I've been trying to write a blog about my mother and write all my childhood memories and there are too many to write. My childhood memories are beyond full of the sweet things she did for me. <br />
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I wish she could have stuck around for my special smoked ribs. I didn't learn that recipe until after her passing. She would have loved and bragged about them forever. She was my biggest fan and favorite cheerleader.</div>
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The <span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875);">first memory coming to my head, of my mother, is her picking me up from cleaning the theater. She had just punched out of her job at cleaning the ZCMI mall in downtown SLC and was driving the car with these white gloves. The plan was for her to drive over to the theater where I was helping my dad clean theaters and take me home. I would talk a lot to myself in my head, as a child, and still do. As I rode home with my mother, one of the conversations I had was a debate about why my mother was soooo nice and my father soooo mean. This lead to a conspiracy theory (you may or may not have noticed I come up with a lot of them) that my mom was my actual mom and my dad was adopted. I remember that night the feeling of love for my mom being so strong that I was love faded or high off of love. My brain was actually tingling. The white gloves stood out to me for some strange reason.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875);"><br /></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);">When she was working at the ZCMI mall as a janitor, mom would take us downtown often. One of her favorite treats to get us was a macadamia white chocolate chip cookie with this humongous white chocolate chip on top. When warmed up, i remember these cookies being absolutely delicious. She would also give us an allowance of 40 cents per week. I remembered going to the bank with her while she would cash her check and get change for all of us.</span></div>
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I<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875);"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875);">remember a story, where one of my siblings was crying that he wanted a toy. My mother didn't have enough money to buy it but she loved to make us happy. Eventually, she did the wrong thing and shoplifted that toy for the crying sibling. She got caught. I don't remember the consequences but I do know that her love for her children and desire to make her kids happy was her highest priority.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_TswhOVRgSj7ZqemuQHqkr_pq_otWvbBevuqC-UkTtF2Ukay9BSTif3yo7V164ld4hFJqIjFdLySidNfswh6jqq33tP-y2nO0Gt1xZx2XeXefJ0n_TbG0Jpw-ev59u8UrE_Sg8A6wW2bE/s1600/christmas+2012+026.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a>Later on, she became diabetic from a prescription medication that destroyed her kidneys. Because of that, she lost her license and her kids became her personal Uber service. There was a house near by that had a drainage problem at the front curb because a section of their curb had sunk. Anytime they turned on their sprinkler, or it rained, or snowed, that sunken curb spot would build up a huge puddle. When I would give my mom a ride by that puddle I would put her passenger side tire in that puddle and splash that water on to the sidewalk. She would laugh and say, "Oh Sam!! You're silly!" <a href="https://youtu.be/jRfzOa_zYXM">https://youtu.be/jRfzOa_zYXM</a></div>
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Her kidneys got worse and she needed dyalisis. As I would drive her around she would always buy me a Gatorade, herself a diet Pepsi, my sister a Gatorade and even the dogs got jerky sticks, even though it was a super sacrifice. I learned an important lesson from that. Her example taught me to be considerate of those around me. I try to be like her and if I'm in a group and want a treat, I try to make sure everybody gets a treat. </div>
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This simple song reminds me of her:<br />
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“Give,” said the little stream,<br />
“Give, oh, give! Give oh, give!”<br />
“Give,” said the little stream,<br />
As it hurried down the hill;<br />
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“I’m small, I know, but wherever I go</div>
The fields grow greener still.”<br />
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Singing, singing all the day,<br />
“Give away, oh! give away.”<br />
Singing, singing all the day,<br />
“Give, oh! give away.”<br />
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“Give,” said the little rain,<br />
“Give, oh! give, give, oh! give.”<br />
“Give,” said the little rain,<br />
As it fell upon the flow’rs;<br />
“I’ll raise their drooping heads again,”<br />
As it fell upon the flow’rs.<br />
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Singing, singing all the day,<br />
“Give away, oh! give away.”<br />
Singing, singing all the day,<br />
“Give, oh! give away.”<br />
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Give, then, as Jesus gives,<br />
Give, oh! give, give, oh! give.<br />
Give, then, as Jesus gives;<br />
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There is something all can give.<br />
Do as the streams and blossoms do:<br />
For God and others live. <br />
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Singing, singing all the day,<br />
“Give away, oh! give away.”<br />
Singing, singing all the day,<br />
“Give, oh! give away.”<br />
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Although she was going through these trials, she always greeted people with a warm smile. Just like the song above, she would make the places she would go "greener still!" I think that is where I got that trait from. The church that we go to was "greener!" Even a place as miserable as the dialysis center, was "greener!" <br />
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Mom wasn't loud. She wasn't boisterous. She had little money. This didn't mean she wasn't powerful. If an effect on people's lives can be judged by the amount of people at their funeral, she was powerful beyond measure.<br />
I actually wrote one verse in a rap song about her. You can hear it in this YouTube video at about 9:14 <a href="https://youtu.be/BIXiFj8JZqk?t=9m9s">https://youtu.be/BIXiFj8JZqk?t=9m9s</a> but here's the lyrics: <iframe allowfullscreen="" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/BIXiFj8JZqk/0.jpg" frameborder="0" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/BIXiFj8JZqk?feature=player_embedded" width="320"></iframe><br />
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From the day I was conceived her body took a jolt/ </div>
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Before I formed a heart we shared the same pulse/ </div>
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Nine months in the womb she was my lifeline/ </div>
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Continues to be throughout my lifetime/</div>
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Step out of line pops beat me up/</div>
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She broke it up with enough is enough/</div>
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And a cast iron pan raised in the air/</div>
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I guess she'd seen more than she could bare/</div>
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A planet sheltering her moons from an anger fueled sun/</div>
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If no one believed in me, I knew there was mums/</div>
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She never expects less than my best/</div>
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My mother made sure that love lined the nest/</div>
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Made the most with less and kicks from Payless/</div>
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Hamburger Helper and a warm place to rest/</div>
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As the sun sets and she approaches death/</div>
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She never give up She live on in my chest</div>
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Mom's favorite thing was to see her children happy. She loved the holidays, hugging her children, and hugging her grand children. Her recipes for carrot cake, turkey stuffing, zucchini bread, and trifle are super delicious because of one ingredient not written on any paper, love! Again, gifts from her to some may seem small, she often gave $20-$40, but they amounted to a huge percentage of her income. With five grand children and four children, it added up quickly to nearly two fifths of her income. It didn't matter to her though, her happiness came from giving.<br />
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She also was forgiving. One time I was pushing her in a wheelchair up the chapel sidewalk. It was icy and there was snow on the ground. I had my hooks on the handles and needed to pick up momentum. So I began a slow jog behind her chair. The right tire hit a huge chunk of ice which caused me to tip<br />
the chair and she fell out of the chair. She could have got mad but she laughed. Mom would forgive in an instant.<br />
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I love this picture to the right. Over my shoulder is a picture of Jesus Christ. If our goal in this life is to become like him, she was the person that closest approached what I believe Christ was like. If I can be like her, I think I will be in good shape.<br />
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Samoana (The No-Handed Bandit) Matagihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06040820120416228392noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7773211208739632036.post-58790291324223673022016-04-12T19:15:00.000-07:002016-04-12T21:46:30.710-07:00Boy Scouts and Bear Lake<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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"I wish dad would have taken us to the mountains more when we were growing up." laments my younger brother.</div>
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It's around 11:30pm. My brother and I are roommates in a hotel in Colorado. We are laying on our beds, in the dark. The next morning is a competition. These long arguments or "discussions" have become somewhat routine during our competition trips.</div>
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"The mountains were too expensive. That's why Polynesian people don't do those kinds of sports." I retorted.</div>
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On our first trip as roommates we argued until 3am in the morning and then <u>got</u> up at 6:30am to get ready to race. We are both headstrong and would relentlessly try and get in the last word. Sometimes I would disagree with his opinion just to make him angry. I think he might have been doing the same thing.</div>
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"There's always a way. There's always some applications for financial aid. They should have researched it. Plus, I think Poly people just don't want to do outdoor stuff. They like basketball and football." he responds while rolling from his belly to his side.</div>
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A lot of times the "discussions" are regarding race. Many times we talk about growing up. When these "discussions" began, our voices and tones sometimes had force and anger. Now we're more quiet and always come to the conclusion that we are different people entitled to a difference of opinions.</div>
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"You forget there was no Internet back then. You couldn't just Google 'financial assistance for poor people and outdoor recreation. I think that Poly people just never had the opportunity to do that stuff so how could they like it? Plus basketball and football is seen as a way to escape poverty. You don't see anybody escape poverty in rock climbing." I retorted while staring blankly at the ceiling like I could see a window into the past.</div>
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At the time of this discussion I didn't remember any outdoor experiences except the time my dad took us to the ski resort. He was working as a bus driver and drove the route that took skiers into the mountains. So he became a little familiar with the resorts and took us up there for a break. I remember we were all bundled up and got out of the car. We looked for ten minutes and left. </div>
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To my brother, it was probably like taking a kid to a candy store and then leaving without buying them anything because you couldn't afford it. To me, it was like taking me to a cold foreign country that spoke a language that I couldn't even begin to understand. I couldn't fathom enjoying because nothing, from the clothes people wore to the way people talked, was familiar. I was just longing to get back to something familiar like sledding, Nintendo or hookie-bobbing.</div>
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Now that I think about it we did have a few great-outdoor experiences. I remember some that had no monetary cost like pulling over by a river or canal near the mouth of a Canyon and jumping into the deep cold rushing waters. Some costed money like the time I went on a week long Boy Scout camp to Bear Lake with Troop 811. </div>
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Recently I had the chance to go to Bear Lake Aquatics Base again, as an adult leader for that a same <u>troop</u>. Bear Lake is located on the northern border of Utah. It's different than most other lakes in that it's different shades of blue leave one wondering if you are in Hawaii or the Caribbean. This is why they call it the Caribbean of the <u>Rockies</u>. It's so clear you can generally see the bottom. </div>
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The trip brought back a lot of nostalgic memories for me. My first trip there, I was somewhere between 13-15 years old. I don't remember how much it costed but I do know that I was scared to ask my dad if I could go. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYSoB3yTLcxx0O7Krb713baMasS9QTpuq2CVSFs9NgHsLCCWBE2N4k8Zez0uhyphenhyphenLttx06O5Rcp1FZqDBnZhgKuu3_u8xbIfahmor3sHb0fb4dtmOz45j12wjTIOVvbBRM_beKd3DR2rzEqV/s1600/20150720_154538.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="114" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYSoB3yTLcxx0O7Krb713baMasS9QTpuq2CVSFs9NgHsLCCWBE2N4k8Zez0uhyphenhyphenLttx06O5Rcp1FZqDBnZhgKuu3_u8xbIfahmor3sHb0fb4dtmOz45j12wjTIOVvbBRM_beKd3DR2rzEqV/s640/20150720_154538.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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As a young man, I was always ill prepared for camping trips with the scouts. It wasn't because I was trying to disregard the scout motto of, 'be prepared.' My sleeping bags were very thin with broken zippers. Usually the sleeping bags were supplemented with blankets. I used garbage bags as backpacks. Luckily, Bear Lake in the summer is warm. I don't remember being cold except in the water.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSW3HbE-IYPszCiPkEkcpWVhJt5GSaCE3BFHKm1YzEYiVAtnhBi-67o4bH9lcZFWu9SHxh_KjAbwoI0Bn33NtSblXuo-fswRApXa70mJo5mUjru8qb8jjpUsB_pNM9sw2-5u7X0cw4UCh9/s1600/20150721_195317.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSW3HbE-IYPszCiPkEkcpWVhJt5GSaCE3BFHKm1YzEYiVAtnhBi-67o4bH9lcZFWu9SHxh_KjAbwoI0Bn33NtSblXuo-fswRApXa70mJo5mUjru8qb8jjpUsB_pNM9sw2-5u7X0cw4UCh9/s320/20150721_195317.jpg" width="320" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);">As an adult at this camp, I had better equipment. My sleeping bag is awesome! It's called a sleeping pill and it has vents so you can adjust the temperature of the bag. I also have a nice headlamp. My backpack/garbage bag has been upgraded to a suitcase. The only thing missing for me is a good sleeping pad. I slept in a pretty hard ground for the first two days. Luckily the Bishop, my ecclesiastical leader for my church, Bishop DeMoux left me his air mattress and I slept like a baby the last three days.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJpl-3-Ph3dR3tayzLQZCm5Nd7AFoOSFqeh6x_SARyrj71GW7odoKvhFmNihyphenhyphenyUOc0DUACErUUpwe6NMf6O5_87oZEAPz5jUv62NytAiVd9HAw1Cfd-oe8iLz1aSadiOPmIhtezZ5Tpb6G/s1600/20150721_214231.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJpl-3-Ph3dR3tayzLQZCm5Nd7AFoOSFqeh6x_SARyrj71GW7odoKvhFmNihyphenhyphenyUOc0DUACErUUpwe6NMf6O5_87oZEAPz5jUv62NytAiVd9HAw1Cfd-oe8iLz1aSadiOPmIhtezZ5Tpb6G/s640/20150721_214231.jpg" width="640" /></a><b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJpl-3-Ph3dR3tayzLQZCm5Nd7AFoOSFqeh6x_SARyrj71GW7odoKvhFmNihyphenhyphenyUOc0DUACErUUpwe6NMf6O5_87oZEAPz5jUv62NytAiVd9HAw1Cfd-oe8iLz1aSadiOPmIhtezZ5Tpb6G/s1600/20150721_214231.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOBKuaD8K7idQ884EGf556blAQQ0Lnmgf_69-oZ4zFco6K1PKZDbTHxu641kAFpVC2yEAnZnTXBT5RuHmiQBqodq2H2oTCA8CgKaIRMNDaF4lDPKPbid6faIY7W8Z3I8asSW9jRuggG-Jh/s1600/20150723_113640.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOBKuaD8K7idQ884EGf556blAQQ0Lnmgf_69-oZ4zFco6K1PKZDbTHxu641kAFpVC2yEAnZnTXBT5RuHmiQBqodq2H2oTCA8CgKaIRMNDaF4lDPKPbid6faIY7W8Z3I8asSW9jRuggG-Jh/s1600/20150723_113640.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a>One of the worst memories of that camp, back in the eighties, was the showers and the toilets. The showers didn't have any privacy and the toilets were an outhouse with toilet seats on deep holes with the strong smell of ammonia. I learned they are called a kaebo. In fact, I didn't want to use either but that very thing caused me to need to do both. I held in a number one so long that I had an accident and while in the kaebo, I decided the best thing to do was to throw the underwear in the hole. (lol-ing right now)</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOBKuaD8K7idQ884EGf556blAQQ0Lnmgf_69-oZ4zFco6K1PKZDbTHxu641kAFpVC2yEAnZnTXBT5RuHmiQBqodq2H2oTCA8CgKaIRMNDaF4lDPKPbid6faIY7W8Z3I8asSW9jRuggG-Jh/s1600/20150723_113640.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOBKuaD8K7idQ884EGf556blAQQ0Lnmgf_69-oZ4zFco6K1PKZDbTHxu641kAFpVC2yEAnZnTXBT5RuHmiQBqodq2H2oTCA8CgKaIRMNDaF4lDPKPbid6faIY7W8Z3I8asSW9jRuggG-Jh/s320/20150723_113640.jpg" style="cursor: move;" width="180" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOBKuaD8K7idQ884EGf556blAQQ0Lnmgf_69-oZ4zFco6K1PKZDbTHxu641kAFpVC2yEAnZnTXBT5RuHmiQBqodq2H2oTCA8CgKaIRMNDaF4lDPKPbid6faIY7W8Z3I8asSW9jRuggG-Jh/s1600/20150723_113640.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifyn0OdPbaPVRlwljgZ0CRrZDw-ZSwG5-ahcEvsuLpl2tUOwcR3hdgkJ4Qb8at26QwpJqyQeenVeV5LXhaRyHGrYoymhuoDbVTUJ3lGY2pXM1BObN-_2t4jFE4erZt30Xa52PI8z5ifqXS/s1600/20150723_113645.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a></div>
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I hadn't planned on taking a shower but after the outhouse accident, I needed to go investigate the shower house. It was very reminiscent of the junior high school showers except at the junior high we just showered by wetting our upper bodies and kept a towel on over our shorts but there was nobody doing that plus my bottom needed cleaning the most. To add to all that, the water was not hot, nor was it warm, it was cold.<br />
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Most of those things have changed at that camp, thanks to generous donors. There are private showers. They have hot water. Well, it fluctuates between hot, scalding and cool depending how near you are to the water heater and how many people are using the showers (hahahahahaha).</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0xRpetONtZGagIMJGHJFjTeFybq0MHhj3KSfYU1MYKp71akwRaLTelmyinYthJ8lz3IkUZEJL5tV2vcX-W8Q6o9HydRBL46IRDoemFzIlo-6P-S7beHzCq3ktjhyphenhyphenKAPqZZ0bSqQjdaWDY/s1600/20150720_155046.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div>
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One thing that hasn't changed is the toilets. They are still the same stinky little kaebos. At least I'm not shoveling a hole and getting bit by mosquitoes while squatting in the woods like the summer of 2014.</div>
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Despite the Kaebos and showers, as a young man, this camping trip was one of my favorite scout camps in my life. Because of it I became familiar with things I never could have at home. I developed a love and familiarity for Bear Lake that would help me share the experience with my brother and sisters. We never went to Disneyland or Disney World but we could definitely afford the two hour drive to Bear Lake.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifyn0OdPbaPVRlwljgZ0CRrZDw-ZSwG5-ahcEvsuLpl2tUOwcR3hdgkJ4Qb8at26QwpJqyQeenVeV5LXhaRyHGrYoymhuoDbVTUJ3lGY2pXM1BObN-_2t4jFE4erZt30Xa52PI8z5ifqXS/s1600/20150723_113645.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a></div>
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I remember being intimidated by the swimming test they had at the camp but because it was required to do other activities, I was motivated to give it a try. The water is cold in the testing area which adds another dimension to the test. I attempted a few times and was only able to pass half the test. It<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCNqCt2E1BDEpgMBFmrHFiEhMVoM3tlLWW8r-R_sUasjYAPiSEABayeYvmV4kml-jnBMxIf1WlEV3lZOuedZdoN66_jP-gHxYjqHK_Gfowr1KgUd7plFjwN-hQmSVWPubZCgNt9d43q8f3/s1600/20150721_200024.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCNqCt2E1BDEpgMBFmrHFiEhMVoM3tlLWW8r-R_sUasjYAPiSEABayeYvmV4kml-jnBMxIf1WlEV3lZOuedZdoN66_jP-gHxYjqHK_Gfowr1KgUd7plFjwN-hQmSVWPubZCgNt9d43q8f3/s320/20150721_200024.jpg" style="cursor: move;" width="320" /></a> was only a half victory but it gave me confidence to try again and pass the test later.</div>
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As a 39 year old, I retook that test and the confidence I obtained from long ago had been increased to the point that the test was easy. During that test in the summer of 2015, I remembered and could see myself swimming my little heart out as a teenager. At the same time, I was encouraging the young scouts I was with to pass the test. As an adult, I could see how it would benefit them. Some of them, I brought down to the test several times to try the test and became their loudest cheerleader.</div>
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When the young ones passed, I noticed a confidence in their step and swim stroke. It was awesome!</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0xRpetONtZGagIMJGHJFjTeFybq0MHhj3KSfYU1MYKp71akwRaLTelmyinYthJ8lz3IkUZEJL5tV2vcX-W8Q6o9HydRBL46IRDoemFzIlo-6P-S7beHzCq3ktjhyphenhyphenKAPqZZ0bSqQjdaWDY/s1600/20150720_155046.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0xRpetONtZGagIMJGHJFjTeFybq0MHhj3KSfYU1MYKp71akwRaLTelmyinYthJ8lz3IkUZEJL5tV2vcX-W8Q6o9HydRBL46IRDoemFzIlo-6P-S7beHzCq3ktjhyphenhyphenKAPqZZ0bSqQjdaWDY/s400/20150720_155046.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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Flashing back to when I was a boy, I remember many of the badges costing $10 to $50. I had come to the camp with no cash. As a younger boy, I got all my badges in Cub Scouts <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSnqPwBkvtrEp_4HOZ6Y2HXJxl5SoZ-taWIA7MTkVZqIbPXWhPwcbPcXxgk9wzLNG4lE92DPoUWBeNMgfyK7Kpi6Zi9stYZ7Vv82CUaJX4EhEXEKe0zf-GQUenCcBvHwRLIeWed3RHVQTH/s1600/20150722_083416.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a>but when I became a Boy Scout, I became disinterested in Boy Scouts. So, I really didn't care too much for badges. My leaders paid for my Archery class and they had a snorkeling class that you could earn a patch for free. I signed up for that.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0xRpetONtZGagIMJGHJFjTeFybq0MHhj3KSfYU1MYKp71akwRaLTelmyinYthJ8lz3IkUZEJL5tV2vcX-W8Q6o9HydRBL46IRDoemFzIlo-6P-S7beHzCq3ktjhyphenhyphenKAPqZZ0bSqQjdaWDY/s1600/20150720_155046.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a>One of the requirements of the snorkeling class was that I had to dive down and pick up this huge rock and bring it to the surface. I remember hearing the instructions from the camp counselor and thinking, "say that again, what do you want me to do?" Back in those days though, I was a shy child and so I didn't say those thoughts audibly. <span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875);">When my turn came, I swam towards the rock, expelling the air from my snorkel. Time felt like it slowed down and I felt like I was swimming in slow motion. I got the rock and swam to the surface. After that, although I am not a professional snorkeler, <span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);">I became a huge fan of snorkeling. The familiarity with the sport has allowed me to snorkel in Hawaii, Samoa, Jamaica, Cayman Islands and Mexico.</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcrUnbkJw-_FpMnsmIPjon1HXtw3JO6ly2aJGc53JUjkAOeWs6mpQCHEMqHovY2eBeeRcrP-BA7M4znPAGeGGv890QcD-dfzwBctC56r_MH68ZZgSgl-w5J3kxXlGOEr4-BFWLUz6rELdt/s1600/P1010018.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcrUnbkJw-_FpMnsmIPjon1HXtw3JO6ly2aJGc53JUjkAOeWs6mpQCHEMqHovY2eBeeRcrP-BA7M4znPAGeGGv890QcD-dfzwBctC56r_MH68ZZgSgl-w5J3kxXlGOEr4-BFWLUz6rELdt/s320/P1010018.JPG" width="320" /></a></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);">As one of the leaders of the boys I wanted to help the boys get familiar with something new. As they passed the swim test, we decided to sign up for an hour of tubing. They had a blast and it was a great reward for passing the swim test. We had a contest to see who could stay on the tube the longest. I teamed up with one of the boys and we hung on to the tube the longest. Check out the video here. (coming soon)</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSnqPwBkvtrEp_4HOZ6Y2HXJxl5SoZ-taWIA7MTkVZqIbPXWhPwcbPcXxgk9wzLNG4lE92DPoUWBeNMgfyK7Kpi6Zi9stYZ7Vv82CUaJX4EhEXEKe0zf-GQUenCcBvHwRLIeWed3RHVQTH/s1600/20150722_083416.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a>Like I mentioned before, after an illustrious Cub Scout career in which I got all the badges, I lost interest in scouting. Although I didn't participate much, I am grateful for the Boy Scouts of America program. It gave me, a teen from a low-income family, experiences that I would have never been afforded. I gained a lot of base knowledge in a lot of topics that would help me later on in life. It also gave me respect for the limited resource of the great outdoors. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSnqPwBkvtrEp_4HOZ6Y2HXJxl5SoZ-taWIA7MTkVZqIbPXWhPwcbPcXxgk9wzLNG4lE92DPoUWBeNMgfyK7Kpi6Zi9stYZ7Vv82CUaJX4EhEXEKe0zf-GQUenCcBvHwRLIeWed3RHVQTH/s1600/20150722_083416.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a>Without the Boy Scout program I wouldn't have the great memories from the difficulty of the swim test, fear of the snorkeling rock, stealing the flag games in the wilderness, etc. Most importantly, I wouldn't have felt the confidence that came from achieving those specific difficult challenges at that camp. Later on in life, I would be able to repeat that process over and over with changing circumstan<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSnqPwBkvtrEp_4HOZ6Y2HXJxl5SoZ-taWIA7MTkVZqIbPXWhPwcbPcXxgk9wzLNG4lE92DPoUWBeNMgfyK7Kpi6Zi9stYZ7Vv82CUaJX4EhEXEKe0zf-GQUenCcBvHwRLIeWed3RHVQTH/s1600/20150722_083416.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSnqPwBkvtrEp_4HOZ6Y2HXJxl5SoZ-taWIA7MTkVZqIbPXWhPwcbPcXxgk9wzLNG4lE92DPoUWBeNMgfyK7Kpi6Zi9stYZ7Vv82CUaJX4EhEXEKe0zf-GQUenCcBvHwRLIeWed3RHVQTH/s320/20150722_083416.jpg" style="cursor: move;" width="320" /></a>ces like missing limbs. </div>
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Now don't get me wrong, it wasn't just because of the Boy Scouts of America but the program is an excellent place to challenge young men to achieve. To that I give my phantom Scout salute!<br />
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During the camp, I met a young Polynesian kid. He reminded me of myself. I saw his backpack, a garbage bag. He didn't have much of sleeping bag. Our troop played Steal the Flag and I invited him to come play. He asked to take a picture with me on my phone.<br />
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Someday, I know he will look back and remember all his experiences at camp. He'll also remember the other Polynesian guy, the one with no hands.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvw_vU1YlzJ6UvYfn3lq1CFi_b8C3TbrHy7HIULOIay7-DVxLNDU5rfVfUOJBKDCxQ9l7eeu6GCXRfvVuWbKWIqzv9mrQ-KpsM04RCWU4YfVfA5sk9xGT_g_RlnG6Gld7AFoExlWpY1qmF/s1600/20150724_104252.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvw_vU1YlzJ6UvYfn3lq1CFi_b8C3TbrHy7HIULOIay7-DVxLNDU5rfVfUOJBKDCxQ9l7eeu6GCXRfvVuWbKWIqzv9mrQ-KpsM04RCWU4YfVfA5sk9xGT_g_RlnG6Gld7AFoExlWpY1qmF/s640/20150724_104252.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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Samoana (The No-Handed Bandit) Matagihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06040820120416228392noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7773211208739632036.post-49676141548864608542015-04-11T17:12:00.001-07:002015-04-11T17:12:38.605-07:00Questival Salt Lake city <p dir="ltr">Did a ton of missions today </p>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHTrgJjkCUa9OSp38gav_Lt3nPqjSl04y6A-UhXCKXXYphnoibIVDL10ChpIqjNfNYldw2-ubNbS3v_e5PAoWgcxnj-qSyCjduUuDYksDxnCbaAvRCakWcqheO0QcgkL448p1H2YDYdFxx/s1600/1428797462159.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHTrgJjkCUa9OSp38gav_Lt3nPqjSl04y6A-UhXCKXXYphnoibIVDL10ChpIqjNfNYldw2-ubNbS3v_e5PAoWgcxnj-qSyCjduUuDYksDxnCbaAvRCakWcqheO0QcgkL448p1H2YDYdFxx/s640/1428797462159.jpg"> </a> </div>Samoana (The No-Handed Bandit) Matagihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06040820120416228392noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7773211208739632036.post-57535737675732747102014-08-25T02:42:00.000-07:002017-07-13T15:51:03.831-07:00Help! An Amputee at the Waterpark!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
On Monday, August 18, the No-Handed Bandit hit the water park with his niece and nephew, from henceforth I will call them niblings (non-gender plural form for niece and nephew). It wasn't the first time to a water park and it won't be the last. I have a water park season pass and I hadn't used it this year plus I wanted to spend time with my niece and nephew before they hit the rebellious years. Funny because some of the things they learned from me probably weren't good things.<br />
<a href="http://youtu.be/KTSvYpD9B2w">http://youtu.be/KTSvYpD9B2w</a><br />
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It started off as we came into the parking lot. Now mind you, a lot of what I'm about to say is not fact but opinion. This water park is in Provo and I find it fascinating that as a very conservative town, they have a ton of regulation. One of the regulations I despise is the streets that surround the water park are a no parking zone. This pretty much forces you to park in the water park's parking lot. The cost to park there is $7. If you know me, you know I don't mind telling people my opinion. So as we pull up to the parking lot attendant's window, which just happens to be conveniently located in my side, I pay him the money. He says his thank you and then I say, "Thank you," and a medium pause and then burst out, "For ripping me off!" My sister, who is driving, puts the foot on the gas and zooms away while we are laughing out loud. I don't know if that was a good thing to teach my niblings and they probably think I'm crazy but the latter is very likely. <br />
After entering the park, we find a little spot to lay are stuff. My sister is very pregnant so she won't be able to ride many rides. She will be spending a lot of time on a chair or in the wave pool. The kids will be running around with their crazy uncle, who will not be wearing prosthetics, and our first matter of business is renting tubes. This always introduces the question, where do we put the wrist band? I'm usually propping my leg up on the counter while suggesting they put it around the ankle. This time the band is too skinny but my niece suggests they put two bands on her arm. It works.</div>
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Our second mission, we decided to get wet in the wave pool. My sister joined us. I took my tube and was flipping, rolling and bouncing off it. At times, the tube was right side up and other times it was upside down. Suddenly I hear a whistle. The life guard is yelling at me to turn the tube so the handles are up. I asked, "Why?" He replied, "Because people drown when the handles are upside down." I can be a smart-aleck at times. This was one of those times. I replied, putting my arms in the air, "What does it matter? I can't grab the handles anyway! I got no hands!" He said, "Just flip the tube over." While giggling, I comply.<br />
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Provo is a very homogeneous town. Again, that's my opinion. To me, there aren't too many people who think outside of the box there. Or if they do they don't let it show and I believe it is because there is a fear of being different. From the 2010 census, the city is 84.8% Caucasian. A stat from the year 2000 taken by the Association of Religion Data Archives says Provo is 98% Latter Day Saint or "Mormon". Now, if you add in the fact that we are in an expensive water park, that makes it even more homogeneous considering that poverty rates of minorities are higher and they won't be as likely to be able to afford the water park.<br />
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At this point you may be wondering, "Now what in the world does all this have to do with being an amputee at the water park?" Ok, I'm getting to the point right now, LOL. I am a "Mormon" or a Latter Day Saint but other than that there isn't very much more that I have in common with the population inside the water park. In what seems like sea of blonde hair and blue eyed-people, a tall, tan guy with no hands is standing out like a sore thumb. Naturally people are staring, pointing and whispering at an alarming rate in my vicinity. I can imagine now how self-conscious an injured zebra might feel while surrounded by a pack of laughing hyena.<br />
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I really had never felt so self-conscious in my whole amputee life. Every other time where a normal person would have felt self-conscious, I have been able to block it out. Usually, a simple smile breaks the ice and everybody is chill but the smile wasn't working and I couldn't figure out why. Thinking back on it, I'm chalking it up to the homogeneity in handling a disfigured person. The worst way, to me, for people to handle it is for the kids to be told and signaled to, "shhhhhh and don't look." My problem with that is it takes away my secret weapon, my smile. To add to the conundrum, I'm not wearing prosthetics and the prosthetic arms generally brings the "cooooool" reaction from most little boys.<br />
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<a href="http://%3ciframe%20width=%22560%22%20height=%22315%22%20src=%22//www.youtube.com/embed/G1m80NkdeKA%22%20frameborder=%220%22%20allowfullscreen%3E%3C/iframe%3E">The Avalanche Mat Racer</a><span id="goog_1633681703"><br /></span><br />
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Our first ride we go on is a multi-lane race slide called, Avalanche Mat Racer. For the ride, one must retrieve a mat at the bottom of the ride and carry it up to the start. When on the ride, one must lay or sit on the mat while the descend in a race to the finish. Just our luck, there is no line for the mats. We go on the ride relatively fast and at the bottom, people are waiting in line for their turn with the mats. While walking to the people in line, I let the niblings know I beat them and ask if they want to go again. We all agree to go again.<br />
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As we approach the people waiting for a mat, I see people that had just slid with us just keep their mats and go ascend to the beginning of the ride. I consciously say to my niece and nephew in a bellowing voice, "Let's give our mats to the people waiting and get in the back of the line." </div>
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One thing I learned as a child was a thing called, "sharing". You may have heard of it and try to pass it on to my niblings. It goes along closely with respect and not thinking you are better or above anybody else. I remember when playing Nintendo with my siblings, we would give each other the controller after even one guy died or one guy passed a level. My father taught us that vocally and sometimes forcefully. When playing basketball or football, he taught us that almost subconsciously. He made a big deal about making sure everybody gets to score points or gets to touch the ball. I believe that to be a cultural thing. Samoans want everybody to join in on the fun.<br />
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Contrast that with what I learned, as an eight-year-old, at a sleepover at my elementary school friend Andy Brimhall. We were playing Mike Tyson's Punch Out on his Nintendo. He takes a turn and gets his character knocked out on the game. To my utter disbelief, he keeps the controller. "Ok, that's fine. Maybe they will just play their three guys and then let the others have a turn in a fair and systematic fashion," is what I'm thinking. Well, I was wrong. After he got all his guys knocked out, he just said, "I want to try again." Somehow the way these guys were raised up is that the more assertive you are the better. Well, I wasn't raised that way and so my passive self got to play one time that day and my turn only lasted until my guy got one TKO.<br />
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Fast forward back to the water park as an adult amputee. My niblings and I are waiting at the back of the line for mats. Three young men, <span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875);">just finished with the ride, decide they are taking their mats and skipping the people waiting for a mat to go back on the ride. I was angered by this but held it in. The man in front of the mat line says, "Hey, bring those mats over here." The boys come over and one starts complaining, "Oh so it doesn't matter that we had to wait ten minutes for these."</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875);"><br /></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875);">For me, it's one thing to have been caught red handed and sheepishly give up your mat with a laugh but to complain like it's your right to keep the mat because you had to wait before, that just sets my temper aflame. Plus, the fact that these younger guys were talking back to a father who was trying to get his kids a mat to slide on didn't help my temper either. As a young child we were thought to respect our elders. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875);"><br /></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);">"What did you say?", I bellowed. I already knew what they said. They started to speak and I said at a higher than normal volume, "I don't care if you had to wait ten minutes for your tubes! Haven't you ever read the Book of Mormon where King Benjamin said to treat everybody fair!" Always grasping for something familiar in this teaching moment, I took a highly educated assumption that they were Mormon. Well what do you know, one of the young men's says the most aggravating words one can say to me when I'm angry, "calm down."</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);"><br /></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);">I think I've written about my father's angry eyes but just in case I haven't, my dad had one key indicator that something you may have done has gotten you into the no turn back zone of his ire, his eyes. If any cartoon could describe it, it would be the one where the pupils of the angry eyes become a nuclear explosion! As my brother attests to, I had the highest rate of talking back to my father of all my siblings. When I got in the ire zone, that was when I knew I was getting the belt, a broom, or anything he could get his hands on. Upon retrospect, that was partially where I learned respect but also I learned something bad. I learned, subconsciously, respect by physical or vocal force was normal procedure. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);"><br /></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);">Combine this force with an irritation with unfairness and you get me before the accident. After the accident, I became more likely to tell people about my feelings. Unfortunately for a while it was always in a more aggressive and hostile voice. I've been working with my psychologist on being more assertive than aggressive but in this occasion I was more aggressive.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);"><br /></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);">In a Stone Cold Steve Austin voice, I said, "WHAT!" </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);"><a href="http://youtu.be/YE9S3zQx_2k">http://youtu.be/YE9S3zQx_2k</a></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);"><a href="http://he/">He</a> replies, "Ok, Ok. Calm down." I told him, as I walked within striking distance, which happens to be very, very close when I'm not wearing my prosthetics, "I'm not going to calm down. You want me to elbow you in your head?" Of course you might be able to guess what he said, "Calm down." Luckily, I was able to regain control of my anger and get my mat and walk away.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);"><br /></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);">While in the line with my niblings, I had feelings of regret and sorrow for the explosion of anger. I also feel shame for being a bad example for my niblings. One thing I've learned to do though, is let that sorrow help me to think about and see what I can do better in that situation. Then I've learned not to let that sorrow drag me into depression. So while in line I mentioned to one of the passing lifeguards that they definitely should have a lifeguard watching the line making sure that everybody shared their mats. He didn't do anything about it. At that point I just could either let it go or go talk to the managers. I decided to let it go and like most things when I let it go people around me, this time my niblings, let it go.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);"><br /></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);">Now, my family and I had to get to the business of rides. I had gone to the water park in 2014 but just rode all the rides without actually looking at the rules. A year later and a little more conscious of the "rules" against amputees, I began to read the "rules." Many of the rules state if you are a using a prosthetic device, you will not be allowed on the ride. I feel bad for those using prosthetic legs because they are often not allowed on many rides because if they took off their prosthetics they would have to hop up stairs on one leg. At the same time I'm mindful that a lot of people working at these places, aren't educated or familiar with amputees and might be confused on the difference between no prosthetics allowed on the ride and no amputees on the ride. Most amusement parks I have to be ready to get to the front of a line and not be allowed on the ride or have an explanation of the difference between using a prosthetic device and just being an amputee. After all the anxiousness of thinking about what to say if questioned or stopped and sent back, I was let on the Cave-In ride <a href="http://youtu.be/webLp-R-g8gwith">http://youtu.be/webLp-R-g8gwith</a> no questions asked.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);"><a href="http://youtu.be/q6tSaVYmO6M">http://youtu.be/q6tSaVYmO6M</a></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);">The next ride we decided to try was the Vortex, a ride some people call the toilet bowl. We trade in our single tubes for a triple tube and head over. While walking over to the ride, I explain to my niblings that they may not let me on the ride. We jump in line to the ride, the lifeguard approaches us. My heart rate rises. He says, "You can't ride the Vortex with a triple." With I sigh with relief, I suggest we go on the ride next to the Vortex, the Boomerang. They agree.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);"><a href="http://youtu.be/cRPBE9lVrt8">http://youtu.be/cRPBE9lVrt8</a></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);">Again waiting in a long line to get turned back can be disappointing but the alternate, warning management that you are an amputee that is coming to the park, can create problems too. Calling ahead, can get you disqualified for most rides before you even start. The infamous rule is three points of contact. I have had the best success rates of getting on rides has been the element of surprise. I know a lot of amputees who aren't allowed on rides but in my opinion this shouldn't be a question of how to restrict adults from rides. It should be to find out ways to help </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);">amputee adults ride safely. Also, I wouldn't mind signing a waiver to ride rides that I deem safe. The only exception would be if I was going to hurt someone.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);"><br /></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);">My niblings and I make it to the front of the line and we decide I should be on the front of the triple tube because I'm the heaviest. The attendent let us ride, no questions asked. My niblings probably didn't know how steep that ride was going to be. At the end of the day, my niece said that was her favorite ride.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);"><a href="http://youtu.be/cRPBE9lVrt8">http://youtu.be/cRPBE9lVrt8</a></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);">Now we take our triple tube and head to the ride called Shotgun Falls. As we approach the front of the line, I start reading the rules. A couple of them catch my attention. One falls under</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);">, "The following persons may not ride this ride:</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);">*Guests whose health or physical condition could be affected by this ride</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);">*Guests with braces, casts, or prosthetic limbs</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);">Add that to the rule, "Hold onto the handles at all times." I was really concerned about this ride. To my surprise, no questions were asked and the lady even said have a good ride.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);"><br /></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);">In our triple tube, we descended quickly. At the bottom of the ride is a long runway with deeper water to slow down the tube. Now here's where that rule of holding on to the handle all times comes into play. A short lesson in physics should demonstrate what happens next. Newton's first law of motion says, "An object at rest stays at rest and an object in motion stays in motion with the same speed and in the same direction unless acted upon by an unbalanced force." </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);"><br /></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);">During the ride, the tube and the riders are the objects in motion. The water at the bottom Provides the unbalanced force, in this case friction. I was not holding onto the tube so I was disconnected from the mass that was being acted upon. While the tube stopped underneath me, my mass continued to be an object in motion. I went forward about two feet, while the forces that slowed me down were gravity and then friction. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);"><br /></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);">It would have been more dangerous if I was on the back because I would have smacked into my niblings. At the same time, it was a blast. I was laughing and telling and listening to stories with my niblings the whole way to the tube exchange. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);"><br /></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);">We exchanged our triple tube for one double tube for the niblings and a single tube for me. The Vortex, had a surprise waiting for us in the line and his name was Joseph. Now Joseph was the little boy just ahead of us in line. He was very talkative to the red-headed girl he was with, who I assume was a relative. I initiated a conversation with him by asking, "You ready for the ride?" Joseph began telling me all the intricacies of the ride. He wanted to come out of the Vortex facing the front. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);"><br /></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);">When he saw my residual limbs with missing hands, our conversation stopped. Joseph went up to the red-headed girl. I could see him point and whisper, "That guy has no hands." At that moment, I changed the subject by pointing at a pigeon, and speaking aloud, "Look that pigeon is gonna poop!" Hahahaha the old change the subject technique, which I have become a master of, worked again. Joseph started yelling at his mom, "Look mom a pigeon!" Then the pigeon flew away.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);"><br /></span></div>
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<div style="border-image: none;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);">We began our conversation again when I asked, "Is that your mom?" I found out he was from England but he had lost his accent. I asked him to check my British accent if it's correct. As I attempted to a British accent, it kept coming out Australian. He advised me that I should have his mom check my British impersonation. The wait on the line went by fast during our time consuming conversation. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);"><br /></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);">Soon, Joseph was loading up on his tube for the ride but before he left, he said, "OK Sam I'm going to wait for you down at the bottom." A good feeling came over me. My niblings went first. Sure enough, Joseph was down there waiting for me to come out the Vortex. He was very impressed that I came out forward, LOL. We exchanged pleasantries and I gave him my version of the high-five, the high elbow bash.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);"><br /></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);">That was the end of our rides. My sister didn't want to stay long. We did hit the wave pool one more time and try out my waterproof Galaxy S5. We weren't able to operate the camera under water but here are some shots of us goofing off.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);"><br /></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglyjhv1GLwF3unfVPx51RCyTiISOtBhmH7TWY8lzmnY92j3PMU8i78Qg2PV4BZsfFQRdePA5D_RpBF4AtpCSgefCo4VdG3-akcxW6KGwY5FMcSY13vjTdh4a7oRC9pwuen7FCqFksLNfzk/s640/20140818_150937.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglyjhv1GLwF3unfVPx51RCyTiISOtBhmH7TWY8lzmnY92j3PMU8i78Qg2PV4BZsfFQRdePA5D_RpBF4AtpCSgefCo4VdG3-akcxW6KGwY5FMcSY13vjTdh4a7oRC9pwuen7FCqFksLNfzk/s640/20140818_150937.jpg" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);">I hope that by reading this blog, people can learn about some struggles an amputee may go through at an amusement park. Also, I hope my niblings learned a little bit of good things from me. I hope they may have learned that although I lost control of my anger, it's good to stand up for fairness. It would also be great if they have learned to make new friends or at least be cordial to people. Another thing they might benefit from is learning to forgive yourself after making a mistake. Most of all I hope they learned to smile and have fun in any situation!</span></div>
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onIt's Roots for Strength<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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My life had made a full 180 degree turn. In December 2007 I was this sniveling mess of a man, begging for the attention of a cheating wife, who couldn't afford to go anywhere or do anything. <span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);">Including my PT Cruiser, that I had bought to try and win the woman back, I had rallied up a debt of near $80,000. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875);">My credit cards were all maxed out just trying to win her love and I was fighting for a relationship that the other party had abandoned several months ago. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875);"><br></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875);">Three years later, I had finally come out of that funk. I was going places that I had always dreamed of like New York City,</span><br>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875);"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPbBkyID-jY3GriiGin0MSBNWYJf5MMZeZDtadEpeoWc_cazQk1HoJ-KqD1qaH4wTwyyiRE9uy1NJR5525Hw-hZnyTcdatgsVujdqqcexS-VqPk8lfxVEWzSyrFS0163LhPv31QxUw3rNN/s1600/P5130277.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPbBkyID-jY3GriiGin0MSBNWYJf5MMZeZDtadEpeoWc_cazQk1HoJ-KqD1qaH4wTwyyiRE9uy1NJR5525Hw-hZnyTcdatgsVujdqqcexS-VqPk8lfxVEWzSyrFS0163LhPv31QxUw3rNN/s1600/P5130277.JPG" height="240" width="320"></a></span></div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875);"> San Diego</span><br>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875);"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjdN6-7_fULiMpjOjnTVwrr4ngDY7s2bcA3MJeZ2J4TgttYMbDk2UD5e28wFv-q2hK3hdF8LkWIpUf0nePi1Ks-XeuEtUDIgKcf0LAiyLLWmukORJ96rLRVezA0V3SVXhly_LGDWFsiifH/s1600/IMG_0207.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjdN6-7_fULiMpjOjnTVwrr4ngDY7s2bcA3MJeZ2J4TgttYMbDk2UD5e28wFv-q2hK3hdF8LkWIpUf0nePi1Ks-XeuEtUDIgKcf0LAiyLLWmukORJ96rLRVezA0V3SVXhly_LGDWFsiifH/s1600/IMG_0207.JPG" height="240" width="320"></a></span></div>
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and to top it off my college team, the Utah State University Aggies, had beaten our big brother rivals, Brigham Young University, in football.</span><br>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875);"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPVu_NmKaLKdYsTgKw9INYk0DGKYjqzGtnjV1mZwN-p8Ab9vELa8c54lQ78nccfHJgedAQYgbyP05X2kSb8bpofrXb1kzemaNn5CP2zzpQ5EWcKU2tje3PX-9LjGrwM-YrOVMDZshDBoKm/s1600/IMG_0232.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPVu_NmKaLKdYsTgKw9INYk0DGKYjqzGtnjV1mZwN-p8Ab9vELa8c54lQ78nccfHJgedAQYgbyP05X2kSb8bpofrXb1kzemaNn5CP2zzpQ5EWcKU2tje3PX-9LjGrwM-YrOVMDZshDBoKm/s1600/IMG_0232.JPG" height="320" width="240"></a></span></div>
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The woman I had married was now an ex-wife. It had finally occured to me that I wasn't in love with her, just who I thought she was. That meant I could allow myself to move on.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875);"><br></span></div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875);">Excluding the scary experience I had had at work, (see part 5 of when a trees limb breaks it calls on its roots for strength) everything in my life was now in order. The hunt for my "REAL" eternal partner in crime (an expression for wife not a confession of crime plans) was in full swing and I was searching high and low. This weekend my hunt would take me to Atlanta, Georgia.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875);"><br></span></div>
<div>
Ecclesiastes or, the Preacher </div>
<div>
CHAPTER 3 </div>
<div>
1 To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven: </div>
<div>
2 A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted; </div>
<div>
3 A time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up; </div>
<div>
4 A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance; </div>
<div>
5 A time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together; a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing; </div>
<div>
6 A time to get, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to cast away; </div>
<div>
7 A time to rend, and a time to sew; a time to keep silence, and a time to speak; </div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875);">8 A time to love, and a time to hate; a time of war, and a time of peace.</span><br>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);"><br></span>
<br>
<div>
This scripture comes to mind when I think about a humans ability to compartmentalize their lives. Compartmentalizing my feelings was something I learned to do at an early age. When I was a child, there were a lot of times when I would get spanked and cry and then in the next moment I was expected to be over it. In fact sometimes my dad would ask, in the middle of a beating, the rhetorical question because of how loud we were crying, "Do you want to cry?" My gut reaction was, "Yes, yes in fact I do want to cry." Luckily I didn't go with my gut but rather with my mind reading skills which told me, "He's asking that question because if I don't stop crying then he's going to give me a reason to cry."</div>
</div>
<div>
<br></div>
<div>
As a youth I compartmentalized nearly everything with the corporal encouragement of my dad. If it was time to be sleeping, I had better be sleeping or else. I even remember getting spanked for not being asleep when I actually was sleeping. It was the strangest thing to wake up to a sore bottom with only having remembered a faint dream about getting spanked.</div><div><br></div><div>When it was time to have fun, I really had fun like there was no tomorrow. When it was time to play football, I did it like nothing else mattered on the planet. If I was time to play basketball, everything was forgotten except basketball.</div>
<div>
<br></div>
<div>
I compartmentalized the scary incident that happened on Thursday December 9, 2010 and went into dating mode. Dating mode, to me, is where I get to know someone enough to see whether I like them enough to get into a serious exclusive relationship. I consider a date to be any activity where I'm getting to know somebody. It's not a difficult task to get into dating mode for me. However, getting into that serious exclusive stage is extremely difficult and more rare than a three-toed Pygmy sloth. In my lifetime, I can only say I have been in three relationships. <span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);">There are a few reasons for this futility and while telling the story of meeting this young woman, who I will call Susan in this blog for anonymity, I will tell you what I have found out about myself.</span></div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);"><br></span></div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);">That Friday,</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);"> December 10, 2013,</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);"> we set two light poles, nothing extremely dangerous. By one 'o clock I was driving to Denver International Airport. On a funny side note, by 1:30 pm I was getting a speeding ticket.</span></span><br>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);"><br></span></div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);"></span><br>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibrXoPX5CH3J0ac5YcDa7A3zhya2EvaMcrsBcLrhcT_pXTOt9qd9PEGu9whmkEcIjqZ0FZwgezh659GSkydlVCh1gQdhFR_g7rztl3X_aZRaWDX0TU61vnTD6f2NePtodM8mXPGNUs1Hw3/s640/blogger-image-375494449.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibrXoPX5CH3J0ac5YcDa7A3zhya2EvaMcrsBcLrhcT_pXTOt9qd9PEGu9whmkEcIjqZ0FZwgezh659GSkydlVCh1gQdhFR_g7rztl3X_aZRaWDX0TU61vnTD6f2NePtodM8mXPGNUs1Hw3/s640/blogger-image-375494449.jpg"></a></span></div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);"><br></span>
<br>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);"><br></span></div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);">As a child, one memory stands out that represents some of the reason why I'm timid when it comes to the opposite sex. (I'm laughing out loud just thinking about it) The neighbor across the street had a trampoline and also a pretty female about my age lived there as well. She would jump on the trampoline often. Her blonde her would bounce in rhythm with each leap she would make. A couple of times she waved at me and smiled. Often, I would kneel with my chin on the window sill, watching her jump on the trampoline.</span></div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);"><br></span></div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);">One day, I was gawking at this neighbor girl and my dad walked in and said jokingly, "What you staring at? You in love with the girl?" You could insert a sound here of a needle on a record being pushed sideways to explain what just happened. I was busted and ashamed. Later on I remember him mocking me by repeating several times in a short tune, "Samoana is in love," and all of my siblings joining in on the tune.</span></div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);"><br></span></div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);">I know he was joking now but at the time, I was embarrassed. It's not wholly his fault, I was shy all through high school and junior high school. It was a socially awkward time for me, in which when I look back in my journals I can see I was super depressed. In fact the whole idea of putting my lips against someone else's lips grossed me out. People are super surprised when I tell them I never went to prom or any school dances for that matter.</span></div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);"><br></span></div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);">I met Susan on an Internet dating site for Latter Day Saint, or "Mormon", people. I found her pictures to be very cute. We moved our relationship from the dating website to the social media world of Facebook. Eventually I called her. My sense of humor involves a lot of "talking trash" and she was able to hang with me in that arena. I used to call her phone and do my voice impersonations on her voicemail. She had this lisp that and southern accent that I found very attractive. Until this particular weekend in December of 2010, we had never met.</span></div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);"><br></span></div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);">She picked me up from the airport in a GMC Jimmy, which see affectionately called "Jimmy." We had many conversations about our cars, playing as though they had names and personalities. Often I would talk smack about Jimmy over the phone to Susan, just to see if I could get her wound up.</span></div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);"><br></span></div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);">I had devised this whole scheme about meeting Susan for the reason that I had wanted to play her in Monopoly. Really I wanted to get to know her better. I had expected her to read between the lines because a person doesn't fly all the way across the country to play Monopoly, unless it's like the monopoly championship. All of this was a ploy that I had used, finding a 'MacGuffin' if you will, so that I can actually get to some other goal. (a Macguffin was a word Alfred Hitchcock used to describe a plot device or goal that a protagonist uses but it turns out to be unimportant) I used a lot of MacGuffins to avoid being clear and concise and having to say, "I want to get to know you," because I still feel sort of embarrassed to just come out and say what ever it is that I'm feeing towards a girl.</span></div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);"><br></span></div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);">Also, when in need of something to say just resort to the MacGuffin. We didn't have a Monopoly board so I brought it up that we needed one. While on our way, we got pulled over. Jimmy got impounded and we were standing out on the curb, waiting for a ride from one of Susan's relatives.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);"><br></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);"></span><br>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5-x3jVEpUcQV2kMtfBFKfCWnSjhVVyF9p4eQvJpflBNDkHqWDZ1wziCCk2y9VjArZesKaASMJJk-XHw4XXf3epcevg-f63SwQT4e6ST2tS7_8aWs74qsVwokPynmq8-7p9U5SV7c8-leF/s640/blogger-image-1398572817.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5-x3jVEpUcQV2kMtfBFKfCWnSjhVVyF9p4eQvJpflBNDkHqWDZ1wziCCk2y9VjArZesKaASMJJk-XHw4XXf3epcevg-f63SwQT4e6ST2tS7_8aWs74qsVwokPynmq8-7p9U5SV7c8-leF/s640/blogger-image-1398572817.jpg"></a></span></div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);"><br></span></div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);">I know she was very embarrassed about the whole thing. One of my favorite jokes was calling later and asking if Jimmy was on parole yet.</span></div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);"><br></span></div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);">Her relative came and we went to eat at an IHOP or Waffle House, I forget. They dropped me off at my hotel and more fun would ensue the following morning.</span></div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);"><br></span></div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);">Atlanta has a few things to offer, among them is the World of Coke and the largest aquarium in the United States. That's what we did.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);"><br></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);"></span><br>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg88T2YvJyvxEJFwq1Ho3GIJuCZHiN2z1VV8EaB7rSQi9V-UivuyweFeYY4VVxL_pLFdekDKzTR_hcES6XDYnIsi5AuzfvB1s_-9RuL_ZZH9AnBscCd-KQMCTTruBM2pGgthqa_tDOXn0kJ/s640/blogger-image-1630979936.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg88T2YvJyvxEJFwq1Ho3GIJuCZHiN2z1VV8EaB7rSQi9V-UivuyweFeYY4VVxL_pLFdekDKzTR_hcES6XDYnIsi5AuzfvB1s_-9RuL_ZZH9AnBscCd-KQMCTTruBM2pGgthqa_tDOXn0kJ/s640/blogger-image-1630979936.jpg"></a></span></div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);"><br></span></div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);">You may be asking, "How in the world did Monopoly become the MacGuffin?" Well if you are asking that, I'll explain it. She also professsed to me to be "the Champ" of Monopoly. I told her how my dad and siblings used to always play Monopoly. I didn't tell her that I always used to come in third but I did challenge her to a game. Throughout all our phone conversations I never said much about how good I was at Monopoly I just let her talk all the crap about it. She claimed she was going to beat me so bad and talked all sorts of trash. Realistically, I didn't think I was going to beat her but I got her to tell me one of her tactics on winning Monopoly and that was that she never did trades.</span></div>
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<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);"><br></span></div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);">Saturday night December 11, 2010 this highly anticipated Monopoly game took place. Just like my life at that moment, most things went my way. I got a couple of monopolies and soon she realized she wanted a trade. At that moment, I told her that I was going to use her own strategy on her and not give her any trade at all. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);"></span><br>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8IH_d9OSwClATv7c2tBnYxKEOEhpuSzl522AEiQlbMqDS5PLV857dijfFn26lzPC8I_n12lIVGpbCm97zgJnuKzIY78UhE05TIFSKNOvQ_MZy0m9XrUbFrJJRH1TJyGOtVAVK_424tRb7/s640/blogger-image-1053610942.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8IH_d9OSwClATv7c2tBnYxKEOEhpuSzl522AEiQlbMqDS5PLV857dijfFn26lzPC8I_n12lIVGpbCm97zgJnuKzIY78UhE05TIFSKNOvQ_MZy0m9XrUbFrJJRH1TJyGOtVAVK_424tRb7/s640/blogger-image-1053610942.jpg"></a></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);"><br></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);">I had won but life, just like the game of Monopoly, doesn't always go your way. In the game of life, I was on a roll. I had rid myself of $80,000 in debt. I was enjoying getting to know a woman who had potential to be my eternal companion. I was visiting places I had always dreamed of. Little did I know that in two days I would be getting every bad card you could find in the chance pile and mortgaging all my properties. </span></div>
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Samoana (The No-Handed Bandit) Matagihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06040820120416228392noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7773211208739632036.post-61320995881745239692014-05-05T23:39:00.001-07:002015-01-02T05:45:51.729-08:00DEEEEEE-STRUCTION : Part 7 When a Tree Loses It's Limbs It Calls onIt'sRoots for Strength<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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My foreman, Larry, had a saying for when things went wrong, "Deeeeee-strucion!" It sounded something like this :<a href="https://soundcloud.com/user858738188/deeeeeeestruction">https://soundcloud.com/user858738188/deeeeeeestruction</a> . The first time I heard about it they, Larry and our lineman, were talking about a shed the lineman had destroyed. He had been digging next to this shed to put in underground power lines. If you have ever ran a backhoe, you know that some controls can be very sensitive. The lineman had pushed the lever to swing the bucket-arm. "SMAAAAASHHHHH!!!" The bucket, In a tight alley, had swung right into the wall of a shed. I forget what the lineman's name is but i'll call him<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);"> Jed, short for Jedi. (lol) Jed apologized to Larry. Larry sort of screamed, "DEEEESTRUCION!" in the voice of a monster truck radio advertisement. I don't know if he got it from that or from some old eighties hair band group but </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);">whenever things got smashed up or broken either Jed or Larry would exclaim, "DEEEEEESTRUCTION!!"</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);"><br /></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);">I have some pictures of what the official Sturgeon, the subcontractor company I was working for, incident report. I hope they aid in the storytelling.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);"><br /></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);">December 13th, 2010 will live on for the rest of my life as a day of, "DEEEEEEESTRUCTION." There is a social worker who has told me that trauma memories are stored at a cellular level, meaning your cells remember traumatic experiences and recall them especially on anniversaries of the event. A lot of things she says, I take as superstition, including this until December 13th, 2014. It was a normal anniversary date for my accident. I spent it teaching snowboarding to my nephew, Ephraim. Not wanting people's pity, I didn't announce it on facebook or tell anybody. All day, I kept getting an additional phantom pain that I don't normally have. It felt like electrical pulsating about two times an hour. So maybe there is something to this cellular memory. ( http://www.va.gov/health/newsfeatures/2014/July/Vanquishing-PTSD-at-the-Cellular-Level.asp ) Sorry for doubting you Ann (Social Worker). I'll give you that one but I'm still pessimistic about the tap therapy (lol).</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitPu_B-o5ZdJiCGzTzDOa_wNMeKwWNrsgbo7hhI4bmxf3OGZk7t3Q54jAu0daD1zBbvxw9nwHej8C8cjquCjOR22JeLpDuw9pUjR424ijCPw_9C7GwzXmlhKa1mCXvsjletkE3nIxAwffh/s640/20141207_174236.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitPu_B-o5ZdJiCGzTzDOa_wNMeKwWNrsgbo7hhI4bmxf3OGZk7t3Q54jAu0daD1zBbvxw9nwHej8C8cjquCjOR22JeLpDuw9pUjR424ijCPw_9C7GwzXmlhKa1mCXvsjletkE3nIxAwffh/s640/20141207_174236.jpg" height="112" width="200" /></a>I woke up twice that day in 2010. The first time, I did my normal routine. My alarm went off and I dressed myself for weather in the teens. I wore an under-layer of thermals, a hoodie, a pair of Carhartt jeans, some Carhartt heat insulated coveralls, a coat and some warm Bogs brand boots. I warmed up the car and made the short 5 minute drive to the yard, where we kept our trucks and materials. The gate to the yard had a padlock that I opened nearly every day, as I did my duty to warm up the trucks and fill out the truck inspection sheets.</div>
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After the scary work of moving a corner pole phase, as talked about in the blog entry http://samoanamatagi.blogspot.com/2013/03/exit-here-in-bright-neon-lights-part-3.html , I was looking forward to have the other apprentice come back and return to a three man crew<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; line-height: 18px;">. Mitch, the other apprentice, drove into the yard with his blue dodge Ram dually with the diesel engine. I greeted him with a huge smile and asked if he had passed his journeyman's test. He replied no and proceeded to tell me what they failed him on.</span></span></div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">We warmed up our trucks and as was custom, drove them to our normal breakfast spot, The Moose.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">I ordered my usual breakfast, French toast combo. As Mitch and I ate breakfast, I told him about my scary story of moving a corner pole in the bucket by myself. He seemed more concerned about his journeyman's test he had just failed. I filled out the safety report and Mitch and I signed it. This is the first discrepancy I have from the official safety report. We never made te safety report up at the show up. It was always at breakfast.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLSKGf7FXq0NjWWE5xdoeq8Ndt6yIeoie_muYk6rLYwifuOBjEGLIK2fHLQY5Y12U51VwVKnrWaAR81dcE2hb2NaB1rxrge2aB0G9JOcr6XFSg91nOuraO-wVXExYA6xii0ZYPNR3J-qQ1/s640/blogger-image-263365538.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLSKGf7FXq0NjWWE5xdoeq8Ndt6yIeoie_muYk6rLYwifuOBjEGLIK2fHLQY5Y12U51VwVKnrWaAR81dcE2hb2NaB1rxrge2aB0G9JOcr6XFSg91nOuraO-wVXExYA6xii0ZYPNR3J-qQ1/s640/blogger-image-263365538.jpg" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">Larry didn't eat breakfast with us. A lot of days it was just me and Mitch eating breakfast and filling out the safety report. On those days, we would meet Larry outside the restaurant and he would sign the safety report there. That day was no different except, I believe, Larry asked about Mitch's test. We were all hoping that Mitch would have passed that test so we could have two journeymen on our crew. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></span></div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">
Everything else, continued to go according to normal. We installed a new pole a few feet from the pole we were going to transfer the wire from. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh2IVYI-HnOC1unupNJt1jYUBOmc2nKY03W4scAo1kUrohrUH4qJgv6Z3PfDtQBfwfREjqqEyDGPo6Yp503Rcj5tLPWxcHkkf__nTXmHyY6Hy8_HJ5t8AKaeGS_W16ZeS5YPR60csjB1it/s640/blogger-image-1323528143.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh2IVYI-HnOC1unupNJt1jYUBOmc2nKY03W4scAo1kUrohrUH4qJgv6Z3PfDtQBfwfREjqqEyDGPo6Yp503Rcj5tLPWxcHkkf__nTXmHyY6Hy8_HJ5t8AKaeGS_W16ZeS5YPR60csjB1it/s640/blogger-image-1323528143.jpg" style="max-width: 90%;" /></a></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"> Until about 11:00 am, Mitch and I were up about 30 feet in the air and he recieved a message on the phone that said he needed to be in Salt Lake for a meeting before the board concerning his failed journeyman's test. He decided he needed to leave early that same day to get there on time. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">Here I was working as a two-man crew on 14,400 volts. We had set the pole, before the other apprentice left. Now I was to move the primary wire to the new pole. My foreman would help by using another bucket truck to lift the wire as I guided and tied it in to the insulator. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">The original report says my foreman was in the air with me. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggsQtdJxg3tZ3EyPrYJEsArMkSSbwq_p1XhJJPRmjfWO8eAMIpCoEA-rZXMtZprqgqUm6VLBsHaedgjfirp9deztoDf-GkUBujnh54rsOyrs3F6hw4OitVN9gu4HbSB8iLYnUhpu3Bk_qV/s640/blogger-image-877362528.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggsQtdJxg3tZ3EyPrYJEsArMkSSbwq_p1XhJJPRmjfWO8eAMIpCoEA-rZXMtZprqgqUm6VLBsHaedgjfirp9deztoDf-GkUBujnh54rsOyrs3F6hw4OitVN9gu4HbSB8iLYnUhpu3Bk_qV/s640/blogger-image-877362528.jpg" /></a>Later on the report would be amended to say: </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSa_hw4tpvKik7c8mQ_3Jea-H8Pp_nBWMUBJPW5acQTyr3LXOSQfN-c_MyCfy-U0JupBFHHAkVvMJUNBGjoP__VUpBYUCxsaI6hpe6kqMNRBAFqsGQXhJgOcidRaOvYASB69UWP6wbcUHv/s640/blogger-image--80266225.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSa_hw4tpvKik7c8mQ_3Jea-H8Pp_nBWMUBJPW5acQTyr3LXOSQfN-c_MyCfy-U0JupBFHHAkVvMJUNBGjoP__VUpBYUCxsaI6hpe6kqMNRBAFqsGQXhJgOcidRaOvYASB69UWP6wbcUHv/s640/blogger-image--80266225.jpg" /></a></span></div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">The next step was for me to cover it with rubber hoses and a blanket, that way if any incidental contact were to occur it might have a chance in protecting me. Once that was done, I felt a relief. I felt safe. The rest of the work could be done at a safe distance. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;"><br /></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"></span><br />
<div class="post-body entry-content" itemprop="description articleBody" style="line-height: 1.4; position: relative; width: 586px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">After lunch we put a new transformer on the pole </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; line-height: 18px;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLpAyUF26ddT7uRiSRJm98WAUyYFX2qDXSyknfIUg0p55MX4gGUHOy2n2rFX4ephm1sks3zFjIraOW_9nBL5cNIA_LGVWgs2gl5fQ51sytDu0S50EGSfGpQy5DXA6b1-cBn-SXkBKPcvS6/s640/blogger-image--1442373264.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLpAyUF26ddT7uRiSRJm98WAUyYFX2qDXSyknfIUg0p55MX4gGUHOy2n2rFX4ephm1sks3zFjIraOW_9nBL5cNIA_LGVWgs2gl5fQ51sytDu0S50EGSfGpQy5DXA6b1-cBn-SXkBKPcvS6/s640/blogger-image--1442373264.jpg" /></a></span></span></div>
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</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"></span><br />
<div class="post-body entry-content" itemprop="description articleBody" style="line-height: 1.4; position: relative; width: 586px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">and I descended for some parts. </span></div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"></span><br />
<div class="post-body entry-content" itemprop="description articleBody" style="line-height: 1.4; position: relative; width: 586px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">I ascended in the bucket. </span><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrZvK9z-PKykP2oQVKzn181QWq9XZwY6_6bFevXB7rNaPSUFhnBCOFJk623v2gX1angRekv7XskM8Qm_qlQZ-gt4O25AoHhYdGoI0RJUe72E2RbvNkTJZZXDwgxFw-wON-JYQiuXdgCehM/s640/blogger-image-99487099.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrZvK9z-PKykP2oQVKzn181QWq9XZwY6_6bFevXB7rNaPSUFhnBCOFJk623v2gX1angRekv7XskM8Qm_qlQZ-gt4O25AoHhYdGoI0RJUe72E2RbvNkTJZZXDwgxFw-wON-JYQiuXdgCehM/s640/blogger-image-99487099.jpg" title="" /></a><br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">It was cold and rubber gloves made my hands even colder. I assumed the situation was safe because of my rubber cover and I felt like my minimum approach distances, the distances recommended by OSHA to be safe to work at near high voltages, would not be breached. Before getting to my working position, I called down to my foreman, "Can I take off my rubber gloves?" An answer in the affirmative caused me to rejoice. Class 2 gloves were difficult and stiff to work with, especially in the cold.</span></div>
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</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3JYvPVZWffqZRlexPLsRkxa9im5vCu4tpql6q6zRHScYO-D_0VQQlVUDopROK4kUJirFWCo9f8PBTNVwWf_R7kn-lvR0XyGfioLb309xspolfpmLhu1cpBOAnFpgDTR3Vm3BhkdqKkyBh/s640/blogger-image--1145466094.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3JYvPVZWffqZRlexPLsRkxa9im5vCu4tpql6q6zRHScYO-D_0VQQlVUDopROK4kUJirFWCo9f8PBTNVwWf_R7kn-lvR0XyGfioLb309xspolfpmLhu1cpBOAnFpgDTR3Vm3BhkdqKkyBh/s640/blogger-image--1145466094.jpg" style="max-width: 90%;" /></a></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #0000ee; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"> I</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"> cut one secondary supply service, wires at the voltage used by the customer, into the transformer with no problem. We had jumpered these light pole services, with long jumpers, to supply the</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"> street lights with power the Friday before. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">I remember being a little nervous about how to cut the wire while holding both sides of the wire. Then I remember looking down to throw the scrap piece on the ground. My foreman was cleaning all the scraps below the pole so I didn't want to trow it on his head. I looked over my shoulder to the truck, thinking I could throw it near the bed so he wouldn't have to carry it far. That was all I remembered from inside the bucket.....</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYOjE1Gy9a0ciY0RlKuFGqcwzUt61Agu5v3aNvu516hSTd0eoM0eGtQB6NWe5qvp9KdjigR_5ctrWCbLL0CpkDfy5hsIHH5M3GdWJ8uOm7u_9QvS6Qqomr_uIrkohU6i9YgxIoNQ43UJII/s640/blogger-image-315510239.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYOjE1Gy9a0ciY0RlKuFGqcwzUt61Agu5v3aNvu516hSTd0eoM0eGtQB6NWe5qvp9KdjigR_5ctrWCbLL0CpkDfy5hsIHH5M3GdWJ8uOm7u_9QvS6Qqomr_uIrkohU6i9YgxIoNQ43UJII/s320/blogger-image-315510239.jpg" style="max-width: 90%;" width="240" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJyk5Dnl3cUlCbpfXdTSIybP2Ea3cb7XFK4S5obsR1_Wh_k23BR_B0Eqqln51RTgT7h8O6LWBo0CpLQaMilvpO9ZkIuSBtizDg9Abeiv4kQkiuhpRm5JQ4lmGkzGeWam6cZByQtvjq4vMb/s640/blogger-image-492499609.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJyk5Dnl3cUlCbpfXdTSIybP2Ea3cb7XFK4S5obsR1_Wh_k23BR_B0Eqqln51RTgT7h8O6LWBo0CpLQaMilvpO9ZkIuSBtizDg9Abeiv4kQkiuhpRm5JQ4lmGkzGeWam6cZByQtvjq4vMb/s320/blogger-image-492499609.jpg" style="max-width: 90%;" width="240" /></a><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFB-YI__frkQOcjgjaMpNxbkX6GaxxgpN2ZHq4EqvdufnjB_IRoO0YmsYhPovDkuGWRnxImjY0s2P6tW5MflMJFUA-a3F1fcJkNF1twwLEyMPgRUDTd-sALgpffDRBhbb_MeR5C9LVB9x8/s640/blogger-image--1851021444.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFB-YI__frkQOcjgjaMpNxbkX6GaxxgpN2ZHq4EqvdufnjB_IRoO0YmsYhPovDkuGWRnxImjY0s2P6tW5MflMJFUA-a3F1fcJkNF1twwLEyMPgRUDTd-sALgpffDRBhbb_MeR5C9LVB9x8/s640/blogger-image--1851021444.jpg" /></a></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">I believe if it was in fact a "fishing rod movement," it was because one end of the scrap piece got caught up on the cable below. I think I yanked on it and the wire came springing up after coming free. If that is the case, it was a dumb move to thrash. There was probably a sense of complacency and a feeling of being safe because of the cover. In no circumstance could I see myself doing a "fishing rod movement!" l may be dumb but I'm not that dumb....</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">The report talks a bit about the time where I was unconscious: </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqsWV-wneCZI-WmGdPq3ya66QfXwT1eHKjriNcFjgcz-Cq0UWsDrkLi91jCyezk6jWSDX1ytf3-AKGwNTBn_QHeVTHzKusDhZXuhItu84CuYNcyOQNcqiRpdhw4LUzDEADnyN-IVP9KfNu/s640/blogger-image-1143249286.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqsWV-wneCZI-WmGdPq3ya66QfXwT1eHKjriNcFjgcz-Cq0UWsDrkLi91jCyezk6jWSDX1ytf3-AKGwNTBn_QHeVTHzKusDhZXuhItu84CuYNcyOQNcqiRpdhw4LUzDEADnyN-IVP9KfNu/s640/blogger-image-1143249286.jpg" /></a></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">My memory kicked back in, I barely opened my eyes. I thought everything that had happened before had been a dream. I tried to get up to get ready for work again. My arms wouldn't move. I realized I was strapped on a stretcher being carried. Then I could hear a chopper. I asked, "Where am I?" A man's voice responded by asking me my name and address. I began to respond, "Samoana Matagi." He asked me again and pain started to permeate from my hands. I screamed, half irritated by being asked the same question, "SAMOANA MATAGI!" Then I started moaning and screaming. A man's voice kept asking me questions. I moaned, "Why are my hands burning?" and screamed till blackness.....</span></div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">I have always thought that we should have had a four man crew. In my opinion, when an accident happens, there are a lot of people responsible. When the office noticed the journeyman on our crew had quit, they could have sent a journeyman to keep the crew at four. The foreman could have always called the office to request a lineman from the union hall. Of all the people responsible, the one I had the most control over was me. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"></span> </div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">I failed to stand up for my own safety. There were so many ways I could have avoided the accident. I could have worked with gloves on. I could have not held the neutral while throwing the scrap piece. It's good to learn from your mistakes but not good to dwell on them. Accidents happen and hindsight is 20/20.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"></span> </div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"> There was one expression that could describe the whole incident; DEEEEEEEEE-SRTRUCTION! (</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><a href="https://soundcloud.com/user858738188/deeeeeeestruction">https://soundcloud.com/user858738188/deeeeeeestruction</a>) My life was destroyed physically, mentally, and even spiritually. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">I was 15 inches from not losing my hands at all. Electricity travels at the speed of light. It took the electricity, 14,400 volts, milliseconds to destroy my hands. The wires that caused the burns barely glanced.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixe9whr8hNsTmkD5c1Pcp3JgRw6ZwbA1e2nMEbZLOSe9TAucBkTVjnWB797a7JEAj_oIpKB-6t1ySje8gnIKr-J0USCasWU1gZF8owXkp5iQqPDo4K4FvuI5l2HcNRGSVBMQzGa6YP-d6k/s640/blogger-image--1161660869.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixe9whr8hNsTmkD5c1Pcp3JgRw6ZwbA1e2nMEbZLOSe9TAucBkTVjnWB797a7JEAj_oIpKB-6t1ySje8gnIKr-J0USCasWU1gZF8owXkp5iQqPDo4K4FvuI5l2HcNRGSVBMQzGa6YP-d6k/s640/blogger-image--1161660869.jpg" /></a></span></div>
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/0FZHP-JF1T8?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">I was also a few chest compressions away from losing my life. Thankfully, Larry saved my life. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">The chances of the wire not hitting a six foot long protective rubber sleeve are so slim, add that to the chances of me surviving, and the chances that it would have happened to two brothers, it all makes me want to believe in destiny. I believe part of my destiny has been to steal back life, figuratively, a bandit with no hands taking back life that was taken from him.</span></div>
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<!-- Blogger automated replacement: "https://images-blogger-opensocial.googleusercontent.com/gadgets/proxy?url=http%3A%2F%2Flh3.ggpht.com%2F-ZBSRVRIgtPw%2FVKaYFY7PogI%2FAAAAAAAAMqA%2F2n7xBjRzyMs%2Fs640%2F20141207_174236.jpg&container=blogger&gadget=a&rewriteMime=image%2F*" with "https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitPu_B-o5ZdJiCGzTzDOa_wNMeKwWNrsgbo7hhI4bmxf3OGZk7t3Q54jAu0daD1zBbvxw9nwHej8C8cjquCjOR22JeLpDuw9pUjR424ijCPw_9C7GwzXmlhKa1mCXvsjletkE3nIxAwffh/s640/20141207_174236.jpg" -->Samoana (The No-Handed Bandit) Matagihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06040820120416228392noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7773211208739632036.post-46729205928049975502013-12-02T12:05:00.002-08:002014-08-25T09:49:22.541-07:00Longing for Acceptence: Part 5 When a Tree Loses It's Limbs It Calls On
It's Roots for Strength<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
In the beginning of any job, I am always worried about being accepted. When I would walk in the first day of any job, I would have this process of finding where I fit in. Suspicions and fears would arise about being fired or that bosses and coworkers didn't like me, felt that I didn't belong or didn't value my ability to do a job and do it well.I think that those thoughts stem all the way from educational experience.<br>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6al3mHElbaSqWvgPp0q7QW-FINuXQ6hadBAptyi4Zg3XoTJOrdIOwXUgWT9J_O-04mYsxnSw-44pMcWtEuSeJUgwjQSxnc-I23eApAHNc8ykP6LY7ZDebzMtsY6FcllXTP_DaRjSdixPc/s1600/Hawaii+Kindergarten.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="230" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6al3mHElbaSqWvgPp0q7QW-FINuXQ6hadBAptyi4Zg3XoTJOrdIOwXUgWT9J_O-04mYsxnSw-44pMcWtEuSeJUgwjQSxnc-I23eApAHNc8ykP6LY7ZDebzMtsY6FcllXTP_DaRjSdixPc/s320/Hawaii+Kindergarten.jpg" width="320"></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me in kindergarten in Laie</td></tr>
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There is a vague memory of me going to first grade. I remember going to some elementary school in the town of Lā'ie, Hawai'i. It was my first day in first grade. For some unknown reason, I found myself staring at this older kid through the chain link fence. I must've been tired from the walk to school because my head didn't move from that staring position until the kid's hand came out his pocket and his middle finger and thumb stuck straight up in the air while the rest of his fingers crouched low. </div>
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I didn't tell on him. I just started crying and ran home.<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875);"><br></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGr2HpQcaWviTgUMa0HvgnKuYC9CzgelB6yNY9BDz5XwfDlYaUMFs5Mv9c0oVy9ae7Ti3lSUxsFHioC93myToaSrZvSx0cryqxeit6amLYM-KC_TQNtiJyV68Rj6M6H-ovag_hT69jF2QW/s1600/the+double+exposure...+bad+news+bears.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGr2HpQcaWviTgUMa0HvgnKuYC9CzgelB6yNY9BDz5XwfDlYaUMFs5Mv9c0oVy9ae7Ti3lSUxsFHioC93myToaSrZvSx0cryqxeit6amLYM-KC_TQNtiJyV68Rj6M6H-ovag_hT69jF2QW/s200/the+double+exposure...+bad+news+bears.jpg" width="143"></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">smiling always came easy for me</td></tr>
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Sometime mid way through the school year,<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875);"> I remember moving from Hawai'i to West Valley City, Utah. My first memory in Utah was walking in the lunchroom to get my lunch and not knowing where to sit or get my discounted lunch tickets. Eventually, I found the place for my lunch tickets and a place to sit. I must've been nervous because I ate my lunch which included cheese squares and then vomited it up.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875);"></span> </div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875);">My home wasn't what I felt to be very accepting either. We lived with two Aunties, three Uncles, Grandpa, and Grandma. I remember always being nervous about getting on one of their nerves. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875);"><br></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875);">In fact my most vivid memory of my paternal grandfather was being at a family prayer when he called on me to say the prayer. I believe I was only about six years old. "I don't know how to pray," were the words that I forever regret saying that day. My grandfather then proceeded to hit me. Luckily my grandmother was in a defensive mood and protected me from excessive beatings. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875);"></span> </div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875);">Another memory of the intimidation and nervousness that my grandfather caused me was the "cereal incident." I was pouring a bowl of Cheerios when he and my uncle came through the door. My bowl was full but I continued to pour while I stared at the two in the doorway. The overflowing food caught my grandfathers attention and he pointed made a sound. I was so startled by the attention to me that I quickly turned to recognize what I was doing and attempted to correct the situation. For some reason that day I didn't receive physical punishment.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875);"></span> </div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875);">Now, I don't tell these stories of my grandfather out of disrespect. In fact I love him very much. He was a very stern man that I sought from but somehow never received it. I learned a lot of toughness from him. The reason for </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);">these stories is to show how I got to be a person who sought acceptance from everyone and also an urge to stay out of the limelight and almost be that wheel that is about to fall off but never squeaks for the grease. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875);"></span><br>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx7HRdctGN9VEPTyFxKnbfcY94v1QirkaEFIKebn4sE5u5-ZS2Zvni-cW5eZbSDXYNXcuw4NOVp-qFP6oj9VkZh_Tq6w5t6kPSa1ahH96DBVj_yhSZY3o_smo6nYZoTKUle4373zxsQbG-/s1600/coach+randall.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="233" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx7HRdctGN9VEPTyFxKnbfcY94v1QirkaEFIKebn4sE5u5-ZS2Zvni-cW5eZbSDXYNXcuw4NOVp-qFP6oj9VkZh_Tq6w5t6kPSa1ahH96DBVj_yhSZY3o_smo6nYZoTKUle4373zxsQbG-/s320/coach+randall.jpg" width="320"></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dad and I coaching my brother's team</td></tr>
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My grandfather moved back to Samoa but he wasn't the only one I sought acceptance from. I always made efforts to impress and be accepted by my dad. Whenever he asked me if I wanted to go help clean the theaters, I said yes even though there were times when I didn't want to. When my father would wake me up, all he had to do was whisper and I would pop up like a prairie dog. Meanwhile my little brother, he would cry that he didn't want to go...(If he's reading this he's probably cracking up) <br>
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Sometimes it was hard to be accepted by him. Especially when playing football. One time, I remember playing corner in little league. My job, as corner, was to force the runner inside towards the other people on defense, or 'contain'. There was a play where the opposing team ran a sweep towards me. I always tried to do what the coach said so I didn't make the tackle, I just forced the runner inside by keeping 'contain'. The guy ran up inside and gained a crapload of yards. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUlr1A4BPdEXFJTLY0rF7rdH8qinxJp7Q7oH2RhJfZiX79IS3PQAW_kW1GcrmN7nGNrhtGDT6G2lRJdIMdqnKMFnXt_jufKniulGpMMF5xEWbnuKWYrJ6V_7efBJawfMKCFanVN2LQYT-P/s1600/Little+Leage+Fooseball.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUlr1A4BPdEXFJTLY0rF7rdH8qinxJp7Q7oH2RhJfZiX79IS3PQAW_kW1GcrmN7nGNrhtGDT6G2lRJdIMdqnKMFnXt_jufKniulGpMMF5xEWbnuKWYrJ6V_7efBJawfMKCFanVN2LQYT-P/s320/Little+Leage+Fooseball.jpg" width="220"></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cyprus Pirates Little League</td></tr>
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After the game, my brother, my pops, and I were walking down the sidewalk. I could sense he was mad. He would have this look when he was mad. (looking back and laughing right now) I started to slow down and walk behind him. He said, "why didn't you get that tackle?" I said, "Because I was keeping contain." He said, "Why you walking back there? Come over here." I came up but stayed at arms length. One of his favorite questions, in my experience, after him asking you a question and you responding was, "Why are you talking back?" Or, "Did I ask you a question?" </div>
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He then swung at me and I ran to just outside his reach. "Whiff," he missed. There are sooooo many stories like that. We, my siblings and I, tell them all the time and literally laugh out loud. That might be where I learned to look back at tough situations and laugh. It's super therapeutical.<br>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875);">Many people have commented that they were impressed that I smiled through the tragedy of losing my hands. I think I learned that through my mother's example but I also learned it through my Samoan Heritage. Samoans have an uncanny ability to go through difficulties yet still turn around after going through it and laugh at the story. My siblings and I tell many of our disciplinary stories and laugh uncontrollably.</span><br>
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My desire for acceptance led to a very difficult transition into middle school and an even worse transition into high school. I remember having to choose who to follow. My group of friends from elementary school began to split into factions. The divisions seemed to be along the lines of socioeconomic status and the lines of race. I remember some of my group of friends buying name brand clothes like Marithe Francois Girbaud, Guess, Nike, etc. I stuck with the kids in my socioeconomic status. The kids that wore pro-wings from Payless Shoes and got reduced price or free lunch tickets were the group I ran with because I felt accepted with my levi's and X-J900's. At the same time, I thought, "This is stupid! Why can't we just all get along?" </div>
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When I think about it now, I believe the divisions had more to do with relating to a persons home life experience. I remember once sleeping over at my Caucasian friend's house. We were playing 'MikevTyson's Punch Out' on Nintendo. It was the funniest thing I had ever seen because they would keep playing and playing but never letting me have a turn. I just wasn't used to that because in my house, sharing is emphasized. We, my family, aren't having fun unless everybody is having fun. In fact we usually play in a way that when you die one guy, it's the next persons turn. You can actually hear us cheering for each other. Experiences like that made me choose to side with other friends who were poor in monetary measurements but rich in compassion. I just needed people who I could relate to.<br>
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When entering into high school, the divisions began to be more and more by race. Being bicultural and not knowing how to speak Samoan, made my choices tough. I didn't feel like I was fully accepted by the 100% Samoans and I didn't have much in common with the Caucasian kids. My best fit was with Tongans. The ones in my school were very accepting and never spoke in Tongan in front of me out of courtesy.<br>
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College was a different story. I loved it because you could wear whatever you want and find someone that would accept you. When I graduated and went into the workforce I still had that longing for acceptance.</div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875);"></span> </div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875);">I took this longing for acceptance and disability to ask for help or express myself into line work. It is a dangerous combination. I have already mentioned the trench story and Ely Gelynus in a previous blog but there are other stories.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875);"></span> </div>
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<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/-CNYMOd6z8g?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875);">One weekend, when I was in my first year of the line trade, my crew was working at Hill Air Force base in Ogden, Utah. Another crew, the WRC or Wasatch Restoration Crew, was working with us to help get a job done while the power was on a planned outage. The WRC was considered by me to be the top dogs in the whole Wasatch Electric company. To me, if line work was a high school then they would be considered the football team captains. I wanted to show them that I belonged so I ran everywhere. It was hot and I was sweating like bacon in a frying pan. I remember one of my coworkers saying, "they are running you like a Hebrew slave." My supervisor, Steve Bethers, complimented me on how hard I was working that day. While I received that compliment a tears of pride came out my eyes that were hiding behind dark safety glasses. The feelings I felt must've been similar to those of Knowshon Moreno, an American football player, in the video to the right, except not so much water. I was glad I was sweating so much that nobody could tell it was a tear. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875);"></span> </div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875);">If there were poles that needed climbed, I was running to put my hooks on. When there was a hole to dig, I was the first to grab the shovel. A good apprentice doesn't have to ask what to do. He is following along and anticipating what the next move is and before being asked, he's doing it. Before linework </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);">I thought my dad was the hardest and most efficient worker ever but after my apprenticeship I saw many line workers a few steps ahead. It is peasant to work with a good apprentice because they are very helpful. In fact, </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);">I wish everyone could learn to work like a lineman. In fact it bugs me when they don't anticipate and do work without being asked.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875);"></span> </div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875);">With all this hustling that day, I jumped in a hole to relieve my friend from digging. The top of the hole was a little higher than elbow high. When I jumped in I landed on my right elbow. It was bruised and later on I knew I had fractured the bone. I remember trying to sleep that night. My elbow was throbbing. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875);"></span> </div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875);">I had felt that feeling before. When I was in fifth grade, I fractured my collar bone making a game saving tackle at recess. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875);"></span> </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_NsFjaPdEgA2yLhc3qjVBlRkihUvVfQD-hpUP1MTE5eDSPu22xHjni2XjIgWJFv1CmEoyh17j8R-xTqvRamVYRp4MvGANJVNTgsUYYsGPM6jRWUm5ruuEi4Oh0FFwvCK4WLLQ2YmraWbJ/s1600/IMG_0040%5B1%5D.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_NsFjaPdEgA2yLhc3qjVBlRkihUvVfQD-hpUP1MTE5eDSPu22xHjni2XjIgWJFv1CmEoyh17j8R-xTqvRamVYRp4MvGANJVNTgsUYYsGPM6jRWUm5ruuEi4Oh0FFwvCK4WLLQ2YmraWbJ/s320/IMG_0040%5B1%5D.JPG" title="" width="240"></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Gash</td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875);">Of course I never told any one. I didn't want to be the squeaky wheel. The companies always complain about paperwork and I didn't want to cost the company a Workers Compensation case. Worst of all, I wanted to be accepted and didn't want to be fired.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875);"></span> </div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875);">Later on in my apprenticeship, while stripping wire for a capacitor bank, my knife slipped off the end of a wire and hit my thigh. I didn't think anything of it until I noticed a breeze in my Carhartt pants. My knife had cut through my pants, my long johns and my underwear. I could feel blood trickling out the gash in my leg. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875);">I didn't tell anyone. At night I looked at the gash and I felt it needed stitches. I was so afraid of the incident being </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);">a Workers Compensation case that I didn't go see a doctor. I simply bought and applied liquid band aids and butterfly band aids. Luckily I didn't get an infection.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);"></span> </div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);">Through my amputations I have learned to recognize this need for acceptance and attempt to put it where it belongs, in the garbage can lol. I am grateful for this lesson learned through the hardship of being a bilateral amputee. My psychologist and I continue to work on my transformation from the silent wheel that's about to fall off into the squeaky wheel that gets the grease. Along with that, the best advocate for you is yourself.</span></div>
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Samoana (The No-Handed Bandit) Matagihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06040820120416228392noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7773211208739632036.post-86309939597308515962013-10-08T07:25:00.000-07:002014-08-25T09:49:09.793-07:00Dumb Courage's Cry for Help: Part 4 of When Limbs Break a Tree Calls on
It's Roots for Strength.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Tattle tale is a word with very bad connotations for men. The animal most identified with the word is a rat. Other words for it are snitch and narc. When I was a child, those were words I never wanted to be called. Now, as a man, it is even more of an insult to be called or act in a manner that would be considered snitch, narc, rat or tattle tale.</span><br>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In fifth grade, my teacher would turn his back to the class while writing on the blackboard. An occasional spit wad would fly up and stick to the blackboard. He would then punish the whole classroom by making us stay in during recess and copy pages of the dictionary. The alternative would be to tattle on the person who did it and with the exception of the perpetrator we could go to recess. The perpetrator was rarely turned in.</span><br>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Early on in my apprenticeship, I remember being in a ditch that was about four to four and a half feet deep. We were at a small airport in Falcon, Colorado. We, a crew of three, were putting in underground cable to provide power for the airplane hangers. The soil was very sandy, caving in often. </span><br>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">One of the dangers associated with excavations is being buried by a cave-in. The other apprentice I was with, Ely, refused to get in because he saw a huge fissure and feared the ditch collapsing. I jumped in with full gusto to show I was a harder worker and to be more liked by my foreman.</span><br>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This is what I call dumb courage. I was doing something that put my life at risk because someone else expected me to do it. The other apprentice showed actual courage by standing up for a principle even when that was frowned upon by the majority of people. Granted, I didn't understand the magnitude of danger I was in while in that ditch.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Fast forward three years later, I'm a seventh step apprentice who has just done something that I thought was against the rules. I worked on an energized line with only two people. The rules in Denver say you must have three people on your crew to work on an energized line. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">After work, I'm glad to be alive. Inside my head, I'm drawing the proverbial line in the sand to never do that again. I remember thinking, "Mitch, the other apprentice, will be back on Monday and he'll have passed the lineman test. I'll never have to do that again." The actual rules in that town are that the minimum amount of people needed to work an energized line is two but breaking a rule that you thought applied still feels like breaking a rule to me. It, breaking a rule, brings me angst, a feeling of rebelliousness and guilt all at the same time. Those feelings aren't good for me when working around high voltage lines.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Those feelings aren't good for me when doing anything. I remember playing little league football while my dad watched. When he watched, it was like the part in the <i>Lord of the Rings </i> where this huge red eye is glaring at you. The heat from the eye makes you sweat. Sometimes, if I didn't play well, he would do what I call a 'one knuckle tap' on my skull. It, the 'one knuckle tap' usually leaves a lump on your head. It's funny now, beause it reminds me of bugs bunny cartoons when he would ask, "one lump or two?" and then hit them in the head according to how many lumps of sugar they said they wanted, but it wasn't funny then. It also didn't help my performance as I messed up whenever I felt his eyes watching me.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">If I would have had the courage of Ely, I would have said, "I'm not working until we get another guy on the crew!" Then we would have either got another guy, found out the rule, or my foreman would have done it. When a foreman has to do something he will give you crap to no end but in retrospect it would have been worth it.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0898438); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(191, 107, 82, 0.496094); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969); line-height: 24px;"> did go to the place I was staying and complain to my line buddy Keith </span></span><br>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0898438); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(191, 107, 82, 0.496094); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969); line-height: 24px;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQzSP9EMigJdCu7H0E4Z6f34eBax8kiXDiRwWAMfuTaUOq0vtCsh5yzEp7ZNOtOlUK6ByIkgH5L_6sqZb_WJfYEa9w9B-_Z_G_FmT9lpWr2TR3Xvvl3gmGjpA3CphsAKf5SIeEvYJTO1a5/s1600/292.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQzSP9EMigJdCu7H0E4Z6f34eBax8kiXDiRwWAMfuTaUOq0vtCsh5yzEp7ZNOtOlUK6ByIkgH5L_6sqZb_WJfYEa9w9B-_Z_G_FmT9lpWr2TR3Xvvl3gmGjpA3CphsAKf5SIeEvYJTO1a5/s320/292.jpg" width="240"></a></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0898438); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(191, 107, 82, 0.496094); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969); line-height: 24px;">about how my boss was making me work energized lines with only a two man crew. Then I complained to my brother about it. I might have even jokingly sent him my password to my Facebook account with the instructions to tell everyone I loved them if I died. When the weekend came, I was headed to Atlanta to visit a friend and sightsee. I drove my car to my favorite foreman's house in Denver, where he let me park my 'Ol Betsy (my beat up car see previous blogs). He gave me a ride to the Denver International Airport and I complained to him about the situation. When I landed in Atlanta, I complained to my friend there too. </span></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0898438); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(191, 107, 82, 0.496094); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969); line-height: 24px;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_6pJPxO69o-S0Dl59fKiOCxfMG_jeXz9konAdFPon6Uhbq10ied31FJ2TGoLxCPiVoMyX9Dv2dUwkZIS1Xgfr54fMh4UmJtW3_zleXo37Q5TIjdeaRb9E79uzXZJgb9wssMPyfSly5j0l/s1600/125.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_6pJPxO69o-S0Dl59fKiOCxfMG_jeXz9konAdFPon6Uhbq10ied31FJ2TGoLxCPiVoMyX9Dv2dUwkZIS1Xgfr54fMh4UmJtW3_zleXo37Q5TIjdeaRb9E79uzXZJgb9wssMPyfSly5j0l/s320/125.JPG" width="240"></a></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0898438); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(191, 107, 82, 0.496094); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969); font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 24px;"></span><br>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0898438); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(191, 107, 82, 0.496094); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969); font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 24px;">Complaining about job conditions to friends and family is something that occurs at just about every job site. Maybe it was a way to put the responsibility of the danger in someone else's hands without them knowing. Now I see it's actually cowardly or dumb because instead of taking responsibility, it puts responsibility in everyone else's hands. Or maybe I was taking my time to build up courage to say something. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0898438); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(191, 107, 82, 0.496094); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969); font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 24px;">It's too late to change the past and I certainly took a long time to realize that. In the very beginning of my life without hands, the phrases, "what if I would have done this?" or, " I should have done that!" popped in my head and came out my mouth daily and sometimes hourly or even every ten minutes. Even now, as I struggle to open my in flight snack package in this tightly packed Southwest flight, I wish I could have prevented that accident. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0898438); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(191, 107, 82, 0.496094); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969); font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 24px;">But I now constantly remind myself that I can't change the past, I can only change the future.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0898438); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(191, 107, 82, 0.496094); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969); font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 24px;">Today I hit my 37th birthday. With that came a lot of retrospective thoughts and self evaluation. A lot of it was depressing. Some of it stemmed from my college team, USU losing to BYU. </span><br>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0898438); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(191, 107, 82, 0.496094); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969); font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 24px;">Nevertheless my life has very few significant accomplishments compared to many others. Everyone my age has kids and is deep in their careers. They are going somewhere.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0898438); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(191, 107, 82, 0.496094); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969); line-height: 24px;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Again I remind myself, we can't change the past only the future so here goes: My future involves me taking an active role and asking the right people for help. My future involves me having actual<b> </b>courage like Ely Gelynus, who told people when he was uncomfortable doing something. My future involves less dumb courage, which is me trying to do things I know I can't do by myself without asking the right person for help. My future involves, god willing, children of my own. My future involves me not comparing myself to others. My future involves me having a career and going somewhere. <span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0898438); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);">That's one of the steps in moving on with ones life recognizing the mistakes and taking the necessary measures to not make those mistakes again. but not dwelling in the past.</span></span></span></div>
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Samoana (The No-Handed Bandit) Matagihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06040820120416228392noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7773211208739632036.post-87613874636408766202013-03-21T14:19:00.000-07:002013-03-21T14:19:42.818-07:00Exit Here in Bright Neon Lights: Part 3 When Limbs Break aTreeCallsonIt's Roots for Strength<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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If it wasn't enough to have these difficult driving experiences, it seemed that I was offered some perfect exits to this road which would lead me to the accident that would take my hands. Sometimes, even though the exit signs are in neon lights, the driver doesn't take the exit. I have sat here dumbfounded about how stupid I was not to take the exit and the only reasons I can offer for not leaving the trade were pride and family.<br />
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My father had a saying, "There are no such things as friends." Upon further investigation the saying comes from my grandmother. According to my eldest cousin, the full saying is, "There are no such thing as friends. Everyone is family." My father's saying sounds like something 'Stone Cold' Steve Austin would say and my grandmother's saying sounds like something that could come straight out of Jesus' mouth. I believe that naturally my father although he got the saying wrong he taught us the principles of my grandmother's saying.<br />
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As a child my father took me to work at his part-time job of cleaning movie theaters at the young age of eight or nine (my memory fails me in my old age). This usually happened somewhere between the hours of midnight to four am and only when we didn't have school. I didn't get paid anything except the coins I managed to find. Some days it was seven cents and some days it was up to three bucks. One day, I even found $100 bill but the rule was anything over five bucks we had to give to our dad. It was a bonus to find any money but my pride came from the greater cause of helping my dad get done faster so he could go to his other job less tired.<br />
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He started to bring the other kids along to help as they got older. The scariest part of cleaning the theaters was carrying the full bags of trash to the dumpster. It usually was dark and quiet except except for the gurgling of the creek that ran behind the theaters. I would get spooked from a bird taking off from it's resting spot. When my siblings started to come I chose to be brave because I didn't want my younger siblings to be afraid.<br />
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There were some days, when I got older, my father didn't have time to drive us children home. The plan came down that he would drop us off at the bus stop and we would catch the bus home. I remember one time being dropped of on a Saturday at around 5:45 am. The first buses on the weekdays came around 6:15 am to 6:30 am. This Saturday I expected the same thing but the bus on Saturday doesn't come until 9:00 am. After about 30 minutes of waiting in the cold, I grabbed a newspaper and covered myself with it as I laid on the bench. Looking somewhat like a homeless, I napped till the first bus came. Some people might look at this and think, "Whoa!!!! That's child labor!" I didn't think of it that way. It just brought me more pride for helping my family and more stories to tell.<br />
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Soon, my other siblings began to come. Knowing that the bus wouldn't come until 9:00 am, I would convince my siblings that we should walk all the way to downtown Salt Lake City. We were walking about 7 miles but we didn't know it. By the time we got downtown, the bus that we usually would transfer to, Magna 37, was starting it's first run. Often we would fall asleep and pass our stop then wake up at the end of the line. The bus driver would kindly let us stay on while he went on the inbound route. We all did it not for the money but for the team.<br />
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On memorial day this year, my sister took a phone call from a co-worker. She is the assistant manager at a gas station. The coworker had called in sick on a holiday and she took it upon herself to report in to work. I asked her, "Why in the heck do you answer the phone when you know they are calling in sick?" She snapped back, "Because if I don't the person there will have to stay a double shift." It hit me that she was doing it for the team. A team that in certain situations she considered family because she understood and could put herself in the shoes of her coworker.<br />
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During my apprenticeship, there had been several moments where I was scared for my life. I can think of three right now that could have been those exit signs in neon lights. The first one was in orientation. After a week or two, as a new apprentice in the trade, Mountain States Line Constructors Apprenticeship Training called me all the way back from Falcon, Colorado to Salt Lake City, UT for a one week orientation of class and climbing.<br />
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As usual in my life, I was good on the class part. It was climbing poles that was difficult. I had bought my climbing tools from e-bay. The belt was too small and the hooks weren't sharp. I kept stepping up the pole and "gaffing out." Gaffing out means that the pointy sharp thing strapped your feet comes out of the pole when you don't want it to in other words falling of the pole. Everyone else was getting climbing.<br />
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That week, blisters started forming on the insides of my lower legs from the friction caused by the pads on the apparatus used to strap the hooks to my feet. I kept going up and falling, up and falling and again up and falling. Quitting was not a very viable option to me. I had just left my two jobs to join the apprenticeship without giving two weeks. My current wife had been cheating on me and we were in the process of getting a divorce. I didn't want to come back to Salt Lake City and be around her or the rumors and the whispers at church, in the neighborhood, or the Polynesian Community.<br />
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Being cheated on is one of the most painful things I had ever experienced in my life. It felt as if my heart had burst or blown up. I had revolved my life around a person who was revolving her life around someone else. All of a sudden the center of my universe was gone. My heart felt like it only had a little piece of it left. With all that burden inside me, I still continued to try and climb the pole. <br />
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Slipping out of the wood and falling was a scary feeling. Hitting the ground from ten feet up was even more scary. I thought about quitting right then and there because I didn't have someone to climb for. Thoughts of returning home popped up in my head. Then I thought, "I can't go back. Not now." I thought of my mom and how I could help her and my dad and how I could help him. I had something to climb for. Although my heart wasn't as strong, it was there and I imagined the little piece that was left beating at the end of some twisted up veins. I stepped on the wood again and up I went.<br />
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Near the weeks end, we were to be tested on a pole. We had to climb over two cross arms to the top of a 55 ft pole. I would look at the top of that pole with the fear of god in me, during the week. We were told if we failed that test, we would be sent home. Friday came and it was do or die time.<br />
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For the test, we were tied to a safety, so it wasn't do or DIE physically, just literally. I began my ascent, with what felt like all the pressure in the world. Even though I had two safeties there, one connected to my back and the belt around the pole, at 20 feet I began to sweat and my palms were wet. I crossed an arm at 30 ft. To cross an arm, one must unwrap the safety belt, from around the pole, and crawl over the arm with all the trust in the hooks on your feet. These hooks ,that weren't sharp and were bought from eBay, weren't something I would want to trust my life with. I made it over and stood on top of the arm. With fifteen feet and one more cross arm to go, I took a break and looked at the Salt Lake Valley. It was beautiful from up there. <br />
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I continued my climb. At that point one must climb sideways and then proceed up because the next crossarm is 90 degrees around the pole. Again, I had to unbelt and crawl over the arm. This time, I only stopped for one breath. I wanted to be done with this test. I looked down at 45 feet and, on my first time at that height, people look like ants. "Self, don't ever look down again!", I told myself. I got to the top and did the task to pass.<br />
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Going down was even more scary because you have to look down. But I was in a relieved state of mind. Just like right before my accident, I had done the difficult part of the job and became slightly complacent. I took two steps down and slipped right out of the pole. When bad things happen, I'm a pretty fast thinker. The feel of free fall came over me but the safety on my back caught me and the momentum, that had swung away from the pole, switched and returned to the pole. I hugged the pole with all my might and stuck my feet back in. Quickly, I looked over to see if anyone had seen it. Everyone down there was looking away or down. It seemed they had pretended not to see it.<br />
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I had the feeling that I had just failed. When I hit the bottom, I was looking down, with my body language showing failure. The teacher approached me and said, "Congratulations Sam you passed the test." My eyes, hiding behind a pair of safety glasses, had the look of bewilderment. Then the teacher said, "Sam you ride with me back to the classroom."<br />
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In the car ride home, the teacher asked me where I was working and if there was any climbing on my job. Then he told me, "Whenever you get the chance, practice." I knew that he knew that I had fallen but I told myself I would practice. <br />
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The other apprentices there that day were for the most part having no problem. A year later one of them had commented to me, "Your climbing has gotten way better." Two years from then, another apprentice told me, "I have mad respect for you Sammie. I remember in orientation when you couldn't climb but you never gave up. Every time I looked over to see what you were doing, you would fall but then just go up again." What they didn't know was that, with all that was happening in my life, there was no turning back for me<br />
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The second time I was scared for my life was in the Cedar City, Three Peaks Substation. To a know nothing apprentice, sometimes things that are dangerous don't look dangerous at all. Then you learn some things, after a year, and all of a sudden things that aren't dangerous look extremely dangerous. In fact everything seems like it could take your life. In my apprenticeship I was at that stage where I thought every thing could possibly kill me. <br />
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On this particular day of work, they were going to pick a huge platform, like the one in the picture below, and put it on top of some 20 foot tall legs, made of insulators.<br />
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I didn't know how much the thing weighed, I just knew that it was heavy. The foreman had done a practice pick, the day before setting the platform, and I remember seeing the outriggers come up on the other side of the crane. A tipping crane is one of the things an apprentice is warned about.</div>
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The crane picked the platform 20 feet in the air and swung it over the insulators. Our crew scrambled to tighten the bolts that would hold the platform in place. They got in their manlift baskets and jabbed their spud wrenches into the bolt holes. There was prying and grunting. More pulling and grunting. The platform was fitting right.</div>
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I began to fear for the workers safety. "Should I help?," I questioned myself. Then I thought if they are going to die then I'm going to die with them. All this self talk occurred in a matter of seconds as I sprinted to a manlift and donned my harness. </div>
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When a manlift drives fast, the boom bounces. There I was bouncing in the basket to the rhythm of the terrain, afraid of dying but afraid my crew was going to die. Tears came down my cheeks. I don't know if they were tears of courage or tears of fear. My foreman screamed, "I was wondering if you were going to show up!"</div>
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We finally pinned that platform down with a few bolts. Later on as I sat on a beam, tightening a bolt, I felt relief. I let down my guard. With another journeyman nearby, I pried on the bolt hole with all of my might to try and get the other holes to line up. Then, just as the day of my injury, my guard was down. I wanted to impress the lineman, again just as the day of my accident, so I pried with all of my might and the spud wrench cameout of the hole. All the force I was applying was suddenly released and suddenly I was falling off the beam from 20 feet in the air. Luckily, the lineman caught me from my fall. We went back to work.</div>
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The last moment I was scared for my life, during my apporenticeship, was the week before my accident. It is difficult to explain some linework to those that aren't familiar with it so I drew some pictures. Also I need to explain that it is not common for an apprentice to work alone on energized lines and neither is it common for a crew with less than three people to work on energized lines. In the town of Kremmling, Colorado, however it is legal for both an apprentice to work on a line by himself and to work an energized line in a crew of two. </div>
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I wasn't aware of the different rules in Kremmling and when the other apprentice left to do his Journeyman's test. I thought for sure we woulkd either not work or do work that wasn't energized. My foreman ate breakfast with me at the Moose Cafe. This was unusual as he stopped eating breakfast with us a couple weeks ago but more surprising to me was when he informed me that we were going to energized work. Not only would we do energized work but we would do the most difficult pole on that particular line, the corner pole.</div>
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A corner pole is where the line makes a 90 degree angle, or corner. We would keep the line hot but take ou the transformer. Then we would move one side of the energized, or hot line, from the old pole to the new pole. Next, the other side would be moved. </div>
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The first side was the hard side because to keep the line hot, we would need to use a mechanical jumper that was long enough to reach the line when it was attached to the new pole (red line represents mechanical jumper or mack). Not only did the mack need to reach the line at it's new position but it needed to be coiled so that it didn't dangle and touch anything else. Then we would cut the actual jumper(light blue curved line touching both lines) which would send all the energy through the mechanical jumper. <e div=""><div class="separator" dir="ltr" style="clear: both; text-align: center;" trbidi="on">
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I would put on my gloves and sleeves(orange) and then as the line went up, I would uncoil the mechanical jumper. In order to come off the new pole, a grip(purple), a device designed to clamp down on a line when force is pulled on the loop in the grip, was put on the line and a rope(yellow) tied to it. The rope went from the grip to a sheave(yellow circle), which redirected the rope down the pole. At the bottom of the pole was another sheave that redirected the rope to the towball on a pickup truck. Once the rope was pulled by the truck, the line would come loose on the rope end of the grip. I would unpin the wire from the insulator.<br />
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<br />So I got a loose end of wire, uncoiling of a mack and to add to that I would attach a helper block with a grip from the wire to the new pole. When pulled, the helper block would take the line up to the new pole. In linework they call this a 'cluster <a href="mailto:f@#&'">f@#&'</a>. I'm doing what seems like a million things at once while always keeping my eye on this dangerous rattle snake that could bite me with 14,400 volts. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhp0AHDtb09yHrLK8-XBNtmFT22EXzOsHLgrQnQrbCHGYTk0PdK0Oj3rjA9iOQw1Mcne_wMbadliOoFZ5HVTdVd8KS9d55EFSd0IvS-9kEK4cGhegJaZ7oczlerIrJ9_TjBkjqcEqja5H3n/s640/blogger-image-535502265.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhp0AHDtb09yHrLK8-XBNtmFT22EXzOsHLgrQnQrbCHGYTk0PdK0Oj3rjA9iOQw1Mcne_wMbadliOoFZ5HVTdVd8KS9d55EFSd0IvS-9kEK4cGhegJaZ7oczlerIrJ9_TjBkjqcEqja5H3n/s640/blogger-image-535502265.jpg" /></a></div>
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Once the wire was released from the old pole and pulled up to the new pole, I woulkd pin the wire to the new insulator. At one point my foreman mumbled, in response to a question of mine, "You just want to do it your way because you think you are so smart." Little did he know that I was in a mini panic with all that was going on. I snapped back, "No I don't think I know everything! If you just tell me what to do I'll do it!" </div>
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The few houses on that transformer finally got their power back after about six hours. My feet, which on a normal winter day in Kremmling were pretty cold, were sweating. My brain was probably sweating out my nose.</div>
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Of course I could have said, "No!" But for one I was an apprentice and an apprentice just does what he is told. The other thing was that when an apprentice says no there are repercussions. I was also raised to be a team member and put the team before me, just like my sister going in to work to help a coworker. Last but not least it is ingrained in me, being of Samoan descent, to be obedient.</div>
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There were many other times when I could have died but it seems like these three stand out to me as times when I did something scary and then let down my guard and had a near miss. These times that stand out as an exit sign in neon lights, where I could have seen the warning and escaped my life changing event. The last one I shared was the scary part before my accident. After that day, I let down my guard a little bit and instead of a near miss, it was a hit.</div>
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Samoana (The No-Handed Bandit) Matagihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06040820120416228392noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7773211208739632036.post-65221166874336486022012-08-14T10:12:00.002-07:002013-08-03T01:19:03.327-07:00Bad Omens: Part 2 of When Limbs Break a Tree Calls on It's Roots for
Strength.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div><div><div><br>
After being moved from Denver, I began to pray for three major things besides safety. The first was that my employer would let me go to my family reunion in Samoa. Second, my mother seemed closer and closer to dying so I prayed to be home when she passed. Lastly, because of all the moving around i hadn't been able to serve in my church so I prayed that I would be provided a job that would facilitate me serving my church. In fact I pretty much prayed that I would become financially independent that way I could spend all my time serving the lord.<br>
<br>
Kremmling is a small town that lies in the mountains of Colorado, along the upper Colorado River. According to the 2000 census the population was 1,578. I can't imagine it has grown that much since then. The town has one super market, one hardware store, and a couple of gas stations. <br>
<br>
Fortunately for me, one of my best line buddies, Keith, made friends with the owner of the hardware store's daughter. She rented me a room for $400 a month. The deal included all the small town hospitality I could imagine, so I was getting a pretty good deal. <br>
<br>
As per normal (new man on the linecrew) procedure, I met the crew at the "show up". The "show up" was a place that is designated for crews to meet before the start of work. Usually line building material is stored there. This "show up" was actually located at the power company.<br>
<br>
My foreman smoked a lot and talked slow and slurred but was very smart when it came to linework. He would say his opinion on how the work should be done but ultimately let the workers have the last say. His way usually was the better way and he would let you know through his mumbling, though from the bucket, the mumbling couldn't be heard. It seemed his method was to let the those in the air learn by doing. The only time he resorted to screaming was when something was going to put you in danger. Disappointment was expressed a simple shaking of the head.<br>
<br>
The lineman on the crew was from southern Colorado. He talked frequently about leaving the crew, dragging up, to take a job closer to his wife because his relationship was on the rocks. For a lineman he was very patient and often would take the blame for my mistakes. Never once do I remember him blaming anyone for a mistake. <br>
<br>
We had another hot apprentice, an apprentice qualified to work on energized lines. He was from Montana and engaged to be married and talked about his fiancé a lot. The other thing he talked about was his fifth wheel, or camper. <br>
<br>
Everyone on the crew besides the foreman had at least one thing in common, we all wanted to get out of that town. Frequently they mentioned the other two linemen that left. One went back to Denver so he could spend more time with his kids and the other 'drug up' to take another job. The foreman couldn't work in Denver because he had been banned from Excel's, the power company in Denver, property.<br>
<br>
The whole crew would leave town for their homes every weekend except the other apprentice who lived so far away that the expenses would outweigh the benefits. My linebuddy Keith would often ask when I would stay and fish with him on the weekend. The desire to play basketball at home in West Valley, Utah every weekend was addicting though and my desire to fish was nonexistent. I was at the peak of my game and the joy I found from being able to control a game was unmatched by anything at the time. In the back of my mind was a fear of never being able to play again.<br>
<br>
Winter began to set in. Soon the lineman 'drug up' leaving us with a crew of three, one foreman and two hot apprentices. There were several incidents that could have been seen as signs from a higher power to quit the trade. I was enjoying life so much that I didn't think anything of them.<br>
<br>
Besides this ever present fear way in the back of the mind of never being able basketball again, there was the knife incident. <br>
<br>
On low voltage wire (120v-480v), there are three legs or wires. One of the legs is the neutral and the two other legs are energized. Each of the energized legs is coated with an insulating plastic. If the two legs touch it completes a circuit and electricity flows but there may be heat, melting metal and a numerous amount of things that happened when this flow is not controlled. At times it becomes necessary to strip the wire and connect new circuits.<br>
<br>
This particular day, it was necessary to connect a circuit. The other apprentice and I were up about twenty five feet in the bucket. I was stripping one of the wires, with my blade stripping away from the body, when suddenly there was a loud bang, light, heat and smoke. My blade had went into the insulation of both legs at the same time. A chunk of the blade melted and because it was my foreman's knife, I owed my foreman a new knife.<br>
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There were the several highway slide-off incidents. The fastest and shortest route from Salt Lake to Kremmling is US Route 40. On that road, just after a town called Steamboat Springs, lies Rabbit Ears Pass. At an elevation of 9426 feet, it receives a lot of snow and can be closed at times.</div></div></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg_Ohdu3N0-9VmiPeCLd7lWjZvnrN93SgsQZBf6aFX79iquWRewvBPOuAVtSrrWhpP_Ch15DRrIn9tUOn0FmvhkmB1n6dvvYyVfLEuqAB_R64yu2hAYHUHkYnLMmr1JVdqaQ66L81c9KIq/s640/blogger-image-19402582.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg_Ohdu3N0-9VmiPeCLd7lWjZvnrN93SgsQZBf6aFX79iquWRewvBPOuAVtSrrWhpP_Ch15DRrIn9tUOn0FmvhkmB1n6dvvYyVfLEuqAB_R64yu2hAYHUHkYnLMmr1JVdqaQ66L81c9KIq/s640/blogger-image-19402582.jpg"></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rabbit Ears Pass on one of my trips.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="text-align: left;">In fact I remember once approaching the pass in the dark of night. Snow was coming down sideways. I drove right by the tire chain-up area, thinking to myself, "I should put the chains on." Then I thought, "Nah it's too cold and wet outside." I remember looking at the dark road and thinking I had just began a journey on the<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> <span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;">Pass of Caradhras, from the movie and book <i>The Lord of the Rings.</i> My grip on the wheel tightened, knuckles white as the snow and palms sweating. </span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><br>
</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;">There are two summits on the pass. I had made it over both of them and was headed down hill. My patience grew thin from driving 20 mph and I began a gradual let down of my guard. I coasted a little faster and pushed the brakes less. My speed increased to about 25 mph but a truck was riding my tail. I made the decision to pull to one side and let him pass. While slightly pulling to the right, I lost control of the car and slammed into the embankment.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><br>
</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;">I started to rock the car by putting it reverse and forward repeatedly. No dice, my car was stuck. I got a crazy idea that I could throw the tire chains on the tires while the car was in gear and hopefully it would get traction and move. With the car in reverse and the tires spinning, I jumped out and closed the door behind me. Unfortunately for me, the car door automatically locks when the car is in gear and the door is closed. </span></span><br>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><br>
</span></span> <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;">There I stood, with snow flakes hitting my face, in a hooded sweatshirt, staring at this amazingly unfortunate scene. Suddenly, news stories of people burried in snow storms flashed through my mind. Adrenaline kicked in as I became irrationally delusional that this could be a life or death situation, when in fact it was highly unlikely that I would have died. I looked at the small triangle window, called the rear quarter glass (I had to google the name), and began to formulate a plan of action that included kicking in the quarter glass. Fully believing and visualizing the quarter glass breaking, I backed up and took two steps and kicked as hard as I could. </span></span><br>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><br>
</span></span> <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;">Thud!</span></span><br>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><br>
</span></span> <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;">The window remained in tact. My sweatshirt was beginning to become moist and cold. I slowed down and became rational. My mind reflected on the many times I had broke into my own car. I needed a long piece of wire. My eyes focused on the antenna and my mind thought of an old tv show called <i>McGyver</i>.</span></span><br>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><br>
</span></span> <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;">In </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>McGyver </i>the protagonist always comes up with a nifty way, usually involving chewing gum, to escape a near death and capture the antagonist. A plow came and stopped, the driver got out the truck and told me he was going to call the police and a tow truck to help. He stood there for a while, watching me trying to <i>McGyver </i>the truck. Unlike the tv show, this process must have been boring because the plow driver told me that he was going to go sit in his truck.</span><br>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br>
</span> <span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Eventually, I got that door opened and got pulled out of the jam. There were a couple more slide offs and other near misses but after each experience my resolve became greater and greater to become a lineman. Perhaps it was me being hard-headed. In fact, I know it was me being hard-headed as I remember my cousin from Hawaii urging me to quit the line trade and me insisting that a Matagi (my family name) is not a quitter!</span><br>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br>
</span> <span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Looking back at all those experiences, I laugh ,literally, out loud. As a child, we learned to laugh a lot after good times and bad. The important thing, I think, is not to laugh during the bad times but after, open that big Ol' bottle of laughter because like they say it's the best medicine.</span></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2OMHamVbeJvC_usAnOCAd3_8uSlMxl4aCnCYMuoMT0Qu49JBiEdN2XSQ0qIUByNxM1mmii6r0RiCoaQZLEP841osaIxNX4QMj4JwlzWeSfYKTFvMMNzja_xGuwnQ83fycfEton8ZMZKWG/s640/blogger-image--131680571.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2OMHamVbeJvC_usAnOCAd3_8uSlMxl4aCnCYMuoMT0Qu49JBiEdN2XSQ0qIUByNxM1mmii6r0RiCoaQZLEP841osaIxNX4QMj4JwlzWeSfYKTFvMMNzja_xGuwnQ83fycfEton8ZMZKWG/s640/blogger-image--131680571.jpg"></a></div></div>Samoana (The No-Handed Bandit) Matagihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06040820120416228392noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7773211208739632036.post-14487796506551613932012-06-17T09:00:00.002-07:002012-08-05T10:41:12.458-07:00When Limbs Break a Tree Calls on It's Roots for Strength. Part 1<div><p>Sometime in 2008-2009, my extended family was planning a family reunion for all the children of Fatu and Puapuaga Matagi to be held in April of 2011. The reunion was an all expenses paid trip to Samoa for each of the children of Fatu and Puapuaga, my Uncles and Auntys. A generous Aunty and Uncle would sponsor the trip. </p>
<p>Fortunately for me there were clauses in the rules of the invitees. One of the clauses was that the spouses, if not willing or able to come, could be substituted. Another clause was that if the sibling was unable to attend, another person could be substituted. Like Charlie, from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, my sister, Selesitila, and I fell upon the "Golden Ticket." I was excited about this trip. </p>
<p>I prayed that somehow I could get time off for it and thought out a way that I would be able to go. This plan involved me becoming a journeyman lineman by April 2010. An apprentice is pretty much owned by the apprenticeship. I was taught a good one doesn't take time off for anything. Meanwhile a journeyman owns his destiny.</p>
<p>As a seventh step apprentice, I had taken the Journeyman's exam and failed twice. The written exam had been a piece of cake for me but the pole yard test, a test of putting knowledge into practical use while climbing an actual pole, had turned out to be rather difficult for me. Although it is difficult, it is absolutely necessary to be tested for the safety of self and coworkers.</p>
<p>One problem was my lack of actual "hot time," working on energized power lines. At the time I took my first stab at the test, I had 157 hot hours out of 700 needed to become a journeyman. The more "quality" hours an apprentice generally had the more likely an apprentice was to pass the test.</p>
<p>I belonged to the Mountain States Line Construction Joint Apprenticeship and Training program (MSLCAT). They, MSLCAT, are over five states: Montana, Idaho, Utah, Wyoming, and Utah. We, the apprentices, would receive assignments to anywhere in these states. If you lived in Utah, you could be assigned to Colorado Springs, Helena, Casper, or Timbuktu as long as Timbuktu fell in the five states. If you were what they called a "golden boy," you might magically be assigned to work in your hometown.</p>
<p>The line trade was a tricky thing for me because I didn't seem to fit in very well. I wasn't a "golden boy," I didn't buy beers for the foreman, nor was I good at brown-nosing so I didn't work much in Utah. When I did I usually worked with the 'misfit' crews aka the 'b' teams. The cliques seemed to be stronger in Utah and if you made one mistake, you could find yourself on the short list to be laid off. </p>
<p>Other than not working much near home, I didn't mind working with the 'b' teams because for one I have been on 'b' teams all my life. I was on the little league football team from nine all the way up to sixteen years old. In high school I would hang out at lunch with the 'b' team. I preferred in College to hang with the 'misfits.' </p>
<p>The second reason I didn't mind the 'b' team was that I always enjoyed being an underdog. I think I take it personally, when I am assigned to a 'b' team, to make that team compete with the 'a' teams of the world! Nothing delights me more than the underdog stories, teams and people coming out on top.</p>
<p>The problem with the 'b' teams is, during my apprenticeship, was that the 'hot time' was rare. When there are economic hard times, the power company in Utah pulls its distribution work, work done on the voltages coming from substations to the transformers that feed customers, from subcontractors in, to it's own employees and starts putting subcontractors on the building transmission lines, lines that transmit extremely high voltages from power sources to substations, and substations. </p>
<p>In short, I was 'b' teamer relinquished to building substations for most my apprenticeship. I failed my second test in Utah and the dream of passing the Journeyman's test seemed to be slipping through my fingers. At the time, I was working in Wyoming on a transmission line, of course I was on the 'b' team, and we would lay out materials, distribute the poles and components to each structure,  all day. There wasn't much learning going on. I almost felt like I was learning to be a trucker with all the semi driving I had been doing.</p>
<p>MSLCAT finally transferred me to Denver to get some hot time. The miracle of all miracles was that I was on the 'a' team. I learned a lot more than I had ever learned in my apprenticeship. My foreman was awesome and my lineman, a person certified to work on high voltage power lines, was green but good as well.</p>
<p>While in Denver, I asked my Uncle and Aunt, the same ones who were financing the Samoa trip, if I could live with them in their house in Boulder. Life was good, everything but the test was going as planned. </p>
<p>I reached about 400 hot hours and had been going to the Colorado classes. Although not required to attend, I wanted to pass the test so dearly that I was attending classes to get more familiar with the yard where the pole yard test would be and ask the instructors questions.</p>
<p>Testing time came. Again, I failed. I came back to my Uncle and Aunty's house and told them. I remember that my Uncle asked, "So what will happen to you now?" I remember I responded, nearly crying, "Either I'm gonna get kicked out of the apprenticeship or I'm not going to be able to attend the reunion because I'm not a journeyman."</p>
<p>I called my instructor and e-mailed the director that night because I felt that I had been failed unfairly. They had said I should have reported my pole partner for using a tool incorrectly and not using a rubber blanket on the arm. I had been taught that on a certain voltage, a blanket would not be necessary and using a tool incorrectly to me was not a matter of life and death and I was supposed to report my pole partner in matters of life and death. They both fought for me.</p>
<p>I began to think of the alternatives. I wrote a message to my brother and cousin who had been in the trade, asking each for advice. MSLCAT called me and asked me to appear before the disciplinary board, as they have done for all people who fail the test three times. The board decided I could stay in the apprenticeship and would not rescind the grade on my poleyard test. I would not be able to test again until I got all my hot hours.</p>
<p>I returned to work relieved that I was still in the apprenticeship. Soon after my foreman was informing me I had been transferred. To this day, I wonder if that was a disciplinary transfer. I found it funny that I was being transferred to the mountains, while everyone was trying to get out of there. The transfer happened too close to my protesting the test for me to not question it.....</p>
</div>Samoana (The No-Handed Bandit) Matagihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06040820120416228392noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7773211208739632036.post-55641638702165699532012-05-27T23:49:00.001-07:002012-05-30T09:55:47.955-07:00The Audacity of Hip-Hop<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">When I was about eleven years old, one of the more highly regarded older kids asked me what kind of music I liked. I didn't know what to say. My parents usually had the radio tuned to the oldies station but I wasn't going to embarrass myself and say, "Oldies!" So instead I said, "Michael Jackson!" I still got made fun of because in Utah most kids were into heavy metal.<br />
During my public education years, the diversity in Utah was nearly non-existent. I remember only two other Pacific Islanders that were my age in grade school. As a child I listened to music either according to what my parents or friends listened to but the music didn't really connect with me, I mostly liked it because of peer pressure.<br />
<br />
My childhood and teenage years were a much different experience than nearly all of my peers and my musical tastes tended to coincide with those same experiences. In my life experience I really wasn't worried about love, cars, parties etc. My top concerns were helping my parents make enough money so we could eat. There wasn't any genre of music that related to that experience until I heard hip-hop. <br />
<br />
Not only did the subject matter connect but the beats as well. The beats hit hard like life. Then if they threw in horn samples, I felt like Rocky when I listened to them. Sometimes they had an eire treble to them which somehow connected to me because of how strange my life was. I used to subconsciously bob my head with them. While driving, people would constantly be staring at me bobbing my head in the next car. Sometimes they would even mock me by mimicking me. <br />
<br />
I remember one day I had called my father and told him I wanted to go on a church mission for two years. He advised me that I should graduate college first. I couldn't disobey him and felt ashamed of all that I had done wrong in my life. I drove to First Dam in Logan and parked. Staring at the stars through the sunroof, I cried to God. The mix tape I was playing suddenly started to play 'Juicy' by Notorious B.I.G.<br />
<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/2QwmFOtD1w8?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe>When Biggie, aka Notorious B.I.G., started rapping, "Yeah, this album is dedicated to all the teachers that told me I'd never amount to nothin'…<br />
and all the brothas in the struggle, you know what I'm sayin'?" I felt like he was talking to me. Biggie continued on, "Born sinner, the opposite of a winner <br />
Remember when I used to eat sardines for dinner." With all the sardines, or pilikaki as my dad called it, that I ate in my lifetime I felt like dis dude and I connected. Then the chorus came on: <br />
"You know very well who you are<br />
Don't let em hold you down, reach for the stars" <br />
<br />
There I was staring at the stars, praying and this lady was singing to me 'reach for them.'<br />
<br />
That song hit me in the right place at the right time. Over the years hundreds of different lyrics and hip-hop songs have connected to me like that night. I remember Nas saying, "that buck that bought the bottle could have struck the lotto." Those words said to me to have a positive attitude and not wallow in the sadness of a bottle. Wu-Tang had a song called 'Triumph' that most the rappers just bragged about their skills. I remember feeling their passion and feeling how I could triumph over anything. Phife Dawg, on the song called 'Wordplay', said, "cuz if I don't say I'm the best who the h@$# will?" After hearing that a young unconfident kid from West Valley started to gain self-esteem to the point where he could write to the University newspaper and express the unfairness that his hip-hop CD got kicked out of the weight room stereo for a 311 CD.<br />
<br />
To me the old, true hip-hop is underdog music. I feel like my whole life is an underdog story. I find it hard to relate with the privileged, entitled or coddled. Hip-hop music, to me, is always at it's best when the artist is so hungry that all the passion and emotion comes out.<br />
<br />
My father went to prison and I quit school to go on a mission. While working to save money my brother and I had previously both formed a hip-hop group, ATP or Afakasi Posse(we thought afakasi was spelled afatasi). Now we both wrote a lot and battled each other on the mic a lot. It will probably sound lame so I'm going to edit some in order to not get too preachy but here are some of the lyrics I wrote during that time of struggle:<br />
<br />
Since the day I was risen/ pops had us under oppression/...<br />
foolish pride had him wreckless/ he held the whole family strangled and breathless/ <br />
the media set forth a lifestyle/ of big money bling-bling and high profiles/<br />
Had him captured in the chains of hell/ nearly dragged to an eternal fell<br />
Taking down the family as well/ the youngest had courage to rebel/ as the heavens started to swell<br />
With prayers and tears to fill wells/ ... My pops was soon alone in a cold cell<br />
After the nuclear explosion/ and destruction by erosion <br />
Rises the phoenix from the dust/ with eyes lowered and wings tucked<br />
This constant opposition/ got my muscles ripplin'<br />
An' I'm ready to start fire/ runnin' on straight desire<br />
<br />
It might seem lame but to me it signified to me that even through the tragedy we would all arise out of it, like a Phoenix out of the ashes.<br />
<br />
Fast-forward to February '11, without hands, driving down the street in 'Ol Betsy, I found myself in the toughest underdog situation I had ever experienced. One song that hit me hard was 'All of the Lights' by Kanye West. <br />
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/Ewuv4vvGmFg?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe>When this song came on my immediate thoughts were to tell everyone to turn their spotlights on me because I'm about to do something amazing. I'm about to make a comeback from loosing my hands. For the most part the words that stand out to me are, " turn on the lights in here babyTurn up the lights in here, baby <br />
Extra bright, I want y'all to see this <br />
Turn up the lights in here, baby <br />
You know what I need, want you to see everything <br />
Want you to see all of the lights!" I vowed while I cried right there to show everyone, just put the lights on me.<br />
<br />
The other song that connected with me was 'The Show Goes On' by Lupe Fiasco. Most of the lyrics hit me but the third verse particularly:<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/bViBTYtm8L0?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>"So no matter what you been through<br />
No matter what you into<br />
No matter what you see when you look outside your window<br />
Brown grass or green grass<br />
Picket fence or barbed wire<br />
Never ever put them down<br />
You just lift your arms higher<br />
Raise em till’ your arms tired<br />
Let em’ know you’re their<br />
That you struggling and survivin’ that you gonna persevere<br />
Yeah, ain’t no body leavin, no body goin’ home<br />
Even if they turn the lights out the show is goin’ on!" <br />
<br />
It says to me that the playing field may be unfair but the last thing I'm going to do is quit. Again, while tears streamed down my face I was inspired to keep pushing even when it got hard. <br />
Hip-Hop's origin is that of coming out of adverse conditions and when it comes out there are sometimes diamonds in it. Those diamonds brang hope to a hopeless me and deserve partial credit for any success I may have achieved. <br />
<br />
That is why, even when on my mission with companions that despised hip-hop, I defended it. It is why when a young man gets up in front of the congregation and says all hip-hop is evil, I instantly say to myself, "that kid doesn't know what the hell he's talking about!" It is why when I hear a prominent African-American, who sings in the Mormon Tabernacle Choir, say, "99.9% of all hip-hop is bad!" in front of a large audience at the tabernacle, I <br />
instantly reject that thought. Because sometimes hip-hop or music can give someone a power that, in my opinion, is second only to love, hope. That is one of the powers of music. </div>Samoana (The No-Handed Bandit) Matagihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06040820120416228392noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7773211208739632036.post-33301867703502472522012-05-11T23:58:00.003-07:002012-05-12T11:12:27.855-07:00A Car named 'Ol Betsy the War Machine<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">When I first came out of the hospital, my license was temporarily suspended, rightly so. In order to get out of the house I depended on rides. I became that annoying pre-sixteen year old or license-less person begging for a ride. <br />
<br />
The first time my sister, Selesitila, asked if I would like to go to the supermarket to do the shopping, I jumped at the offer, just to get out of the house. Her driving was too slow for me. The shopping was too slow for me. Everything was too slow for me. To have to do everything at such a slow pace was saddening and maddening at the same time.<br />
<br />
My life before the accident had become a scene out of the Jungle Book. I was Baloo the Bear. My mantra was found in the song 'The Bear Necessities.' Which reads like this: <br />
<br />
Look for the bare necessities,<br />
The simple bare necessities,<br />
Forget about your worries and your strife,<br />
I mean the bare necessities,<br />
Of mother natures recipies,<br />
That bring the bare necessities to life.<br />
<br />
Wherever I wonder,<br />
Wherever I roam,<br />
I couldnt be founder of my big home,<br />
The bees are buzzing in the trees,<br />
To make some honey just for me,<br />
When you look under the rock for plants, <br />
Take a glance at some pantsy ants,<br />
Then maybe try a few.<br />
<br />
the bare necessities of life will come to you,<br />
they'll come to you.<br />
<br />
look for the bare necessities,<br />
the simple bare necessities,<br />
forget about your worries and your strife,<br />
i mean the bare necessities,<br />
thats why a bear can rest at ease,<br />
with just the bare necessities of life.<br />
<br />
now when you pick a paw paw,<br />
or a prickly pear,<br />
and you prick a wrong paw,<br />
well next time, beware,<br />
dont pick the prickly pear by the paw,<br />
when you pick a pear, try to use the claw,<br />
but you dont need to use the claw,<br />
when you pick a pear of the big paw paw,<br />
Have i givin you a clue?<br />
<br />
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<br />
In other words my life was easy. I roamed from here to there not to worried about much. All that seemed difficult had become easy. Self care was easy. I could fly across the United States with one carry on suitcase and not worry about a thing. Saturday morning basketball was a piece of cake. <br />
<br />
After the accident, nothing was easy. Even grabbing the remote to turn on the television was extremely difficult.It was like I was reborn and had to relearn everything that had to deal with hands all over again but in a different way. The only thing different was that I had known what it was like to have had hands. This was the most frustrating part of the whole ordeal. <br />
<br />
Learning everything all over was tedious. I had a new Occupational Therapist when I got home. His name was Marc Rosello and he was an A or red type personality. I have never gotten along with this type of person, ever. In fact his second time here, he made me cry. He was requiring all kinds of homework of me. When I hadn't done any of it, he began to say I need to keep track of every appointment in a red type personality kind of way. I told him I do keep track of it on my iPad. He said, "Well, where's your iPad?" I went to grab it and broke out in tears. My sister comforted me.<br />
<br />
There were many things I did as an escape. One of them was a Superbowl party. The Greenbay Packers and the Pittsburgh Steelers were matched up for the Lombardi Trophy. There was some kind of avocado dip, candy, chips and oh yeah 'the Superbowl Explosion<br />
Incident.' <br />
<br />
We'll call it 'the SBEI' for short. It went down like this; My sister and I were watching the 2011 SB, when the doorbell rang. It was my neighbors grandson. He started to explain his story in nice manner, saying,"My girlfriends car had been hit and the scratch marks were white...." Up to this point I was calm. <br />
<br />
Then out of the blue, he says, "Then I'm looking around and I see your car is white and all smashed up. So I want to know what the F#%^ is going on." At that point I started screaming, "WELL I WANNA KNOW HOW THE H%#£ I RAN INTO YOUR GIRLFRIENDS CAR WHEN...." At that moment, I was taking my prostheses off and spiked it in the ground and screamed, "I DON'T EVEN HAVE HANDS!" He shrunk away from his accusations and left. I walked in the house and started balling from all the emotions and frustrations coming to the surface. My sister comforted me again.<br />
<br />
My older sister and I have a relationship where we protect each other. When I was one year and several months old, my sister who was nine months younger had somehow managed to crawl out on the roof. My mom says I went out on the roof and picked her up and brought her in. From that moment on we had each others back. <br />
<br />
When my dad went to jail, I as the eldest would need to step up and help out financially. She stepped up for me and made it possible for me to serve a mission. I also believe there were higher powers aiding her but to this day I still feel the need to return the favor. When it was time to leave the hospital, I had the choice of living with both my other siblings but I chose her. Partially because I feel like I want to help her and partially because I feel most at home in her house.<br />
<br />
Eventually Marc Rosello, the OT, and I got a driving ring. The driving ring is in the folloiwing video. He let me drive in a Driver's Ed car. I remember being so nervous that I was perspiring to the point of dripping armpits. It was just like when I first learned to drive with my dad at the age of sixteen.<br />
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I passed the driving test and started driving. My car actually has a name, 'Ol Betsy The War Machine, and a personality. Driving her was like reacquainting with an old friend. I remember one of the first things I asked for when I came into full consciousness was my car. The business director went and retrieved her from the city of Kremmling. I felt comforted to know she was near.<br />
<br />
Driving was an incredible feeling because here I was, without hands, driving with everyone else. Nobody treated me any different than anyone else. In fact, one of the best things was that there wasn't too many people that could tell that I was any different than anyone else. I felt a part of the community. <br />
<br />
My car was a lot like my sister. Even after 200,000 miles, she continued to want to work to get my back. We have at least a hundred adventures together. That same year, I thought there was no way to pass my inspections. Through a miracle I found someone to pass her and we had one more year of adventures. She is in the twilight of her years now so I made some tribute videos of her so you can check them out. One thing I know is that she will always have my back.<br />
<br />
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</div>Samoana (The No-Handed Bandit) Matagihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06040820120416228392noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7773211208739632036.post-27554023277966157562012-03-25T00:04:00.001-07:002021-04-02T09:35:24.469-07:00Somebody Stole DREAMLAND from a Supposed BanditLast night I went to a Utah Jazz game. This one was pretty special because my brother, my Uncle Molo and my dad came. It's always fun to watch my uncles interact. We stayed up way late and after I got home, I continued to stay awake until about 2:30 am. It was completely detrimental because this morning I had a training to be to that necessitated that I be up by 6:40 am.<br>
<br>
The training was a long grueling 8 hours but I made it through that. My friends from the hospital asked if I wanted to eat and I had planned on stopping at McDonald's anyway to get my free Big Mac and so we hung out for another hour. I arrived home wanting to take a shower but too tired to do even that. I lay on the couch, the same couch that I had slept on for 4 months during my recovery from electrical injury, and fell quickly and soundly into a deep sleep.<br>
<br>
Remember that dreamland, from when I first went into the hospital until now, is a place that I so longingly remember but could never get to. On special occasion I am able to reach it but for a long time the only thing I seemed to achieve was what I call 'the blackness'. 'The Blackness' is a deep darkness. I liken it unto being in the darkest cave you can imagine and then multiplying that by 100. 'The Blackness' was so dark the air was heavy. <br>
<br>
The reason I longed for dreamland was it was an escape from reality. 'The Blackness' did not suffice for anything but to pause the phantom pain. Phantom pain is the phenomena of the brain still sensing the severed part of the body and at times the trauma that may have caused the need for amputation. In my case it feels as if I have slept on my hands and they are numb due to the loss of circulation. I can barely move my phantom hands and along with numbness they fill cramped up. There sometimes can be a burn and always they feel as if they are sweaty palms to the point of being wrinkly dish washing hands.<br>
<br>
In the hospital I would wake up to the driest mouth on earth. 'The darkness', for having heavy air seems to be very arid. My tongue would be so dry that I would drink one glass of water that would be absorbed just by my tongue alone and one for actual thirst. This dry tongue continued as well for a long time.<br>
<br>
After about 6 months, I have my first encounter with dreamland. I don't want to wake up because I have hands, as I am oft prone to do while in dreamland. Often I get kicked out of dreamland by phantom pain. As the dreamland fades away the pain fades in. The pain goes from non-existent to it's peak presence and then calms down once I get medicines in my body.<br>
<br>
It seems that one of the aids in my ability to achieve dreamland is my level of non-medicated exhaustion. Today, with only four hours of sleep in a 32 hour period, I have hit that requirement. I sink deep into my couch and it seems to envelope me in a lighter form of 'the darkness.'<br>
<br>
Slowly the darkness concedes to dreamland! I find myself in room with three men. The one says absolutely nothing and seems to be consoling the other. The other is Brin (names have been changed to protect the innocent and guilty). He found out his wife has been cheating on him. I am in a counselor role. Why am I in a counselor role I ask myself? <br>
<br>
The investigative reporter in me finds out that I was sought out because Brin knows I was formerly married to this woman, who we will call Kosy, and the same thing happened to me. Surprisingly to me, because I thought if offered the chance I would have tried to do the most vengeful things to Kosy, I tell Brin to forgive her and they can work things out. <br>
<br>
Enter Kosy stage right. I pretend to be sleeping on a chair, reclined on two legs but not supported by anything but the two legs, that is suddenly surrounded by a curtain. I can see out of the curtain(which I now think it was odd to have been pretending to be asleep) but they can't see in. Kosy begins to grovel, at Brin's feet, for forgiveness. He accepts the apology.<br>
<br>
She now enters the curtain with my leaning chair. I continue faking to be asleep. It seems she wishes she could say something but doesn't have the courage to do so. She kisses me on the mouth. I remain motionless and emotionless. Flashbacks of a watermelon gloss come to my mind. <br>
<br>
Suddenly, dreamland takes me away to Brasil. I'm a missionary that's deeply entrenched in the mission. We meet up with old friends and discuss what is going on in the area. Then we go out to preach. <br>
<br>
While with Elder Silva (name remains the same as while there it seems everybody's last name is Silva) I see this glimmer on the road. I run after it, up a steep hill. The hill seems to be the steepest road I have ever run up. I reach the glimmer and it seems to be a reflection of some sort. This leads me to the source of the reflection which in turn leads to another and another. I reach the top of the hill only to find out its all coming from a series of reflectors in the road designed to mark lanes at night.<br>
<br>
Elder Silva catches up to me and says, "I was wondering when you would follow that." He points and we look across a valley and through a sandstone arch to see a very beautiful scenery of mansions and cliffs. I'm in absolute jaw dropping awe of the whole picture.<br>
<br>
My mouth is open and dry. It's dark and the pain returns. It's 11 p.m. It seems like it had been years but I had only been sleeping for five hours. I write about the whole thing and now it's 1 a.m.Samoana (The No-Handed Bandit) Matagihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06040820120416228392noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7773211208739632036.post-43008194053630450962012-02-08T23:19:00.000-08:002016-06-27T11:35:00.737-07:00Paradigm squeezing their "pair of dimes" to keep Zu“rich"<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Paradigm: an example serving as a model; pattern<br />
<br />
If you are in the business of helping injured workers, whatever you do, do not follow the example of Paradigm, my Workmans compensation insurance short-term provider. Or, for that matter, Zurich, my long-term Workmens compensation provider. Under these companies care I was nearly ready to overdose on my medication, jump off a bridge, or walk out on the highway in front of an eighteen wheeler.<br />
<br />
My doctor wanted me to leave the hospital three days after I transferred from the University of Colorado Hospital to the University of Utah Hospital but I told him, "I cannot leave the hospital now. I will not have my mother and sister wiping my butt!" That bought me another three weeks in the rehabilitation department on the second floor of the University of Utah hospital. It also bought Paradigm and Zurich three weeks to make modifications in my house to facilitate my success in healing.<br />
<br />
During rehabilitation, zero progress was made in the modifications that were recommended by my Occupational Therapist, Michelle Dincecco. It's funny because they seemed to argue about pennies. For example, one of the suggestions was to change all the light switches to a paddle style. This probably costs about five dollars each switch but they refused to do that. They refused to get push button lamps to replace the ones that have the rolling switches.<br />
<br />
They extended my stay a little longer to give themselves more time. When I found out nothing had been done to modify the house, I started panicking. I even had a dream where I had hands. It felt sooooo real, I woke up in a sweat and reached to turn on the lights, as if my hands were still there. "SWOOOOOSH," was the sound I thought I heard as my stumps completely missed the light switch. I began to sweat, the walls started feeling like they were closing in on me. The retaining walls on my hospital bed were up. I had a difficult time trying to escape the bed. I got out and started to roam the hallways in an effort to get some air.<br />
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My PT came to my room, where I had returned just in time to meet her, and took me downstairs to workout. Usually I joked around a lot but today she noticed I had a pale complexion and didn't smile or interact at all. She asked if I was OK. I whimpered, "No," and began sobbing in front of everyone in the gym. She asked if I wanted to go back to my room. I whimpered, "Yes," and sobbed some more. She excused me back to my room. A little while later a group of the rehab doctors came to see me. I sobbed some more and they recommended I see the psychologist, Justin MacKenzie.<br />
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Later on, after sleeping most the day, Justin came to see me. We talked and he went through this breathing exercise. We discovered that my anxieties were coming from the feeling of going home into a trap. The walls closing in were representative of my time in the hospital ending and the capability to call on nurses for help was coming to an end. I used the breathing exercise more times thereafter and it helped out a lot.<br />
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I believe I came home Friday, January 28, 2010. There were no modifications done. Somehow the nurse case manager happened to get a hold of zero contractors. Luckily, my OT recommended the nurse case manager try Home Depot. Home Depot came and installed the bidet on Saturday. In the meantime my mother had to wipe my butt once. At this time I would not wear underwear in order tom facilitate the toiletting process. Home Depot explained that they were doing a free service for me and that they could only do the little stuff. My thoughts were, "Wow Paradigm is trying to use voluntary workers to do something they should be paying for."<br />
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When I left the U of U hospital, I could not drive. Paradigm, the Workmens Compensation insurance company, arranged for transportation to and from medically related appointments. I sensed an urgency in the company's actions to have me driving as soon as possible. What angers me about them is that it felt like their motivation was to save their money and not my well-being.<br />
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My case manager once suggested that my home nurse give me rides. The home nurse aid sometimes came late and I couldn't count on her plus it wasn't in her job description and actually company policy doesn't allow her to do so. My nurse case manager then suggested I use a taxi. I refused because I had a of the claustrophobia problem I was having. <br />
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The shower handle has just barely been done about one year and a month after the fact. Previously i would have to leave my prosthetic on and turn on the shower, making sure the shower head was pointing down. Then i would need to get out of the shower and remove my prosthetic and get back in the shower. <br />
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To many I might sound like I'm whining but the thing is, I'm familiar with what a good Workman's compensation insurance does because my brother has one handling his case. Nearly everything he needs is taken care of. If he wants to try a new sports hand they get it for him. My company would only buy one sports prosthetic and one type of hand.<br />
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I had been under the impression that my brothers Workman's Comp insurance company was actually making an effort to try and make life as close as possible to his life before the accident. My Workman's comp insurance company seems to want to get away with the least possible. <br />
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To me, I have given forth an amazing effort to recuperate despite the odds. Some of the odds have been placed before me by the very same companies that at exist to help me because the main aim is profit vs patient care. Enough whining already. I will succeed despite a crappy workers comp system. Ha ha ha have another wipeout video <br />
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Samoana (The No-Handed Bandit) Matagihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06040820120416228392noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7773211208739632036.post-38287079812731658102012-01-20T14:25:00.000-08:002012-01-20T14:25:22.051-08:00In a Room Full of People but Feeling All AloneNew Years Eve is a time I've generally spent acting a fool for family and friends. I vividly remember my favorite New Years Eve. There I was on State Street screaming New Years greetings and waving at honking motorists while wearing a fur hat with ear flaps. My fashion outfits usually involve clothing that comes from parts of my work uniforms. At the time I was working security for American Protective Services. I remember my brother Fatu, my cousin Josh, my cousin Penina, and her friend with the last name Katoa were all present. We were all laughing and I was attempting to impress this Katoa girl. I believe I was succeeding (while polishing finger nails on lapels).<br />
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Contrast that with a couple of my worst New Years. In December of 2006, I had been married for a year and six months. Things were going bad between me and my wife, at the time. In fact she had took a trip to Washington by herself in the beginning of December. When she came back, I was headed into surgery for a hernia. Something felt wrong about the whole situation. For a man going in for surgery, she really didn't seem like she cared. When I came out of surgery she was always looking for a chance to leave.<br />
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She would ask,"Is everything ok?"<br />
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I would respond,"Yeah, it's ok." While it wasn't.<br />
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She would say, "Ok well I'm gonna go. Be back later."<br />
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She left and there I was in the loneliness but even when she was there I felt somewhat of a loneliness.<br />
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Things had already begun to change in August but I was to dumb to notice. One day in October, I caught her going to the movies with a guy. I was so mad I asked for a separation. The reason I tell this story is that I had made her my all, my everything. She was up on a pedastool so high that I would have gotten two jobs, gone into debt in the tens of thousands of dollars, and done anything to make her happy. When you put your all and everything into something and then it gets cut off, it can feel like the most painful and lonely thing in the world. It felt like I gave apiece of my heart and it was ripped out and taken away from me.<br />
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When New Years came around I was working at my second job, cleaning theaters at the Gateway Mall. A job which I had gotten to help pay for her car. There I was picking up popcorn and mopping soda amongst a bunch of other workers. We all went to the break room and took time out to watch the clock hit midnight. That New Years, I was surrounded by people but felt painfully alone.<br />
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Fast forward to 2010. I had gotten used to being single. I began to put my everything and trust into myself. Putting all my trust into my own hands, I went to NY, San Diego, and all kinds of fun places. Then I lost my hands. Life again repeated itself and pulled the rug on me, in a way. My family and friends gave me support but the last family member, Fatu, had left on January 28, 2010. On that New Years Eve I was awake and the whole crew of nurses invited me to watch the fireworks in Denver, downtown from the conference room. The buildings blocked the view of most of the fireworks and we popped the Martinelli's but there I was amongst the crew of nurses but it felt painfully alone.<br />
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My brother returned to bring me home on January 4, 2011. When he arrived, I cried. It was more of a cry of relief. I had wandered through the desert of loneliness and survived. Something that while I was in it I didn't think of until the difficulty of it was done. Now that it was done I had realized the difficulty of what I had done and cried in disbelief that I had done it.<br />
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Both these occasions were extremely painful and more difficult than anything I have ever experienced but I'm glad I still wasn't married when the second happened. It would have been infinitely worse having someone by your side that you don't trust than just being alone. I guess I could relate divorce to my hand amputations. The hands, although very useful and one of my favorite creations God has given me, had to go or else I would suffer more. The ex-wife ,although a great person, was hurtiing me more than I knew and so I had to amputate her, 'so to speak', to enable me to become a stronger person. <br />
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Looking back I can see that I have become a stronger person from the divorce. I hope to say, someday, that I have become a stronger person from the amputations. In someways I have already become a stronger person.Samoana (The No-Handed Bandit) Matagihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06040820120416228392noreply@blogger.com1