WHAT IS WRONG WITH THIS EMAIL ?
Dear Friend, (Impersonal Writer does not know you. Why would he trust you with 25 million dollars?)
Good day to you.(Not a typical “American” greeting. More common in the Philippines)
I am sure This mail will definitely be coming to you as a surprise, but I must crave your indulgence to introduce myself to you.(Stilted and awkward sentence structure. “English” is probably not the writer’s first language?)
I am Lance Corporal Robert Barnes, an american( Not capitalized, a mistake no "American" serviceman would make) soldier, currently serving in the third infantry division in Iraq.(First the 3rd Infantry is Army, there are NO “Lance Corporals” in the Army, finally troops call it the “3 ID”, not an uncapitalized “third infantry division” )
The reason why I am contacting you via this media is because it is anonymous. I can't contact my friends and family back home as they are listed as acquitances (sp) in my military file and to contact them may compromise the confidentiality of this transaction.(Pure fabrication !, Military does not keep those type files on troops BUT they do monitor emails to prevent security violations. No way this email came from a military computer. If it came from a civilian computer the military could NOT monitor it, so he would be free to contact whomever he wished.)
I am currently in Kuwait on duty break.(Not a term used by the military) I and my partner, secretly moved some abandoned cash in a mansion belonging to the former president, Saddam Husein(Wrong spelling; A serviceman would know how to spell his name) and the total cash is $25 Million USD.(First, Why did Saddam have “dollars” his country uses "Dinars": How did two people move a bundle of cash the size of a small car through several military check points without detection? Not possible)
As I write this letter to you, this box is here with me in cash as I secretly moved it out of Iraq to Kuwait. You do not have to be afraid of anything as no one else knows about this and everything is safe.(Bad English; awkward construction) I would be pleased and grateful to you if you could assist us in receiving this box for us on your behalf as I will be heading back soon to camp in Iraq to join my collegues.(Besides being misspelled Americans servicemen do not talk this way)
Of course, I will give you some money for your efforts. Moving the funds out of here is not going to be much of a problem as arrangements are being made towards that.(Improper English AND it is impossible to smuggle a huge box of money the size of a small car out of Iraq or Kuwait undetected…the military monitor and inspect all shipments for contraband…...smuggling this much money just can not be done)
All I want from you is your trust and assurance that if the box gets to you, you can keep it in a safe place until our arrival. I have to stop here for now. We have limited time now, kindly get back to me immediately.
In God we trust,
Lance Corporal Robert Barnes
(A sloppy attempt to gain access to your personal information so they can steal your identity / money..... There are a wide variety of these scams on the internet....NEVER give out personal information over the internet ......it is just not worth the risk.
Once your identity is stolen there is almost no way to stop the damage. The crooks are often in other countries and beyond the reach of our legal system. )
Monday, May 7, 2007
Thursday, May 3, 2007
GOODBYE
In South China they have what is called "Saluting the Tomb". The family will cover the grave with red rice and peeled eggs. This honors the departed.
The people of Vietnam worship their ancestors. They often erect elaborate family tombs. Every year the entire family will go to the tomb and polish the bones of the dead. They bring food for the living and offerings for the departed. Once each year, they make thousands of little paper boats and light them with a candle. The boats are then set adrift in rivers and streams to light the way for those who have departed. The sight is beautiful and quite spectacular.
The mountains of Korea are covered with millions of small grassy mounds, much like a miniature versions of the Chocolate Mountains here in the Philippines. Each mound is a grave. Annually the family will visit the grave and leave food for the departed.
In India they often burn the body. It is customary for the wife to commit suicide by throwing herself on the funeral fire. I find it interesting that the same expectation is not made of the husband. The Taj Mahal, one of the most beautiful buildings in the world, is actually the tomb of a princess.
Every country has its own way to deal with saying goodbye. In America and the Philippines elaborate graves seem to be the fashion. I never understood exactly why I am not aware of any religious connotation.
I went with my wife's family to her father's grave. The family had to travel from all over Oriental Negros to a little fishing village. I watched as they scrapped away the dirt and debris from the simple concrete slab. Candles were burnt and many knelt and cried. Later we ate and her brother began to drink. The more depressed he got the more he drank. He loved his father very much. Later that night he had a motorcycle accident and almost joined his father in that graveyard.
There are a lot of negatives to this style of honoring the departed. A few that come to mind are:
- Graves perpetuate pain. Visiting the grave is a painful depressing journey.
- Often the family must travel halfway around the world to honor and care for the dead.
- When the family is poor they can not afford a fancy grave or the constant maintenance. They
feel guilty about neglecting to honor the departed properly.
- Graveyards are often vandalized and are a haven for hooligans.
- Few people want to live next to a graveyard. This devalues the surrounding property.
- Sometimes people will try to remove the graveyard causing all types of problems.
- Most graveyards are ugly and not maintained. There is no joy in a graveyard.
My father knew he was dying. He planned his departure with sensitivity and love for those left behind. First he authorized the doctors to give his eyes to someone who needed them. Every time I see someone with blue eyes I am reminded that somewhere, someone had their life improved by my fathers dying gift. My father requested his body be burned and the ashes placed in the Rogue River. Our family had many joyous years living, working and playing beside this beautiful river.
My military service prevented me from being by his side when he died. I could not afford to travel half way around the world to be at his funeral. But thanks to my fathers planning, I am never far from him. When I have troubles and I need to talk with him; I merely walk to the nearest river or beach. There, surrounded in beauty, I sit quietly and we talk.
I am not priest or pastor but I do not think God wants us to build ugly pain filled shrines to those who have past on. We should glory and celebrate their life, but not perpetuate the pain of their death.
The people of Vietnam worship their ancestors. They often erect elaborate family tombs. Every year the entire family will go to the tomb and polish the bones of the dead. They bring food for the living and offerings for the departed. Once each year, they make thousands of little paper boats and light them with a candle. The boats are then set adrift in rivers and streams to light the way for those who have departed. The sight is beautiful and quite spectacular.
The mountains of Korea are covered with millions of small grassy mounds, much like a miniature versions of the Chocolate Mountains here in the Philippines. Each mound is a grave. Annually the family will visit the grave and leave food for the departed.
In India they often burn the body. It is customary for the wife to commit suicide by throwing herself on the funeral fire. I find it interesting that the same expectation is not made of the husband. The Taj Mahal, one of the most beautiful buildings in the world, is actually the tomb of a princess.
Every country has its own way to deal with saying goodbye. In America and the Philippines elaborate graves seem to be the fashion. I never understood exactly why I am not aware of any religious connotation.
I went with my wife's family to her father's grave. The family had to travel from all over Oriental Negros to a little fishing village. I watched as they scrapped away the dirt and debris from the simple concrete slab. Candles were burnt and many knelt and cried. Later we ate and her brother began to drink. The more depressed he got the more he drank. He loved his father very much. Later that night he had a motorcycle accident and almost joined his father in that graveyard.
There are a lot of negatives to this style of honoring the departed. A few that come to mind are:
- Graves perpetuate pain. Visiting the grave is a painful depressing journey.
- Often the family must travel halfway around the world to honor and care for the dead.
- When the family is poor they can not afford a fancy grave or the constant maintenance. They
feel guilty about neglecting to honor the departed properly.
- Graveyards are often vandalized and are a haven for hooligans.
- Few people want to live next to a graveyard. This devalues the surrounding property.
- Sometimes people will try to remove the graveyard causing all types of problems.
- Most graveyards are ugly and not maintained. There is no joy in a graveyard.
My father knew he was dying. He planned his departure with sensitivity and love for those left behind. First he authorized the doctors to give his eyes to someone who needed them. Every time I see someone with blue eyes I am reminded that somewhere, someone had their life improved by my fathers dying gift. My father requested his body be burned and the ashes placed in the Rogue River. Our family had many joyous years living, working and playing beside this beautiful river.
My military service prevented me from being by his side when he died. I could not afford to travel half way around the world to be at his funeral. But thanks to my fathers planning, I am never far from him. When I have troubles and I need to talk with him; I merely walk to the nearest river or beach. There, surrounded in beauty, I sit quietly and we talk.
I am not priest or pastor but I do not think God wants us to build ugly pain filled shrines to those who have past on. We should glory and celebrate their life, but not perpetuate the pain of their death.
Wednesday, May 2, 2007
SCARED
First, the "Gringo" thanks you for your letter of concern and support.
Like you, I too am very concerned about the rise in local crime but I do not live in fear. Like many developing communities around the world, Dumaguete City is losing its old sweet small town flavor and developing into a metropolis. As the good things grow, unfortunately the bad things grow also. Most of the crime does not seem random but has very specific targets and causes. The average law abiding citizen is not in a lot danger, especially if they use a little caution.
I honestly think the local police are doing everything within their power to stop crime. The problem is more complex than just the actions of the police. We as a community must join and support them in the difficult task of law enforcement. Police can arrest the criminal but without our testimony they can not convict him. Often witnesses are intimidated or bought off and the criminal is again free to hurt others. I know of one incident where a son was murdered and the murderer bought his freedom. Later that same murderer killed his victims' brother. That second family would still have a father if the murderer had been convicted as justice demands. It must be horrendously difficult for the police to see a known criminal walk away without punishment and know it is just a matter of time before he hurts others. That knowledge is what creates vigilantes.
I do not condone vigilantes. Vigilantes are an anthema to a civilized community, but I understand the pressures that give them birth. Vigilantes are an indication that the justice system is not working. If you want to stop vigilante murders; the first step is convicting the criminals.
Ms. Downs, you are not guaranteed safety anywhere in this world, but I would feel comfortable in saying there are many places much more dangerous to live than Dumaguete City. Many of those places are found right there in Texas. With you and other concerned citizens willing to stand up and demand justice maybe we can bring safety and some of that sweet old fashioned charm back to our historic city. We look forward to having you re-join us here in paradise.
Welcome home.
Like you, I too am very concerned about the rise in local crime but I do not live in fear. Like many developing communities around the world, Dumaguete City is losing its old sweet small town flavor and developing into a metropolis. As the good things grow, unfortunately the bad things grow also. Most of the crime does not seem random but has very specific targets and causes. The average law abiding citizen is not in a lot danger, especially if they use a little caution.
I honestly think the local police are doing everything within their power to stop crime. The problem is more complex than just the actions of the police. We as a community must join and support them in the difficult task of law enforcement. Police can arrest the criminal but without our testimony they can not convict him. Often witnesses are intimidated or bought off and the criminal is again free to hurt others. I know of one incident where a son was murdered and the murderer bought his freedom. Later that same murderer killed his victims' brother. That second family would still have a father if the murderer had been convicted as justice demands. It must be horrendously difficult for the police to see a known criminal walk away without punishment and know it is just a matter of time before he hurts others. That knowledge is what creates vigilantes.
I do not condone vigilantes. Vigilantes are an anthema to a civilized community, but I understand the pressures that give them birth. Vigilantes are an indication that the justice system is not working. If you want to stop vigilante murders; the first step is convicting the criminals.
Ms. Downs, you are not guaranteed safety anywhere in this world, but I would feel comfortable in saying there are many places much more dangerous to live than Dumaguete City. Many of those places are found right there in Texas. With you and other concerned citizens willing to stand up and demand justice maybe we can bring safety and some of that sweet old fashioned charm back to our historic city. We look forward to having you re-join us here in paradise.
Welcome home.
GO WITH THE FLOW
A few years ago, in another Far Eastern country, I climbed into a taxi in a big metropolitan city. Before I could sit down, the taxi was going 120 KPH. Buildings, women, children and dogs whizzed by the windows. My life flashed before my eyes. Parachuting out of an airplane was not as terrifying as that short taxi ride.
In a big European city, I got stuck in traffic. The taxi driver merely drove on the sidewalk. People were jumping into doorways to get out of his way.
On a big Caribbean island I got stuck in a traffic jam on a major highway. My driver just drove on the grass along the aide of the road. On that same island I saw a man shot over a parking place.
So when people come to me and complain about the traffic here in the Philippines, I have to smile. I guess it is a matter of how you look at it.
In America, on average, 41,000 people are killed on our highways every year. One out of every four of those deaths is caused by "anger". Over 10,000 people killed every year just because someone got mad. We have even created a special label for the phenomenon. It is called "Road Rage". What is even more frightening, 80% of American drivers admit to being "angry" while they are driving and four out of five of those drivers carry a gun. I have had bullet holes put in the trunk of my car.
I do admit I am very concerned about vehicles here that drive at night without lights. Words can not express how dangerous that is. Every time I see a small baby being carried on a motorcycle I cringe. If there is an accident that precious baby will have no chance of survival.
Currently the hot topic is the pending enforcement of the helmet laws. I am in favor of anything that will save lives but I doubt the enforcement of this law will do much to preserve life. Most of the helmets in use here are not very effective and there are no helmets for babies. Also I understand not everyone will be required to wear a helmet only the vehicle operator. It is worthy of note that several American states have repealed their helmet laws. They found that the helmets often cause more accidents than they prevented. First, helmets often limit your vision and block your hearing, increasing danger not reducing it. Beyond that, they sometimes give the operator a false sense of security that cause him to go faster. Higher speeds mean greater injury.
For me the traffic here is really not that bad. It is sort of like a "symphony in chaos". In all that chaos is a certain level of "civility and friendliness". People stop and let others go first. I rarely see anyone waving a clinched fist and screaming at another driver. The answer seems to be relax and learn to go with the flow.
In a big European city, I got stuck in traffic. The taxi driver merely drove on the sidewalk. People were jumping into doorways to get out of his way.
On a big Caribbean island I got stuck in a traffic jam on a major highway. My driver just drove on the grass along the aide of the road. On that same island I saw a man shot over a parking place.
So when people come to me and complain about the traffic here in the Philippines, I have to smile. I guess it is a matter of how you look at it.
In America, on average, 41,000 people are killed on our highways every year. One out of every four of those deaths is caused by "anger". Over 10,000 people killed every year just because someone got mad. We have even created a special label for the phenomenon. It is called "Road Rage". What is even more frightening, 80% of American drivers admit to being "angry" while they are driving and four out of five of those drivers carry a gun. I have had bullet holes put in the trunk of my car.
I do admit I am very concerned about vehicles here that drive at night without lights. Words can not express how dangerous that is. Every time I see a small baby being carried on a motorcycle I cringe. If there is an accident that precious baby will have no chance of survival.
Currently the hot topic is the pending enforcement of the helmet laws. I am in favor of anything that will save lives but I doubt the enforcement of this law will do much to preserve life. Most of the helmets in use here are not very effective and there are no helmets for babies. Also I understand not everyone will be required to wear a helmet only the vehicle operator. It is worthy of note that several American states have repealed their helmet laws. They found that the helmets often cause more accidents than they prevented. First, helmets often limit your vision and block your hearing, increasing danger not reducing it. Beyond that, they sometimes give the operator a false sense of security that cause him to go faster. Higher speeds mean greater injury.
For me the traffic here is really not that bad. It is sort of like a "symphony in chaos". In all that chaos is a certain level of "civility and friendliness". People stop and let others go first. I rarely see anyone waving a clinched fist and screaming at another driver. The answer seems to be relax and learn to go with the flow.
NAMES
People have been calling me names all my life. It started before I could even walk. Neighbors asked my father what they were going to name the baby. He said they would name me after my Grandfather. As everyone called him "Whistling John", I became "Little John". Even though it is not my real name; my sister, 60 years later, still calls me"John".
In school they called me the "Professor", not so much because I knew everything, but because I thought I did. Not sure it was meant as a compliment. Later as my voice started to change and they called me "Squeaky". My voice sometimes would crack and often only dogs could hear it.
The military is well known for giving people nicknames and I was no exception. My first military pseudonym was "The Animal". I got that label when I was handling military prisoners assigned to the "Hard Labor"Detachment. My predecessor was attacked and crippled by inmates. I got the job while training troops at Fort Gordon Georgia. I had two attempts on my life but refused to compromise with criminals. I worked there two years and never got a scratch.
When I was assigned to the Army's Officer Training program. I had vastly more experience and higher rank than any of the other students. My fellow students hung the irreverent title of "JC" on me. According to them, they gave me the name because only He and I were "never wrong". Again, I am not sure it was meant as a compliment. More affectionately, the troops I trained at Fort Bragg North Carolina called me "Bad News Hews". They even had T-shirts made, for the entire platoon, with that name blazing across the front.
I eventually got a job as a nightclub bouncer. During the next few years, I was called many names, but the only one I can repeat in mixed company is "Kojak". I attained a certain level of local fame, so when I opened my own business, I kept the nickname. Using "Kojak", I ran a successful local business, wrote for two newspapers, appeared on local TV and radio and even had a successful Ebay business. The truth be known, I never liked the "Kojak" 70's TV show or Telly Savalas. Now, that the "new" Kojak is black; my nickname must really confuse some people.
While I briefly worked at Foundation High School as Superintendent, the students called me "Sir James". I realize this is a Filipino student's style of respect provided to me because of my job, not actually a nickname. I have been gone from Foundation High School for over a year, but those students still refer to me as "Sir James".
Yesterday, I was travelling the Valencia road on my red motorcycle. Students from that local public high school were walking home. As I passed, I was greeted with a chorus of "Hi, Sir James". I have never been called a "name" that touched me more. Thank you my young friends, I appreciate your support and respect. I honor you. In my many years teaching around the world, I have never seen a group of students who have had more talent or more ability than you. All you need to do is believe in yourself and never give up. Dream big and live your dreams.
In school they called me the "Professor", not so much because I knew everything, but because I thought I did. Not sure it was meant as a compliment. Later as my voice started to change and they called me "Squeaky". My voice sometimes would crack and often only dogs could hear it.
The military is well known for giving people nicknames and I was no exception. My first military pseudonym was "The Animal". I got that label when I was handling military prisoners assigned to the "Hard Labor"Detachment. My predecessor was attacked and crippled by inmates. I got the job while training troops at Fort Gordon Georgia. I had two attempts on my life but refused to compromise with criminals. I worked there two years and never got a scratch.
When I was assigned to the Army's Officer Training program. I had vastly more experience and higher rank than any of the other students. My fellow students hung the irreverent title of "JC" on me. According to them, they gave me the name because only He and I were "never wrong". Again, I am not sure it was meant as a compliment. More affectionately, the troops I trained at Fort Bragg North Carolina called me "Bad News Hews". They even had T-shirts made, for the entire platoon, with that name blazing across the front.
I eventually got a job as a nightclub bouncer. During the next few years, I was called many names, but the only one I can repeat in mixed company is "Kojak". I attained a certain level of local fame, so when I opened my own business, I kept the nickname. Using "Kojak", I ran a successful local business, wrote for two newspapers, appeared on local TV and radio and even had a successful Ebay business. The truth be known, I never liked the "Kojak" 70's TV show or Telly Savalas. Now, that the "new" Kojak is black; my nickname must really confuse some people.
While I briefly worked at Foundation High School as Superintendent, the students called me "Sir James". I realize this is a Filipino student's style of respect provided to me because of my job, not actually a nickname. I have been gone from Foundation High School for over a year, but those students still refer to me as "Sir James".
Yesterday, I was travelling the Valencia road on my red motorcycle. Students from that local public high school were walking home. As I passed, I was greeted with a chorus of "Hi, Sir James". I have never been called a "name" that touched me more. Thank you my young friends, I appreciate your support and respect. I honor you. In my many years teaching around the world, I have never seen a group of students who have had more talent or more ability than you. All you need to do is believe in yourself and never give up. Dream big and live your dreams.
Tuesday, May 1, 2007
TERROR
In the early 1980's, I led an A-Team into the swamps of Fort Stewart Georgia. It was an ARTEP (Army Readiness Training Exercise Program) designed to evaluate my teams ability to complete an assigned mission. We are pretending to be in another country helping the local people fight an oppressive government. These tests are VERY important and not taken lightly. Failure means a lot of trouble for a lot of people. It may even cause some people to lose their military careers.
Our final task was to blow up a bridge. I had a twelve man A-Team and two women pretending to be local resistance fighters. We were fourteen people against over 300 OPFOR (Operation Forces). We sent a message to the "enemy" and told them which bridge we were going to destroy and the time and date it would be destroyed. Against overwhelming odds, we destroyed the bridge as scheduled without losing a single member of the team. If we had been willing to die, the task would have been even easier. What is my point? You can not defend against a trained terrorist, especially if he is willing to die.
I just returned from Manila. I went through the "security circus" at the airport with some humor. I had a pair of finger nail clippers confiscated as a "weapon." I give the Philippine security police credit for trying to make this odious hassle as painless as possible. I consider the police to be just as much a victim of these hassles as the passengers. It would be irresponsible of me to list the mistakes or ways to circumvent the system, but trust me, there were and are many.
My "Sen Sei" (teacher) in Special Forces (Green Berets) was a man named Mike Echanis. He literally wrote the book on edged and improvised weapons. He prided himself in being able to turn everyday common items into deadly weapons. As the security policeman took away my "deadly" nail clippers; I counted three truly deadly weapons he carried and did not know about.
My observations are not unique to Philippine airports. Often these almost useless hassles occur around the world in every country. In America I went through several hours of their version of security. Later on the plane, I was given a serrated metal knife with my meal!!! On every plane I have ever flown upon, there are numerous things that can be turned into a weapon. Current security measures will catch the amateur "wannabe" terrorist but the trained terrorist will not be impacted.
When I arrived here in Dumaguete Ciry; I gave my card to the head of airport security. I offered to provide information or training to help make their efforts more effective. Sadly, I do not hold out much hope that I will be asked to help. Because of 500 years of "outsiders" interference and paternal condescension, many Filipinos find "foreigner" attempts to help irritating and insulting, even when we have the best of intentions.
I sympathize with the airport security guards. Nobody likes the airport security hassle, not even them. They are trying to do an almost Herculean task with professionalism, grace and humor. They deserve our support not our anger.
Our final task was to blow up a bridge. I had a twelve man A-Team and two women pretending to be local resistance fighters. We were fourteen people against over 300 OPFOR (Operation Forces). We sent a message to the "enemy" and told them which bridge we were going to destroy and the time and date it would be destroyed. Against overwhelming odds, we destroyed the bridge as scheduled without losing a single member of the team. If we had been willing to die, the task would have been even easier. What is my point? You can not defend against a trained terrorist, especially if he is willing to die.
I just returned from Manila. I went through the "security circus" at the airport with some humor. I had a pair of finger nail clippers confiscated as a "weapon." I give the Philippine security police credit for trying to make this odious hassle as painless as possible. I consider the police to be just as much a victim of these hassles as the passengers. It would be irresponsible of me to list the mistakes or ways to circumvent the system, but trust me, there were and are many.
My "Sen Sei" (teacher) in Special Forces (Green Berets) was a man named Mike Echanis. He literally wrote the book on edged and improvised weapons. He prided himself in being able to turn everyday common items into deadly weapons. As the security policeman took away my "deadly" nail clippers; I counted three truly deadly weapons he carried and did not know about.
My observations are not unique to Philippine airports. Often these almost useless hassles occur around the world in every country. In America I went through several hours of their version of security. Later on the plane, I was given a serrated metal knife with my meal!!! On every plane I have ever flown upon, there are numerous things that can be turned into a weapon. Current security measures will catch the amateur "wannabe" terrorist but the trained terrorist will not be impacted.
When I arrived here in Dumaguete Ciry; I gave my card to the head of airport security. I offered to provide information or training to help make their efforts more effective. Sadly, I do not hold out much hope that I will be asked to help. Because of 500 years of "outsiders" interference and paternal condescension, many Filipinos find "foreigner" attempts to help irritating and insulting, even when we have the best of intentions.
I sympathize with the airport security guards. Nobody likes the airport security hassle, not even them. They are trying to do an almost Herculean task with professionalism, grace and humor. They deserve our support not our anger.
ENOUGH
Our car tore through the black rainy night. The only light came from the car and an occasional lightening flash in the distance. The only sound was the rhythmic clacking of the wipers as they vainly tried to clear the windshield. We had just cross the river bridge and turned toward town, still miles away.
Suddenly there was a humped figure, bundled against the rain and cold, walking along the road. Often bums and hobos would sleep under the bridge where it was still dry.
My father pulled to the side of the road. I watched as he got out of the car and trudge back through the rain to the shadowy figure. In the glow of the headlights, I saw him hand the man a couple of dollars, then he turned and walked back to the car.
As we continued our homeward journey my anger built. Finally I could not hold it inside any longer. "I have holes in my shoes and do not have lunch money for school, how can you give away money to some bum you do not even know?" There was a long silence. The only sound the constant clacking of the wipers. I watched my fathers face in the glow of the headlights. There was a pained sadness in his eyes. Quietly he said, "We always have enough to share with those that have less". I sat back quietly in the dark ashamed of my selfishness.
Michael and his wife Joeann own a small cafe and dive shop on the boulevard. The tasty hamburgers are almost like those back home. Like you, each day they struggle to pay the bills, put food on the table and keep a roof over their family's head. Their life is so hectic they do not even know if they are making a profit; they just jeep working and praying. Last Christmas, they opened their small cafe to all the street urchins. They wanted to make sure these young children had at least one good meal that year. Last week they took a large party of divers snorkeling at Apo Island. This party of foreigners and Filipinos signed on because they knew half the profits would go to a local schools and orphanages. When the profits were not as much as expected, Mike and Joeann dug into their own pockets. They hope to make these charity dives a monthly event.
Mike and Joeann never knew my father, but they have my father's compassion. Michael and his wife always have enough "to give to those who have less".
They are my "Everyday Heroes" for this week.
Suddenly there was a humped figure, bundled against the rain and cold, walking along the road. Often bums and hobos would sleep under the bridge where it was still dry.
My father pulled to the side of the road. I watched as he got out of the car and trudge back through the rain to the shadowy figure. In the glow of the headlights, I saw him hand the man a couple of dollars, then he turned and walked back to the car.
As we continued our homeward journey my anger built. Finally I could not hold it inside any longer. "I have holes in my shoes and do not have lunch money for school, how can you give away money to some bum you do not even know?" There was a long silence. The only sound the constant clacking of the wipers. I watched my fathers face in the glow of the headlights. There was a pained sadness in his eyes. Quietly he said, "We always have enough to share with those that have less". I sat back quietly in the dark ashamed of my selfishness.
Michael and his wife Joeann own a small cafe and dive shop on the boulevard. The tasty hamburgers are almost like those back home. Like you, each day they struggle to pay the bills, put food on the table and keep a roof over their family's head. Their life is so hectic they do not even know if they are making a profit; they just jeep working and praying. Last Christmas, they opened their small cafe to all the street urchins. They wanted to make sure these young children had at least one good meal that year. Last week they took a large party of divers snorkeling at Apo Island. This party of foreigners and Filipinos signed on because they knew half the profits would go to a local schools and orphanages. When the profits were not as much as expected, Mike and Joeann dug into their own pockets. They hope to make these charity dives a monthly event.
Mike and Joeann never knew my father, but they have my father's compassion. Michael and his wife always have enough "to give to those who have less".
They are my "Everyday Heroes" for this week.
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