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ZamDad's World - 4/23/2005 1:40:33 PM
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zamdad
Posts: 1698
Joined: 4/8/2005
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This is the return of ZamDad's world. This blog was launched on CW in August of 2004.
I write in a journal at home on a regualr basis. I have a variety of things that happen to me on a daily basis and I thought it might be kind of fun to post some of that stuff on a blog. I will post some old writings from time to time and try to keep it current with thoughts about things I deal with on a daily basis. I work as a probation officer and deal with people and their issues regularly. I find that their are spiritual aspects to may of these interactions. I will try and keep my focus on spiritual matters and keep the focus on Jesus Christ.
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RE: ZamDad's World - 4/23/2005 1:43:01 PM
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zamdad
Posts: 1698
Joined: 4/8/2005
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So, where to begin. I use the name ZamDad. It’s a name I came up with when trying to find something for another forum I was on. I picked the name because one of my son’s first words was Zamboni. He ven named a bet fish that his aunt bought him Zamboni. When he as three, I came home from work one day and was greeted by his sad little face saying, "Dad, Zamboni was swimming upside down. Mom flushed him down the toilet." He fell in love with the machine scraping the ice between periods of the UAF Nanook hockey games, and the term took on new meaning in our home. ZamDad seemed to be something catchy for the moment and it has taken on a life of its own.
ZamDad lives in the country on a 35-acre hobby farm in the upper Midwest. I’m reluctant to say my real name or what state I live in. Although, I will probably divulge my location in some manner in later postings. I am truly a blessed man. I am married to a wonderful woman and we have three beautiful kids (1 boy, 2 girls). My in laws live right next door and having them here is another one of God’s gifts. We attend a Bible believing church, which is growing from a small country church into a medium sized church. The Lord has placed me in a profession where I get to see him working in the lives of others on a daily basis and see His word come to life around me.
When He brought us to the area we live in, he blessed us beyond our wildest dreams. Before leaving Alaska, I dreamed of living in a place with rolling hills and lots of trees. I desired to see oaks and maples and other broad leaf trees. I even dreamed of having a couple of acres so we could have a horse. Not in my wildest dreams did I ever conceive we would have enough room for horses, cows, pigs, sheep, chickens and any other animals that the kids might desire to raise. In addition to having the room to raise animals, the Lord has given us the ability to grow a huge garden. As a life long city slicker, I never want to leave country living.
I was not raised in a Christian home. My mother went through a phase when I was nine. She took my sister and I to church every Sunday while my dad remained home to watch football. I remember I was nine because it was late 1972 and the Miami Dolphins were undefeated. Even though I was an L.A. Rams fan, it was exciting to watch the Dolphins win week after week. I had no desire to go to church with my mom, so I protested that I wanted to stay home with dad and watch football. Dad did not put up a fight either way, and mom gave in too. Pretty soon she was no longer attending either. In fact, today, while she supports anything I do (including my decision to be a Christian), she is openly resistant to the gospel.
When I was 18 and graduated from high school, I hopped on a Greyhound bus in Fresno, CA and rode for five days to Fairbanks, Alaska. Prior to graduation I was getting pressure from everywhere to make a decision about my future. Go to college, join the military, move to LA, go here, go there, just get out of this po-dunk town. I was in such a drug-induced haze that all I could see was the moment. The only thing I wanted as far as a future was concerned was to be able to stay in that haze. I had a friend who had a relative in Alaska and he was going to fulfill a life long dream. He asked if I wanted to join him. He told me that the drinking age was 19 and that pot was legal. Those words led to a decision, something that the family had been asking me to make. One month out of high school, and I was 3000 miles from home, on my own.
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RE: ZamDad's World - 4/23/2005 1:44:22 PM
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zamdad
Posts: 1698
Joined: 4/8/2005
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Growing up I had only known a couple people I identified as Christians. I had an uncle who was on fire for God. He spoke about God all the time. He was always praising God whenever something good happened and always asking what God was trying to teach when something less fortunate happened. The other person was another uncle who married into the family. Both uncles shared the same characteristics. I had other relatives that claimed to be Christian, but aside from going to church, I saw nothing in them that made them distinct from anyone else. Yet, I now know that some of those relatives have a deep faith that they have lived out. Like me, some have had to be taken to the wilderness to learn about their dependence on God.
After living in Alaska for about a year, I met a family that attended a church in Fairbanks. One of my roommates was dating their daughter. Pat kept trying to get my roommate and I to attend church with her. The apartment we were living in was being turned into a condo and we received an eviction notice. We found a place through the help of another guy who worked in the same building as us. He told us that he was living in a four-bedroom house and that there were two more rooms to rent. He said that his roommate was 45 years old and was on the North Slope, two weeks on, two weeks off. We went to meet “Bob,” the 45-year-old man who was renting the house. He agreed to rent rooms to us for a reasonable amount and told us that he was married, that he was bisexual, that his wife lived in the North Carolina and that she would be coming to visit in a few months. Because it was the early 80’s, we were young and needing a place to live, his sexual orientation was no problem. I figured, he leaves me alone, I leave him alone. Each two week stint that Bob was home got worse. While we were not innocent young men, none of us had any proclivities toward sexual escapades with the same gender. Bob continued to push the issue of homosexual sex and how I would enjoy it and that it did not mean that I would be gay. As his wife’s visit grew closer, he began telling me that she liked younger men. He then began to show me pictures of her and younger men. He finally told me flat out what he wanted to do to me. I spoke to my roommate and found that he had been getting the same pressure. We both left.
My roommate abandoned his lifelong dream and returned to California. I had actually bought a ticket to fly back to California as well. But, Jerry, another friend, spoke to me about staying. He got me to thinking about what I would be doing if I returned. He then took me on a trip to Chitna to go dipnet fishing. Dipnetting is when you take a large fishing net that’s normally used to pull a fish out of the water and into a boat. The net is secured to a long pole and placed in the water while holding the other end. King salmon are swimming upstream and swim into the net. It’s an unbelievable fight to haul in a king salmon when you are fighting both the fish and the current. The dipnetting was fun, but the trip was beautiful. I saw some of the most pristine wilderness. I returned from this fishing trip, exchanged my plane ticket, and decided to stay
I went to Pat’s house where she required me to attend church with her if I was going to stay there. I felt the Holy Spirit working on me during the services. I began to study the word. I was making some radical changes. I was trying to get away from the dope smoking and the drinking, yet the pull from the enemy was strong. I had gone for three weeks without smoking any dope and one of the cooks from a restaurant in the building I worked in came up and told me he had scored some really good weed. I said no, but then gave in. We went out to his car and smoked a joint. The paranoia was worse than I had ever experienced. I could hear Satan in my head calling me all kinds of names and telling me what a lousy Christian I was, that Jesus would never want me. We were walking back into the building and I placed a beer bottle onto the sidewalk in front of the building. As we got onto the elevator, two police officers, a male and a female, came running into the building yelling stop! As the elevator door was closing, the male officer’s hand reached through the closing hole and forced the doors to reopen. They both pointed at me and asked me to come outside with them. The paranoia just went into hyper drive. They asked for my ID. They then told me that they had seen me place the beer bottle on the sidewalk and that is why they stopped me. When it was determined that I was of legal drinking age, they told me that they were going to arrest me for littering. They placed handcuffs on me and placed me in the back of the police car. I had never experienced the attacks of paranoia as severe as this before. I could hear the voice again, “Now you’ve done it! You’re going to jail. You loser! Where is your god now, weakling?!” The officers asked me if I had ever been to jail. I told them no. They asked if I wanted to go to jail, or sign a promise to appear in court. “Just get these cuffs off me, I’ll sign anything!”
Court was another experience all together. I was not told when I arrived that I was supposed to sign in, so I walked in, sat in the back and waited for the proceedings to get underway. After four hours of watching everyone go before the magistrate and him issue orders, four hours of watching the courtroom empty out until I was the sole person not employed there, I was finally called to the defendant’s chair. “One count of littering, five days in jail and a $100 fine, how do you plead?” bellowed the now fatigued magistrate. “No contest” I replied. “Five days in jail suspended, $100 fine suspended, don’t ever show your face in my courtroom again.” “Yes sir, your honor.” I was out of that courthouse faster than a fleeing convict.
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RE: ZamDad's World - 4/23/2005 1:45:36 PM
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zamdad
Posts: 1698
Joined: 4/8/2005
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I continued to attend the church and was slowly growing in a spiritual sense. One of the members of the church worked for a major grocery chain. She was the person in charge of all the hiring. She let me know there was a position open and that I should apply for it. I went in and completed all the testing, was interviewed and got the job. I began working the midnight shift as a night stocker. The crew at this store was great. Most of the guys were about my age. All of them worked hard and partied just hard after the shift. My church attendance slipped because the hours I worked provided a most convenient excuse. Truth be known, it was more fun to hang out with the crew and party than it was to go to church.
After missing a month of Sundays, I was no longer making excuses about not attending church. I was simply not going anymore. I was completely immersed back into the drug scene. On the midnight shift, we were high all the time. We punched the clock at 11:30 and headed to our respective aisles to stock shelves. At 2:00 a.m., the crew leader would use the store intercom and call the first break. We would all go into the fan room at the top of the store and smoke a joint, then go back to work. Sometimes we would pack into a vehicle drive the two blocks to a strip joint, slam a couple of shots and a beer and smoke a joint on the way back to the store during the 15 minutes.
After three years of this routine, I was given an opportunity to work days. I was asked to run a crew of junior apprentices. It was nice to be recognized for my efforts and I worked hard at getting shelves stocked during the day while using my strength in customer relations at the checkstand. I had recently bought a new truck, had it tricked out, and now had $450 per month payments that cut into my party money. It was the summer of 1985 and I was on top of the world. I was making $18.00 per hour working for the Big Red S. My leadership abilities had been recognized and I was being groomed for greater things. One day in June, I saw a man in a business suit walk into the store. I had never seen him before, but he stood out as being more than just a customer. He had a stern look on his face as he walked past the checkout stands and proceeded up the stairs to the manager’s office. I remember something in my head said that he must be from the district office. About an hour later, the store manager came walking down the stairs sharing the same stern look the man in the suit had walked in with. The store manager walked past the check stands and out the main door without saying a word to anyone. There was an odd tension in the air. No one knew what was going on. The store manager was not there and there was a strange man in his office going through files. In due time, the assistant manager returned to the store completely unaware of anything. He was told by one of the checkers that the manager had left without a word to anyone and that there was a strange man in his office. The assistant manger proceeded up the stairs and did not return for another two and a half hours. When he descended from the stairs, he informed us that the strange man in the manager’s office was from the district office and that the store manager had been fired.
The following day a team of people from the district office came into the store and began going through the place with a fine tooth comb. Several other people lost their jobs and others were removed from positions; essentially demoted. I continued to run my crew of junior apprentices. About a week into the district office invasion, I was asked if I would return to the night crew as the head night stocker. It meant I would get another raise and senior journeyman status. I showed no hesitation in responding. Again, my efforts were being rewarded and I was a valuable employee to the company.
I ran the night crew until February of 1986. Everything at work was going great. A new manager had been brought into the store and he seemed to like the work I was doing and was satisfied that the crew was performing well. The after work parties continued and the weekend parties were livelier each week. I had a serious girlfriend and had begun talking about marriage. Her mother was trying to convince me to go to college. She kept telling me that there was more to life that the Big Red S and that even if I wanted to remain there, a college education would take me to heights beyond my expectations. I told her that I had vowed that after high school, I was done with institutional life. There was no way I was going to go to college.
In January of 1986 I was sitting in the living room of the house I was renting from a co-worker. We were smoking dope and watching a Chris Chase special on CNN. The special was on the growing homeless problem. Chris Chase was commenting on video being shown and saying that most of the homeless were mentally ill and had serious drug problems. I laughed and said, in my best stoner voice, “That’s gonna be me.” God had just used the proverbial 2 X 4 and smacked me upside the head. I suddenly realized that I was not in control of my destiny as I had come to believe and that something had to change or I was going to lose it all and wind up like the people on CNN. After that day, I became disillusioned with life. I no longer enjoyed my job. I had just been elected president of the employees association and the passion I had felt while campaigning was gone. Another realization struck me. If I remained in this job, this was what the rest of my life was going to be like. I was going to be a slave of the Big Red S and despise being there. I would go to work because it paid the bills and then come home and complain about work and everything else in life. The thought of waking up to have to spend eight hours in a place I did not want to be caused me to begin soul searching. In early February of 1986, I walked up to the store manager and told him that I was giving him three weeks notice. I was quitting. I had not planned on quitting when I entered the store at 11:15 the night before. But, by 7:00 a.m., I knew I no longer wanted to do this type of work. When he arrived at 7:00, I told him I was done and that he had three weeks to find a replacement. He asked what was going on. He did not believe me. I told him that I didn't know what was going on, I just knew I had to get out. He encouraged me to take a vacation and that I would be okay after having a few weeks off. I remember telling that if I did not get out now, I would never get out and that I would rather be poor and happy than rich and miserable.
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RE: ZamDad's World - 4/23/2005 1:46:35 PM
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zamdad
Posts: 1698
Joined: 4/8/2005
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As I considered the consequence of my decision, I figured I had better begin looking for another line of work. My future mother in law kept hammering on the college issue again. But now that I was not working, how would I afford school? I also had a huge truck payment to contend with. There was no way I was going back to the Big Red S. Another friend got a job at a bar in Salcha, AK. He was working one night a week as a male stripper. He told me that he was making a minimum of $100 per night and that on good nights, he could make $1,000. I had done this once before. When I turned 19 the men and women of the restaurant I worked at took me to another local strip joint for my birthday. As I was finally legal to drink, I could enter the strip club again without having to be snuck in. It just happened to be amateur night. I had enough liquid courage in me that I jumped at the chance to perform. All the dancers from the club lined the meat rack and cheered me on. They stuffed dollar bills into the G-string one of the girls loaned me. I won first prize that night, $100. I also walked away with over $200 in ones, fives, and tens that had been stuffed into the borrowed G-string.
This one night a week gig could be kind of fun and help to provide some income to help pay the truck payment. I spoke with my girlfriend and she said she was fine with me doing this. About a month into it, I had only made $300 one particular night when a bachelorette party came in. The other nights were just too slow. I decided to quit one night after I had done a lap dance for a woman. She laid back in the booth she was sitting in and I had gotten into a pushup position. She dug her nails into my back and pulled me down to her and would not let go. I had to wrestle away from her. When I did escape, I had blood running from my back where her nails had dug in. The bouncers intervened and helped me to get away from her and then removed her from the premises. It was an ugly scene. While this type of work was fun, it was empty. I was not getting any real fulfillment.
The payments for the truck were now falling behind and I knew that the debt collectors were going to be on my tail. I took the truck back to the dealership, gave them the keys and told them that it was theirs. I walked home and thought long and hard about how things needed to change. I saw my life spinning in the direction of those homeless people on CNN. I was seeing several of my friends lives fall apart before me as their drug use was getting in the way of their responsibilities. Drug treatment. Perhaps I needed to go into treatment. I knew I needed to quit doing dope, but found more reasons not to quit than to actually cease use. When I got home an ad came on for the Army. Be all you can be in the Army. This ad was for the Army reserve, one weekend a month and two weeks a year. That made it sound a little better, it was not a full time commitment. When I left high school and vowed that I was done with institutional life, the military was not even worth consideration. My grandfather is a WWII vet and received his commission while serving. He had been in the last cavalry unit to actually use horses which is where he earned his nickname, Dusty. He tried to entice me to look at the service with his stories of the glory of days gone by. But I had grown up during the Viet Nam era. The images that had been fashioned in my mind where not glamorous. I had a disdain for the military and all their regimentation. I wanted to be an individual. I did not want to act and look like everyone else. The military seemed so stupid where people gave up every sense of themselves and followed orders blindly. But the ad got me thinking that the Army could be my drug rehab.
The following day I contacted the local recruiter. He came to my house and explained to me that if I was interested in the reserves, I had two options locally, engineers or paramedics. We spoke about drug use and he told me that if I had anything in my system that I had to get it out before I could get in. It was late March 1986 when I finally felt that my system would be clean of THC. I was flown to the MEPPS Station in Anchorage and did the physical. I did a UA, did a whole bunch of other testing, and flew back to Fairbanks. While I was waiting for the recruiter to call with my results, I was wrestling with the decision of paramedics or engineers. I am not a mechanical type of person and was not fond of doing anything that was going to require me to make something or put things together. The medic field sounded glamorous, but could I handle the sight of blood and guts? My decision was made for me one night as I was driving home on the Steese Highway in Fairbanks. I came upon a scene in which two men were laying in the middle of the road, in the center of a bridge. One man had one leg twisted in five different directions and had multiple other indescribable injuries. The other man had a pool of blood coming from his head. Another motorist stopped at the same time. He was an EMT and had a radio. He called for help and took over the scene. I stood there, frozen, not knowing where to begin. The sight of the contorted leg and the blood running from the man’s head were too much to bear. Right then I knew I was going to become going to be an engineer.
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RE: ZamDad's World - 4/23/2005 1:47:19 PM
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zamdad
Posts: 1698
Joined: 4/8/2005
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Within a few days the recruiter called and said that I was good to go. I had passed all my tests and the UA was clean. He asked when I wanted to ship out to boot camp and what field I wanted to choose. I told him about the accident and said that I wanted to be an engineer and that I wanted to leave as soon as I possibly could. On April 2, 1986 I departed the Fairbanks International Airport for St. Louis, Missouri where I would then head to Ft. Leonard Wood, Missouri. It was –2 in Fairbanks when I departed and 95 above when I arrived in St. Louis. I felt like I was going to melt.
On the flight to St. Louis I read a book called Maggot I had bought at the airport in Fairbanks. It was about Marine Corps boot camp. By the time I finished the book I was scared. What had I done? I must have been crazy to sign up to have people yell and scream at me and make me do all kinds of things I don’t want to do. There were a group of us the Army picked up at the St. Louis airport. They took us to reception station. We were taken into a set of barracks and I was told to grab a bunk and set up there. We would be here until our basic training company was ready for us. I threw my things on the bunk and headed for the restroom. I walked in and there was a trough urinal on the immediate wall as I entered. As I crossed the threshold of the room my heart stopped as I saw there were no dividers on the toilets where I would have to sit. I knew I was not going to have any privacy in boot camp, but I suppose I was clinging to the hope that I would be able to get away from everyone during one of those sacred moments.
One week at reception station and the cattle car came to pick us up. Sergeant Coyne was the drill instructor. He was nice. He joked with us to us all the way to our company area. He explained to us that once we arrived at the company area, some other drill instructors would be there and would be yelling at us. And, he said, “No mater what you do when you step off my cattle car, don’t step on the grass.” He continued to cut up with us and put us at ease. Then the cattle car came to a stop and the door flew open. Sgt Coyne transformed before my eyes and began demanding the we get off his cattle car. I was in the middle and I could hear all kinds of yelling and screaming. I got to the door and was cognizant of the warning not to step on the grass. I glanced over my duffle bag at the ground and all I could see was grass. The sidewalk was another 20 feet ahead. I leaped from the cattle car and began a dead heat for the sidewalk. I was met by a little black man with a brown round hat. His eyeballs were pooping out of his little head and his mouth was bright pink as I stared down the back of his throat while he screamed at me for being on his grass. He told me to drop. I was down before he finished the word drop. I pushed until I could not push myself up anymore. I think I did five pushups and I heard him yell to roll over. I rolled over hoping that I was going to roll off his grass. I looked up and saw that this little black man also had bulging biceps protruding from his rolled up sleeves. I had to get off his grass quick. He yelled at me to get up and get off his grass. I rolled back over, grabbed my duffle bag and hurried off that grass.
Once I was off the grass, I was lost. I had no other direction and I was in hostile territory. I saw a bunch of the other guys lining up in front of their dropped duffle bags further down the sidewalk, in front of a big brick building. The drill sergeants in their brown rounds were there and yelling at the top of their voices with arms flailing wildly. I got to the rest of the group and dropped my bag when I was greeted by Sgt. Pollock. He was already yelling when he arrived and he stopped directly in front of me. His chest was nearly against my nose. All I could see among the camouflage was U.S. Army and Pollock. He bent down, got eyeball to eyeball with me and stepped back. He then stood up and began yelling again. I didn’t hear a word of it. All I saw was muscle underneath that camouflage. I heard someone say drop and I hit the ground and began pushing up again. When I got up, Sgt Jones was standing in my face. He seemed much calmer. He asked if I was okay. I told him I was tired. He made a mockery of my being tired. He yelled at the other drill sergeants to hear what I had to say. Then another drill sergeant came forth and got into my face. Sgt Bute, (pronounced Butay) had the wildest set of eyes I had ever seen. He seemed to take great pleasure in the fact that I said I was tired and then he had me down on my back flutter kicking. Sgt Forsyth came to my rescue (briefly). He was my platoon sergeant and he had to get his troops together.
After we had been taken to our barracks, received our assigned bunks and lockers, we had gear to be issued. We ran form one location to the next. We ran to the back of a truck and jumped in. I was one of the last ones in. Sgt. Forsyth looked up ant me and asked if I was all right. I told him yes. He said, “Why are you so pale private?” I told him, I’m from Alaska, Sergeant!”
The rest of us boot camp was not as bad as that first day or as bad as I had imagined after reading Maggot. In fact, when it was all said and done, it was kind of fun. I had learned things about myself that I had never dreamed possible. I had a new respect for my individuality. I was not just another number as I had always perceived the military to be. I had put on 25 pounds of muscle and now had discipline that I had never known. I was drug free and had some goals set to begin a new life.
When I learned that the reserves were not full time and that there were college benefits, I decided to take my girlfriends mothers advice. I enrolled in college for the fall. This would allow me time to finish boot camp and AIT and then return to attend the University of Alaska Fairbanks. I came out of boot camp a new person. I went and looked up some of the old friends. All they wanted to do, however, was get me high. I told them that I was done with that and that I had better things to concentrate on. I was going to immerse myself in school and build some type of future for myself. They all told me to have fun and they would be waiting when I came back.
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RE: ZamDad's World - 4/23/2005 1:48:15 PM
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zamdad
Posts: 1698
Joined: 4/8/2005
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When I arrived on campus I found ROTC. In basic training, the officers were built up to be so important that they were another class of people all together and we were not worthy. I entered ROTC so as to keep me in focus and disciplined. As I learned about the officer corps, I found that they were no different than the enlisted men. I began to get in to the ROTC program and saw that I had a future with the Army. Being a freshman in college with some military experience, I got to begin at the sophomore level as an MS-II. Our school had two slots reserved for jump school at Ft. Benning, GA. I was told that these slots would go to upper classmen only, the MS III and IV students. PT tests were given and none of the upper classmen passed. I was then given an opportunity and passed along with another freshman. Lieutenant Colonel Hite called me into his office and told me that he hated to have to tell me this, but that because I had admitted cocaine use on my entrance papers, not only could I not go to jump school, I was kicked out of ROTC. The Army could not afford to risk investing in someone who had dabbled in cocaine use as an officer. LT. Col. Hite tried to soften the shock by telling me how he regretted the decision and that I was one of the best cadets he had and that as long as I kept my head about me, I was going to be successful in whatever venture I chose.
That afternoon I returned to my dorm room and poured out my grief to some friends. It seemed that word spread rapidly and I had friends coming by offering consolation. Most of them brought beer. By supper time I was already buzzed, but still feeling down. Another friend told me that he had something that would take the edge off. He said he had some really good weed. I told him no, but then said, “what the heck, what do I have to lose?” I got high with him that night. It felt so good. It had taken away the pain of a shattered dream and brought me back to old comforts. But, I vowed, this was a one time deal. I had beaten dope and was not going to allow it to bring me back down.
The next day, another friend came to my room. He said he had some weed and that I should smoke some with him. The third day, another friend arrived with weed. The fourth and fifth days friends arrived with weed. My resistance had been weakened after that first night and it became easier to say yes each time. On the sixth day, the weed did not knock on my door. I found myself knocking on doors looking for it. I went to the rooms of the friends who had shown up during that week. None would sell to me. They all told me that I was not the dope smoking type and that I should clear away from getting too involved. I returned to town and looked up some of my old friends. I could almost see the “I told you so” look as I returned looking for dope. In their eyes, I was back.
The semester was about over and I was feeling like a failure. I had attended one year of college and was riding a rocket aimed at a successful new life. In an instant, it had been shattered and I had failed again by returning to the grips of the demon who had controlled me before. With the semester coming to a close and my feeling of failure, I did not want to return to the old friends who would be celebrating my downfall by having endless parties. I called my mother in California and asked if I could stay there for a while and work for my step dad’s landscaping business.
As the semester came to a close, I found three other guys who were going to be driving down to the states. John was from Florida and was returning home. Malcolm and Steve were from Washington State. John had a pickup truck and was going to be driving the brothers, Malcolm and Steve back to Washington. He agreed to take me along and to drive down to California before turning east toward Florida. We figured out the arrangements for sitting in the truck by making a bed under the tarp in the bed of the pickup truck. It was placed directly behind the cab and was just right for laying down and sleeping. We agreed that we would all take turns driving. Malcolm drove for all of about 20 miles. John stopped him and told him that he was not going to drive, ever. Steve had no desire to drive. It worked perfectly as John and I switched between driving and laying in the back. Three days on the road and we arrived at U.S. Customs. I happened to be sleeping in the back when we arrived. I awoke to the tarp being pulled off the truck and a customs agent over my head telling me to get up. Luckily, we were not searched for drugs as the customs agents could have torn our carefully packed load apart for us to repack. Thankfully, none of us had any dope anyhow.
Malcolm and Steve were dropped off later that same day and John and I headed for California. John spent a week at my mom’s house. He also worked for my step dad for a few days to make some extra cash for his trip home. I was assigned to a crew of workers employed by my step-dad. My first day with that crew brought me back into the grips of my bondage master when we stopped for lunch. I came out of the restaurant and found the crew leader holding a joint, passing it to the next guy. They all looked at me as I stared back at them. We were feeling each other out as I was trying to decide if I was going to fall back into the clutches of the demon of my failures and they were beginning to inquire if the boss’s son was going to be cool. Someone pointed the joint in my direction and said, “Here.” I reached for my master as I willingly accepted my return to bondage. Again I wrestled with my weakness for having given in so easily again. But, as I remained in California, the dope was everywhere. It did the same thing as last time. It knocked on my door every day for a week. On the day that it did not arrive at my location, I went looking for it.
One of the accounts my step dad had was a gated community. A place where all the homeowners pay neighborhood association fees to have work done to their homes. We were there to mow lawns and tend to all the landscaping. I observed a young lady sunning herself in the front yards of one of these residences. The third week I was there, I determined that I had to meet her. She was stunningly beautiful, out of my league. I asked her out and she said yes. I picked her up and took her out for dinner. I was hoping to get her out drinking with me and do less than honorable things. During our conversations for the evening, she spoke about church continually. She told me about this single adult group she was involved in and asked me to go with her. I forgot about my dishonorable intentions and determined that I was not going to go out with this religious beauty queen again. I wanted nothing to do with religion or anyone who had anything to do with religion. I was now more convinced than ever that religion was for the weak. It was a crutch for those who could not make their own way. After all, I didn’t need anything to get by on, I could do it on my own. I had proven that I could move away from home after high school and make it in the adult world without having to rely on the parents generosity. Yet, here I was, living off mom and working for her husband.
As the summer of 87 was coming to a close, I had no idea what I wanted to do. I could remain in the area and attend Cal State Fresno with mom and continue to work for my step dad. I could go anywhere in the state and find another job. I still had a military obligation and I had walked away from it. I was upset with the Army and had no desire to return. But, if I needed to, I could transfer to a unit in CA.
In August we had a family reunion in Canada. I drove up with my sister and her husband. He and I were getting high and drinking on the trip up. He had a rifle in the back of the car that he had not claimed at Canada Customs. My sister feared that I was AWOL and probably had a warrant and was fretting that her husband had not declared the rifle. When we arrived at my grandparent’s place for the reunion, I took a liking to a young lady that was a daughter of an aunt’s friend. She too had dishonorable intentions and our mutual attraction drew us together. She also had an interest in drinking to get drunk, so she and I spent all of our time drinking. She dropped me off at my grandmother’s late one night and my grandmother was still up. I don’t know if she knew I was intoxicated, but she held up my grandfather as an example of man to be emulated. She told me that my dad and my uncle looked as awful as they did because they drank too much and did not do physical work like my grandfather. She never came out and directly told me that she was disappointed, but I could see it. She had been praying for me and it was apparent that God was not answering her prayer. The uncle I mentioned at the beginning of this story was her youngest son.
As the family reunion came to a close, I was in a dilemma as to what to do. I did not want to return to California, but I had no means of getting back to Alaska. Another uncle told me that he had always wanted to see Alaska. As I spoke to him about my dilemma, he said that he would drive me there as it was an adventure he had always wanted to take. I had enrolled for the fall semester before leaving Alaska, so I had something to return to. My uncle and I headed north. Three days later we arrived at the U.S. Customs station on the Alaska Highway. Here we were in a car with British Columbia plates, headed into Alaska in late August. The guard asked my uncle who was in the drivers seat, “What’s the purpose of your trip?” My uncle replied, “I just want to see Alaska.” The guard said, “Well, here it is, now go home.” I told the guard that I lived in Fairbanks and showed him my Alaska drivers license. He let us through and we continued on to Fairbanks.
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RE: ZamDad's World - 4/23/2005 1:49:51 PM
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zamdad
Posts: 1698
Joined: 4/8/2005
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I returned to Pat’s house, my adopted mom and got ready to begin school. I signed up to be an EONS leader. EONS stood for Early orientation for New Students. It was a good opportunity to do some things around campus and an even better opportunity to meet the incoming freshmen girls. Again I vowed that the dope was going to cease. I had kicked it a couple of times, I could do it again. I would have to be more disciplined. During the EONS festivities, one of the incoming freshman women I met is now my wife. I saw her at the dance and found her to be cute. She tells me that she thought I was cute, but that she feared me. She says she thought I was one of the bad boys.
My wife was born and raised in a missionary home in Alaska. She is the youngest of five children and the only one to be born in Alaska. When she graduated from high school, she went to Bible college in Washington D.C. for a year and then returned to Fairbanks where she spent the summer as a nanny for a pair of doctors. She had never been exposed to the things of the world, but yet she was curious about the things in life she was missing out on.
While we had seen each other and visually expressed interest in each other several times on campus during the year, we never actually spoke for longer than a few sentences. I was working at the campus pub as a bartender. While I was not smoking dope, I was enjoying the benefits of my free “after shift beer.” The Pub policy was that employees were entitled to one free beer at the end of a shift. Anything else had to be purchased. The staff had a loophole in that the keg was one beer and we could all work on finishing off the keg. My grades were beginning to slip and I struggled with direction. I was again in a position where something needed to change. On November 21, 1987, I decided that I was going to leave the bar after work. I would drink one beer and leave. I know God had his hand on this night as I stopped at a dance occurring at the upper commons. I had no intention of staying. I figured I would stop and talk with some friends and be on my way home. I saw that girl that I had been interested in standing with a group of girls. I approached and asked her to dance in the middle of a song. We went out and fast danced through the song and the music suddenly switched to a slow song. We embraced each other and made some very small talk about seeing each other around campus. I was getting ready to say something and I looked into her eyes and saw them saying “kiss me.” I kissed her and, as the saying goes, the rest is history.
About three nights after the dance of destiny, we had gone to an Alaska Gold Kings hockey game. She asked me if I would go to church with her. As my mouth tried to form the words “No way,” “yes” came rolling off my lips. I went to church with her the following Sunday with my hypocrite radar in alert mode. The sermon hot me where I needed to be struck. But, something about the preachers style had an even greater impact. He spoke about his own weaknesses and related that he was no better than anyone else, that he had the same struggles as me. But he also spoke about what God did for him and that he had a relationship with Christ which gave him the power to overcome his struggles. I was also introduced into a group of college and career singles who did activities together on a regular basis. I did not feel any condemnation from anyone in this group. Many were aware of who I was and some of the things I had done. But they did not care, they seemed genuinely glad to have me along.
As I began attending the church, the pastor wanted to speak to me about my relationship with Christ and my relationship with my new girlfriend. I recall telling him that I struggled with the concept of God. I told him that if God were more real, if I could see him or reach out and touch him, I would be more likely to believe. I don’t recall what he told me. I had the sense that he wanted to throw up his hands and give up. But he persevered and continued to disciple me. He helped connect me with other men who also discipled me.
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RE: ZamDad's World - 4/23/2005 1:50:35 PM
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zamdad
Posts: 1698
Joined: 4/8/2005
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As I began dating my wife, I continued working in the Pub. I decided that I was going to stop drinking alcohol all together and God gave me the strength to do it. I began to speak to some of my friends about what I was learning about the person of Christ. Some were okay with the discussion, others thought I was going through a phase and that I would snap out of it as soon as I was done with this girl and had moved on to the next. Prior to meeting my wife, I had done my first performance evaluation. My boss had some really good things to say about what I had been doing on the job, but she really hammered me on some points about being irresponsible and not following through. After I began attending church and decided that I was going to give up the alcohol, I sensed that my performance was improving. My supervisor called me in for my second evaluation and told me that she had seen a remarkable difference in my performance and that others had commented to her that I was much more pleasant to work with. She said something to the effect of, whatever your doing, keep it up, it’s a nice change. I walked out of the evaluation with a new awareness that God was beginning to work in my life.
My second year at UAF had come to a close and it was time to find work for the summer to make money for the following school year. In mid winter 1988 there was somewhat of a recruiting drive for cannery workers on one of the many plants along the vast Alaska coast. I applied with several of them and figured I would wait to see what happened. Before school let out, I got word by a company based out of Naknek that I was being offered a job. It turned out that a large group of good friends from campus had also been offered jobs from the same company. Most of these friends had been drinking friends from the Pub. I learned that there would be two seasons, a herring season and a salmon season. There was going to be a two-week lapse between seasons and I would be flown back to Fairbanks for that break.
School let out in May and one week later a group of us drove to Anchorage to catch our flight to King Salmon and then to Naknek. We arrived at Peterson Point and were greeted by a little Filipino man named Alfred. He drove us to the plant and explained that this was not a canning operation, but a freezing operation. The fish would come in off the boats, come down a conveyer where they would be cleaned. They would continue on a conveyor to be loaded into metal pans which would then be placed into large upright freezers. After being frozen they would be removed from the freezers, broken out of the pans and loaded into boxes, placed on pallets and hauled to another freezer to be stored for shipping. We were then taken to our bunk areas. They were the most dilapidated, falling apart fire traps I had ever laid eyes on. The building literally leaned to the south. I found an open room and the only open mattress in the room had a spring sticking out in the center.
The herring season was strong. As soon as the fish rolled in, the slime line began cleaning and the fish were being packed into the freezers and hauled away for transport to foreign ports. I worked for as long as I could stand. Eighteen to twenty hours a day was the norm. On one particular say I worked for 27 hours straight, stopping only to eat. The herring season lasted three weeks and I was ready to go back to Fairbanks and spend time with my future bride. Before school got out, her parents had given me a brand new Bible. They encouraged me to read straight through the four gospels, Matthew, Mark, Luke and John before moving on to anything else. When I was not working, I found myself reading through the gospels. It seemed to help the endless hours go by as it gave me something to focus on aside from the non stop herring. The herring run stopped and clean up began. During clean up, there was not as much work to do and I found myself looking for other things to do to occupy my time. The others returned to partying when things got slow. It seemed that as soon as the work slowed, the camp became full of booze and dope. When I was not working, I was reading my new Bible in my slanted room and on my defunct mattress. Although I didn’t realize it at the time, the Holy Spirit was at work in me. I ventured out of my room in to a war zone as everyone in camp was intoxicated. For the first time in my life, I was not even tempted. I wanted nothing to do with consuming any beer or any other substance in camp. At the same time, I was able to talk and interact with my intoxicated coworkers without any prejudice toward them for their impaired state. For the first time, I sensed real peace. Even though I felt I was in a very hostile environment, I had felt peace I had never known before.
As the crew was beginning to pack to head back home for the break, I was approached by one of the crew leaders. He asked if I would be willing to remain during the break and offered me a position as a lead. I was honored to be asked. It would mean a $3.00 per hour raise for the break and for the upcoming salmon season. But I could not wait to get home and see my future bride so I declined the offer. After a couple of weeks in Fairbanks, I returned to Peterson Point for the salmon season. The whole crew arrived ready to spend the long days standing on their feet sliming and packing fish. With eager anticipation, we all stood around waiting for the boats to come in. With no boats coming in, booze filled the camp. The drinking occurred round the clock with much grumbling about no work to keep us occupied. With no work, I began to dig deep into the gospels. I found it helping me deal with the boredom much easier and build my resistance to temptation. It was more than a week before the first boat arrived with salmon. We saw it coming in and those of us who were sober rushed to the plant to begin work. I prayed that a train of others would follow this first boat. We had the first boat unloaded and processed with in a few hours. It was a disappointment. I returned to my bunk and had difficulty picking up my Bible to read. While I read a little, I felt discouraged and walked to the dayroom where the TV was on. Someone offered me a beer. I fought the urge, but was so discouraged by the lack of work that the thought of the taste was good. I cracked open a beer and took a swallow. I had always loved the taste of beer, but this tasted awful. I looked at the can. It was Budweiser, that had to be it, this brand is gross. I drank three beers total and began to feel hungover before I felt drunk. I returned to my bunk for sleep.
In the morning another boat arrived and several more followed the first. We finally had work. I was glad to be working and would stay up for twenty plus hours, go back and sleep for a few and get up and return to work. My hands hurt like the dickens from the work, but it was better than being idle. Over the next few weeks, the salmon run was sporadic. We seemed to have more down time than work and the crew seemed to be having a grand time getting wasted. God worked on me from the inside out and I was becoming aware of his presence in my life. I recalled the conversations with the pastor and that I would believe if I could see Him. My eyes had finally been opened and I could see Him through how He was working in me. Early one morning camp management came into the bunk house yelling my name. I came out of my room and was told that there had been some kind of an emergency, please come to the office. The Alaska State Troopers had called and said that someone had been in an accident. I called Fairbanks and spoke to my future bride to see what was the matter. She told me to stay quiet and listen. She had called the troopers and made up a story to get me home. While I was somewhat disappointed that she had told a lie, I was elated to be getting out of the camp early and be on my way home. I was flown back to Fairbanks that afternoon.
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RE: ZamDad's World - 4/23/2005 1:51:35 PM
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zamdad
Posts: 1698
Joined: 4/8/2005
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I thought I would share something I wrote a couple of years ago while doing a study in Proverbs:
November 11, 2002
Proverbs 22:13The sluggard says, "There is a lion outside!" or, "I will be murdered in the streets!"
I know a young man named David. I have known David for nearly two years now. This verse brings David to my minds eye. In fact, just last week I used my study of this verse in my conversation with him. You see, David is a young man who has not had a job in over a year. He has spent several months in jail and has always said that, upon his release, he is going to get a job. He has a nice apartment and his cupboards are always full of food. He has lots of nice (expensive) clothes, he has a large collection of music CD’s, a nice stereo, a nice TV, several boxes full of pornographic magazines. David smokes cigarettes as though he has plenty of money to purchase them. He is able to buy liquor from time to time. I only know this because he is not allowed to possess it and I am his probation officer.
David’s mother works in a café in a tiny town. Somehow, on her income she manages to pay her own rent and pay David’s rent as well as buy his groceries and clothe him. She has also paid some of David’s fines and has gathered the money together for David to meet with a psychologist as ordered by the court.
David used to have a job as a dish washer in a restaurant in town. He lost that job after being arrested for driving under the influence. Since his release from jail, David has been “waiting” to find employment. At one point he was waiting to get his license back. At another time he was waiting to decide if he was going to make a move to another city and live with a relative. Last week he was waiting to apply for a job I told him about because he wanted to have some blackheads removed from his face.
I quoted the verse from Proverbs 22:13 to him and asked him for his impression of the verse. He said the subject was making excuses. In my reading of the verse, it becomes apparent that the controlling emotion is laziness, not fear. Fear is what one would expect if there were a lion in the street. But, the verse says the sluggard, not the coward. The lazy man (sluggard) creates imaginary circumstances to justify not working and shifts the focus from his laziness to the danger of lions or some other perceived monster. David’s latest lion is the blackheads on his face. He says he wants to look presentable to an employer. One can hardly notice the blackheads until David points his finger to a place on his nose. Further probing reveals that his fear is that no one will give him a chance because he has already acquired a reputation in the community as a drug user. He has a list of other fears, rather excuses, that he uses to justify his delay in finding employment.
In my study of this verse, John Piper, the author of A Godward Life, says, “One profound Biblical insight we need to embrace is that our heart exploits our mind to justify what the heart wants.” I think this is what is occurring with David. David believes the creation of his mind because his heart desires to stay home and have his mother continue to pay his rent. His heart desires to continue with his lifestyle of drinking and drugging despite the words he tells me that he is changed person.
Piper goes on to say, “Deception can cross from moral depravity to mental derangement-from deceiving others to deceiving ourselves.” I have to wonder if this is not the case for David. He has spent so much energy trying to deceive others that he is only deceiving himself.
Proverbs 26:16 says “The sluggard is wiser in his own eyes than seven men who can give a discreet answer.” Piper asks, does laziness make people haughty? He answers his own question that it makes them resistant to any truth that exposes their laziness. So when I am joined by several others who tell David that his blackheads are not noticeable, or that he does not need a drivers license to work in a small town, or that there is no lion in the street, he must insist that there is some type of lion. If he does not insist that there is some form of lion out there, his laziness is exposed for what it is. Truth is sacrificed on the altar of self justification.
As I continue to work with David, I have come to the realization that bringing about change in him is an issue of the heart, not of the mind. His mind is darkened and made futile by the rebellion of his heart. In a system where courts make referrals to psychologists and psychiatrists to work with a person’s mind, how do we foster change when the problem is heart disease?
I need the help of the Lord Jesus Christ and the church to let David and others like him see that there is no lion in the street and that they can kick that lion in the teeth if they will only get off their rear ends to enter the battle.
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RE: ZamDad's World - 4/23/2005 1:52:36 PM
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zamdad
Posts: 1698
Joined: 4/8/2005
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8-24-04
I was leaving the office yesterday and as I was walking past the front of the jail, I could hear a sound coming through one of the windows. It sounded like a file or a hack saw zipping back and forth. The windows are at ground level on the outside of the building and are covered with a metal louvre so as to block access in or out. I stopped at the window and the sound continued. I half expected to see the object come through the louvre. As I was looking for the object to come through, I was able to see glass on the cement uner the louvre. I returned to the jail control center and told them of my observations. I learned this morning that they found two huge pieces of metal in seperate cells and that two inmates were trying to work their way through windows. It made for an interesting day. I had always thought that hearing the file in a jail only happend in cartoons.
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RE: ZamDad's World - 4/23/2005 1:53:17 PM
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zamdad
Posts: 1698
Joined: 4/8/2005
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Back to the story:
In the fall of 1988 school resumed and I decided not to return to the Pub. I still needed to have a job on campus, so I applied at the sundry desk at Wood Center, the campus student union. After several months, I was promoted to a supervisory position and was also hired to manage the bowling alley and games area. My relationship with my girlfriend had now taken a more serious turn as we began to talk of marriage. In the summer of 1989 we were married. She got a job as a secretary on campus and I continued my studies and working at the Wood Center and also took on a job at the campus police department.
In 1990, recriminalization of marijuana was brought to the ballot. During my earlier years in Alaska, I had been an advocate of personal privacy, believing that no one had a right to tell others what to do in the privacy of their own home. I had come to believe that drug use was a victimless crime. One of the criminal justice professors offered a seminar class on the topic of drugs and the legal/moral aspect of drug use. He required us to present papers supporting our point of view and then open it up for discussion. As I began the class I tried to take the middle ground, ride the fence. During the first discussion I learned that one cannot sit on the fence of divisive issues. When one tries to sit on the fence, you’ll always get knocked onto one side or the other. I took issue with one of the pro legalization members of the class in that, as a former user, not only was I able to see through the haze of his doped up logic, I came to realize that his point of view, much like my own had been, was completely self serving. It was about me, mine, I, no one else, to heck with others, they can do what they want as long as they don’t get between me and my idol. As I took my position, I had a chemical dependency counselor in the class tell me that I was “just maturing out of the drug lifestyle.” While there may have been some truth to what she said, I found her position in favor of legalization troubling considering her career was in treating the chemically dependent. I was left wondering if she was still using or if her motivation was to keep them addicted so that she would have job security.
I felt that after having to take a position on this issue, I had finally come to terms with my drug addiction. I had gone from being a lover of pot to a person who now hated the evil weed.
In December of 1991 graduation was fast approaching for me. I had three on campus student jobs and my wife was a full time employee of the university. She was also pregnant with our first child. I became scared of having to return to the real world and find a real job. I had nearly five years of college behind me. Because I could go to school for free and had employment on campus, I enrolled for the spring semester and decided that I would walk thorough the graduation ceremonies in May of 1992. However, in December of 1991 I got a call from the Fairbanks Youth Facility. I had applied there after someone from there had been to one of my criminal justice classes and spoken about employment there and given information on how to apply. I was offered a position as a non-perm youth counselor. I would be on call and fill in shifts as needed. As the spring semester progressed, I was getting more calls that I had anticipated from the youth facility. I was spending a lot of time working on the detention unit. In February my son was born. In addition to three part time jobs, school and marriage, I now had to take on the role of daddy. Becoming a dad was the greatest moment ever and provided a new focus on my priorities. Because of the hours I was picking up at the youth facility, I dropped several classes during the semester. In May I walked through the graduation ceremony and terminated my student positions on campus.
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RE: ZamDad's World - 4/23/2005 1:53:52 PM
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zamdad
Posts: 1698
Joined: 4/8/2005
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With a brand new degree in criminal justice and only one part time position to provide for a now growing family, the job search was on. I had really enjoyed working for the campus police department and had developed a very strong interest in law enforcement. The Alaska State Troopers were hiring and I picked up an application. I never turned it in, however, because I feared that I would get the same results as ROTC and not make the cut because of past indiscretions. I came across an ad looking for someone to work with youth in the community. I applied for the position and was interviewed by a man who had worked for the youth facility for a long time. I was hired and told that I would be on call, as needed. My first “job” was to be a bodyguard for female staff with a female client, a 16-year-old Eskimo girl who suffered from fetal alcohol syndrome and a host of other disorders. This girl had an apartment in the community which was staffed 24 hours per day with a female employee. They gave her everything. The idea was that it was too expensive to ship her out of state to an institution, therefore, provide her with housing, staff the home, and attempt to teach independent living skills. She had beaten up several of the female staff and they now needed someone to come in and just be there in case she acted up again. With both jobs, I had plenty of opportunity to interact with this girl in both capacities. While in detention I had seen her assault staff, other residents, and destroy things for no apparent reason. On one occasion she had a bowel movement in her cell and wiped the walls with it.
One day while working as the bodyguard in the apartment, she seemed particularly agitated. I tried to blend in like a piece of furniture, but my presence seemed to disturb her even more. She began yelling at the female counselor on duty that day. The counselor asked her if she wanted to talk. She said she did, but that she did not want me there. She asked that I step out onto the balcony. The counselor nodded to me that this would be okay. I opened the screen door and stepped out onto the balcony. The girl asked me to close the door. I told her that I would close the screen, but I would not close the sliding glass door. As I began to pull the screen closed, the girl lunged at the counselor. I ran back into the apartment and found the girl pinning the counselor against the wall punching her as the counselor was covering her face. I grabbed the girl and threw her to the floor and began to wrestle with her. I placed her in a hold that would contain her for a time, but with no handcuffs, I had no way to restrain her. I now needed the counselor to call the police. The girl began screaming not to call the police and the counselor put the phone down. The girl said that if we opened the door, she would leave. The counselor opened the door. With the door open and the police not having been called, I told the girl that once I let go of her, she should run and keep on running. She promised that she would. I let go of her and she got up, ran to the door, closed it, and turned on me wanting to fight. She grabbed a picture frame from the wall and threw it at me. As I ducked to avoid getting hit, she stepped into the kitchen. I became concerned as she was in the kitchen because she now had access to knives. She went through the kitchen and began throwing anything that was not secured through the bar opening into the living room. I think she realized that she was not going to be able to hit anyone while throwing from inside the kitchen and she came around into the living room grabbing anything she could get her hands on and throwing them toward me and the counselor. The counselor reached for the phone to begin calling 911. The girl saw the counselor with the phone and seemed to focus on the counselor. As I began weighing my options, with no restraints I was not going to be able to get this girl back on the ground and hold her there for any period of time. It was time to attack. I raised my fist and began to yell and lunge toward the girl. Panic struck her face and she froze. It was as if she could not believe that an adult would dare strike her back. As I got closer she placed her hands over her face. I stopped, keeping my fist raised above my head. There she stood with her hands covering her eyes and I stood with a raised fist ready to strike, both of us frozen for a moment in time. Like a little kid, she then moved her hands just enough to be able to see where the threat had gone. When she saw that I was still poised to strike, she dropped her hands, turned and ran. I followed her out the door and down the hall to the stairs. I remained at the top of the stairs as she exited the building.
Following that incident, it seemed that the girl had developed a new respect for me. I still had opportunity to work with her in both capacities. In the youth facility she got froggy with one of the female staff. I was first on scene to assist and as soon as I entered the room, she sat on her bed and became cooperative.
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RE: ZamDad's World - 4/23/2005 1:54:35 PM
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zamdad
Posts: 1698
Joined: 4/8/2005
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How my three year old son rehabilitated his first criminal.
When my son was three, my wife stopped by the Youth facility one night. She and my son were in the control room visiting with me and another staff member. At 10:00 p.m., the B steppers, the kids who had earned the most privileges, were all going to bed. As the kids went to their rooms, they all said goodnight to the staff on duty. As the last door closed, my son comes running out of the control room, into the dayroom, and yells, “Good night bad kids!” All he knew about daddy’s work was that daddy worked with bad kids who had gotten into trouble with the police.
Several years later I ran into one of the girls who had been one of the B steppers that night. She began to tell me about how her life had changed. I was encouraged to hear all the good things she had going on in her life. During the course of her update, she asked me if I knew what caused her to change her ways. She told me that my son coming into the dayroom and yelling “Good night bad kids!” had a profound impact on her. She said that she became troubled by the fact that this little kid saw her as a bad kid and that she did not want to be seen this way by anyone else. Thus, she began to make changes in her life.
In nearly 15 years of corrections, it is the moments like that that seem to make the biggest impact.
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RE: ZamDad's World - 4/23/2005 1:55:16 PM
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zamdad
Posts: 1698
Joined: 4/8/2005
Status: offline
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In July 1992, after seven months of on call status, I was offered a full time position with the youth facility. I went to work full time on the detention unit. I was told that because my other job would create a conflict of interest, I had to quit the other job working with troubled youth. For the first time since leaving the Big Red S in 1986, I was working one 40 hour job with no other obligations. It about drove me up the wall. I had become so accustomed to school and working several jobs that I had to learn all over again how to relax. I would come home from work and begin looking for something else to occupy my time in addition to my wife and baby.
While I was active with our church, I was not as active as I could have been. I did not feel up to leadership in the church. I was still growing spiritually and was not yet ready for solid food. My wife and I became active with YoungLife as leaders. YoungLife was fun. We had opportunity to interact with a lot of great people. Working with the kids was fun, challenging, and exciting. But, I struggled with the fact that I was not living what YoungLife was teaching. I was not in my Bible daily and was not walking in an intimate relationship with Christ.
In the summer of 1993 we went to an air show at Gulkana Airport near where my wife grew up. She had gone to grade school with a guy I had gotten to know while in ROTC. Tom had graduated college and gone on active duty with the Army. He had been stationed in Germany for four years and then decided to return home to Alaska and go to work full time for the Alaska Army National Guard. Seeing Tom was good as was hearing some of his stories of Germany. He told me that part of his new duties with the Alaska Guard was recruiting officer candidates. He asked me what ever became of my military career after my unfortunate departure from ROTC. He told me that I could still get back in the military and that he could help me get my commission through OCS. I spoke to my wife about the conversation with Tom. She wanted nothing to do with it. Her dad, who never takes sides with either of us, said that he thought what Tom had said would be a good thing. I heard him give approval whether he meant to or not.
Soon thereafter, a recruiter called the house and asked to speak to me. My wife told him I was at work and he called me there. The recruiter said, “I just spoke with your mother and she told me to call you here.” I informed him that he had spoken with my wife, not my mother. He told me he had been called by Tom and that I as interested in reenlisting. I told him that I was interested in getting my commission through OCS. Being a recruiter, he was going to tell me just about anything to get me to sign.
I reenlisted back into the Army in 1994 | | |
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