H S H

     There's no place like home.  When I'm on a business trip, I can't click my heels three times to get back to New Jersey.  Every northern NJ resident knows you don't fly out of Newark on a Monday or back on a Friday.  Wind over 15 mph closes one of the runways.  Every return trip home is an adventure.
     So when my 5PM flight home today was cancelled and I was moved onto the next one (8PM), I was prepping for a long lonely night in the Norfolk airport.  Then, a miracle happened.  The 2PM flight was delayed until 3:30PM.  I was put on standby and actually got on board.  I arrived home earlier than originally scheduled and was on the couch by 6PM.
     It's great to be home, but it's even better to be home early.

No winners

     I was speaking with a friend who is a teacher at Penn State.  Hearing the fatigue in her voice, the pain of the situation that has impacted so many in her classes and her life, it reminds me that in the realm of childhood sexual abuse, there are no winners.  And in addition to the pain of the victims, there is much collateral damage in a situation as public as this.
     Many have compared the situation at Penn State to that of the Catholic Church.  My friend reminded me of the key difference in the two scenarios.  While the institutions share the scourge of pedophelia, heads rolled at Penn State.  Consequences were meted out to those in authority who covered up the alleged abuse.  We Catholics are still waiting.
     I pray that we never have to hear about another sexual crime perpetrated on a child, but I know that's unrealistic.  So the best we can hope for is cover-ups to be uncovered, injustices to be made just and those who are abused to find healing.
    
    
   

Low Maintenance

     Kevin requires help.  He needs someone to buckle his belt because he can't find the hole to put the little metal thing through (what is that little metal thing called anyway?)  He can pour milk unless the carton is too full, in which case a river of dairy results.  He cannot tie his shoes, so I buy shoes with velcro straps.  If he walks across uneven ground, he loses his balance easily and panics. Someone needs to hold his hand.  He doesn't know how to count and can't read, so a staff person in his group home must mete out his pills for him.
     Yet compared to me and most people, Kevin is low maintenance.  He requires three things to make him happy - conversation, reassurance and hugs.  Four things if you count cheeseburgers.  I look at so many normal adults who are miserable and spend thousands of dollars to try to get happy.  It is a shame that we can't ask for what we want as readily as Kevin does.
     Kevin has acted out lately at his group home.  We think it is because of changes in personnel there, but I can never know for sure.  Asking Kevin what is wrong is futile - "nut-in" is his response.  I do know that some improvements over the last week seem to be connected to one staff member in particular.
     After I took Kevin out to breakfast on Saturday, I brought him back to his house.  Theresa was there to greet him.  He gave Theresa a hug and she shouted, "Hello O'Connor-boy," Kevin's favorite nickname.  She asked about our outing, told him she loved him and accepted another hug.  My brother voice was squeaking he was so happy.
     So as much as he may seem to require a lot of work at times, Kevin's needs are pretty simple.  It is another life lesson from him to me.
    
    

Anniversary

     Vinny and I celebrated our anniversary this past weekend.  In other years, I would have pictured an exotic meal, perhaps a weekend away, certainly flowers.  But this year we marked our years together in a simpler way.  We went out to dinner, but brought along a good friend who has been a large part of our lives over the last few years.  On Sunday, we went to church, where we were lectors.  I felt the presence of God in my life and in our relationship.  In the afternoon, we ventured to western NJ to a wolf preserve that Vinny had read about in the paper last week.  It was a symbol of some of the things that enable us to balance out each other.  I don't have a lot of time to read the paper and Vinny keeps me apprised of what's going on in the world and local events to attend.  At the wolf preserve, the combination of the loose gravel and rocks and the angle of the path were difficult for Vinny to manage with his bad ankle, so he leaned on my shoulder.  It was a simple day in our complicated lives and it was perfect.
   

Home is Where the Heart Is

     I live in New Jersey.  I should be suffering like my neighbors, without power, longing for a hot shower and a little mindless TV.  But I'm on a business trip, in a comfy hotel where the TV is off because I choose to leave it off.
     But my heart is back in NJ.   My neighbors tell me that I've lost a tree in the backyard and my front yard is full of large limbs, scattered like pickup sticks.  I can picture all this, but I want to really SEE it, to understand first-hand how much devastation there is.  I wonder how the inside of my refrigerator smells and if there's any sort of leak anywhere.  I want the comfort of knowing that whatever disaster I envision in my kitchen, it's really not so bad.  And on some level, I want my own war story to tell in years to come of how I survived Snotober.
     Kevin has been vacated from his group home to a hotel again, just as he was for Hurricane Irene.  I don't know his room number though, so I haven't been able to talk to him this afternoon.  There isn't a doubt in my mind that he's fine though.  Really, not one doubt.  Really.
     So sitting here in my hotel room, I am warm and showered and I want to go home.
    

Movie Night

     Kevin enjoys going to the movies, mostly for the popcorn I think.  We have gone to several movies - comedies, cartoons, action films.  Sometimes he pays attention, sometimes he falls asleep.  The sheer pleasure of accompanying others to an normal activity, being with his Sissa, having a treat of popcorn and soda - these are the simple pleasures that my brother enjoys.
     A few months ago, we went to see a movie at our local Indy movie theater.  They show some artsy stuff, but this was a comedy, so I was pretty sure Kevin would enjoy it.  We settled into our seats, a large popcorn on my lap to share with Kevin, a small diet Pepsi in his cup holder.
     The movie started and the actors began speaking.  I almost laughed out loud, but not at any comedy in the movie.  I realized that I had taken Kevin to a foreign film, German, with subtitles.  Kevin, who cannot read and certainly doesn't understand German, was staring at a screen with no idea of what was happening.  The evening was not a total waste; he got in a good nap.

Being a Parent

     I wonder many times why I never had children.  If I delve deep enough, I produce five or six potential reasons.  Being single isn't an excuse these days.  Now that the fertility bus has left the station, it seems like a moot point.
     But there are times like this past weekend that show me I could have been a parent.  I possess the number one attribute required for any parent - worry.
     Kevin is my pseudo-child.  I feel responsible for his well-being and happiness.  I call him everyday, because no day seems complete without saying "I love you, O'Connor-Boy."  But I also want to gauge his contentment (i.e. - how well I'm doing my job), by the only barometer I have - the timbre of his voice.  High-pitched and elongated words are good.  Quiet, low-pitched and staccato are red flags.
     When Kevin's group home called me last week to report his misbehaving/aggression, I asked to speak to him.  A barely audible "hi" greeted me.  I did my best to reinforce that good behavior yields rewards.  Once I used the magic phrase "going out to dinner," he perked up to his usual self.
     But I worry.  Kevin never has issues during the week at his group home, only on the weekends.  It is a combination of frequent staff turnover and a low activity level compared to weekdays.  If I spent all day watching TV, I think I'd go a little nuts too.  So I need to step in, be the guardian, be the parent.  I suggest ways to coax Kevin to good behavior and activities that he can do on the weekends.  He likes to hear that he's a gentleman.  He responds to rewards.  Scolding has never worked.  It's hard to get a 160 pound man into a timeout if he doesn't want to go.  I've tried. 
     And still I worry.  Am I doing enough?  What if his behavior continues, escalates?  When will the next phone call come?  What if they kick him out of the house?  I try to keep myself grounded in reality, to trust that I'm doing everything I can, but I want Kevin to happy 100% of the time.
     So I really am a parent after all.