Writing Reality

  It's funny, the times I felt compelled to help someone in my therapy business. I didn't concern myself with a payback. I barely thought that they would take advantage of me or lie to me. I saw my business as the need for some selflessness, thinking altruistically. That being said, about six or seven years ago I had a wicked week in my office. Business was down. Yet, people needed me. So I was busy. I was giving discounts for a variety of reasons. Any excuse i could find to give them to reduce the cost to them I figured. And then the six people of that week who I knew I wouldn't take money from. I ran my business, like usual as I had for nearly three decades. I knew who couldn't afford me. Or rather my full price. I knew the very elderly may have money, especially those living in my county. However, they also would need finances for living, medications, proper medical care, perhaps a live-in caregiver for a better quality of life versus a riskier lonely one. Too,

‘Mom you’re barbaric’. Well not said exactly like that, but close. It was said by our then youngest an eighteen-year-old senior in high school after the January 2 nd Monday Night NFL game was postponed due to Damar Hamlin’s cardiac episode during the game. Both our oldest, who was then home from college for winter break, and our youngest agreed at the dinner table the following evening on that subject. They felt fighting and contact sports such as contact football like played in the NFL were too dangerous to exist. I was only slightly taken aback by their thoughts on such sporting events. I reminded them that fighting sometimes saves people from doing something illegal. I explained how it may help ‘air-out’ one’s frustrations. I explained how it was my own form of art. They weren’t buying it. Yes, I still have it in me to fight, to throw leather, to wrestle, to choke people out and so forth. I know what my excuses have been for training and fighting legally. Those feelings are all

  "I'd do this again." I commented at the end of my exit review with my boss's bosses. The two men were stunned. "Really?!" I remarked, "Well, yeah.  Either next year or the following year. It was fun and a great experience.  The people were great too." The two looked at each other then at me. "Wow!" One stated. Yes, the work was difficult.  There really was no pay, for it was service to country. The stipend given paid for my $189 hiking boots, my walking poles, backpack items, spray bottles of deet and natrapel. My protein bars, my car's usage, gasoline,  dungarees, cammies, socks and other miscellaneous items I needed for the three month service stint. Most serving were between ages 18 to 35. My immediate boss was 45 and his boss's boss was age 50. However,  everyone else involved in service were under age 36. All thirty-nine service volunteers. Few were above age 28. And I knew I could trust these young minds. Trust them li