Donut Dollies Re-Unite
Surely it hasn’t been almost 40 years since I returned from Vietnam. Surely the intervening years didn’t disappear like smoke from a summer campfire. Surely the very real events of my youth haven’t already been relegated to the unreality of history. Surely not, yet I have in my hands a piece of paper that suggests otherwise. This week I received an invitation to another Red Cross Donut Dolly reunion.
The term “re-union” is particularly appropriate in this case because, as Red Cross recreation workers in a war zone, we were very much united in spirit and in purpose. We were a team. We were there for each other. We cared and we were welded together by a once-in-a-lifetime experience that could never be forgotten. Read the rest of this entry »
Those Inner Conflicts
I think I was in college when I realized that some of my inner conflicts — you know, those little arguments we carry on within ourselves — were the conflicts my parents had with each other.
The Bud half of me would do something to embarrass or annoy the Esther half, and vice-versa, leaving me feeling I was wrong, no matter which “side” I chose. My parents’ disagreements had somehow been fused into one personality trait that was now mine, too. I was able to carry on the discord, all by myself. By default it had become necessary for me to try to solve their issues.
Maybe this is just another way to “inherit” family traits. Talk about genetic warfare …
A Name Is Not A Legacy
We were sipping coffee in Starbuck’s when I noticed “Luis” etched into the surface of our table. Luis no doubt believed he was making a meaningful statement, but I suspect he didn’t think it through.
Besides the mark in the table, Luis left a more telling impression. He left evidence of someone who has no respect for other people’s property and who doesn’t analyze his own behavior. Had he done so, he might have realized such a temporal mark would, in the long run, mean nothing. It is not a positive legacy to willfully damage something, and leaving one’s name on an object that will, within a relatively short period of time, either be refinished or discarded as junk, does not impart immortality.
As far as I’m concerned, graffiti is the human equivalent of dogs marking tires and fire hydrants. For animals, it is a useful act based on instinct. For people, it’s senseless, wasteful and demeaning. Besides the inappropriateness of this particular act, however, I was struck by something else with regard to the general human need to be noticed and remembered. Read the rest of this entry »
What’s “Self Esteem” Got to do with Probation?
I think our fixation on “self esteem” has affected the way probation officers approach the problem of crime and has even contributed to our lack of success.
The primary job of sworn peace officers, including probation, is to keep the community safe. Period. Assisting offenders is secondary to that mission. However, because we believe in treatment, we tend to think our primary objective is to transform and renew the nature of those on our caseloads. We assume that we must make offenders see themselves and their world differently before they can alter their antisocial conduct.
The truth is, in order to change how we feel, we must first change what we do, and the same applies to felons. Waiting until they “feel” different before we expect them to act differently usually doesn’t work. It’s too much like postponing a religious conversion until we feel worthy—it never comes about because it’s too difficult to accept grace when you feel so bad about yourself. Read the rest of this entry »
A Soldier’s Christmas Carol
As stewardesses on an international airline, we flew troops into Vietnam at the height of the war. Naturally the flights didn’t stop when holidays were celebrated at home, and my roommate found herself on a military charter bound for Saigon, on December 23, 1968.
The cabin was full of young men, and the pain was palpable. I’m certain the families and friends of everyone on that plane were trying hard to enjoy the Season and remain hopeful, but their prayers were no doubt non-stop for those frightened men who were flying into harm’s way.
The crew and the soldiers were trying to ignore the true nature of the flight. Cabin attendants flirted, and jokes and laughter were the name of the game. Some asked stewardesses for a date in twelve months, when they would rotate back to “The World,” while others poked fun at each other, pretending there was nothing they couldn’t handle.
At one point the senior stewardess got on the PA to announce the time change, and to say it was now Christmas Eve. Rather than creating more gaiety, her announcement quelled the racket and suddenly everything went still. Not a creature was stirring. It was then that a sergeant in his mid twenties rose from his seat, and made his way up the aisle. As he approached her he reached for the microphone and asked, “May I?”
O Christmas Tree …
Christmas 1969 was probably my most memorable holiday, but it was definitely not the most enjoyable. Still, what began as a depressing experience was somehow transformed by a fairly insignificant symbol.
I was stationed at Camp Enari, near Pleiku, in the Central Highlands of Viet Nam, one of four Red Cross Donut Dollies whose mission was to provide mobile recreation within the Fourth Infantry Division. I can’t say our job was particularly easy, especially for me, because my personality has never been what one would call “bouncy.” I was more taciturn – less effervescent. So, no matter how much fun it might be in the end, I found it difficult to overcome my natural reserve and gather grown fighting men into groups, to play games.
Christmas was just another workday for us. As usual, we climbed aboard a helicopter and headed out to the forward units. The difference, that day, was that we all wore bright red dresses made for us in Hong Kong, and we hauled along a small pump organ for one of the girls to play. With her music, we hoped to urge the men to sing carols. Read the rest of this entry »
Dissipation Shows it’s Face
As I walked through the Probation Department reception area one day, I saw a teenage girl waiting to see her probation officer. She was probably fifteen years old and was an absolute doll. Her face still glowed with youthful, dewy innocence and she had that miraculous appearance of a child on the brink of unlimited possibilities.
I don’t know the percentage, but a certain number of juveniles remain on probation for several years. We have supervised offenders as young as 11 years old andkept them into adulthood because their continued misbehavior demanded that they remain on our caseloads. At some point many simply graduate to the adult criminal system, as if they believe that’s the way things are meant to be, and by then their faces and bodies mirror the sad, downward spiral of their lives. Read the rest of this entry »
House Rules for an 18-year-old
Dear JustAdvice,
Our 18-year-old daughter lives at home and we give her a car and pay for her upkeep. She recently disappeared for several days without telling us she was leaving and we were frantic because we had no idea where she was or what had happened to her. It turned out she went away with her boyfriend. We want her to at least let us know where she is, and we do not approve of her being sexually involved with this boy. She says she is an adult and that it is up to her, not us, how she lives her life. Are we living in the Dark Ages?
Just Don’t Feel Guilty?
While eating lunch, I could hear the people at a nearby table talking about how to get around some rules. I wasn’t eavesdropping, it’s just that the gist of their conversation could be heard by anyone within earshot, whether we liked it or not. One man’s statement eventually rose above the din. He said, “And don’t feel guilty, because everybody does it!”
Asking Inmates Who’s To Blame
A friend and I were walking by the Sheriff’s Office, re-hashing how the acceptance of personal responsibility actually gives us control over and ownership of our own lives. Although we now seem to have a large contingent of “perennial victims” in our culture, I believe most people still want to be the Captains of their Ships.
As we passed the Sheriff’s parking lot, I noticed a group of jail trustees, sitting on some benches. I said I would bet that, if asked how they got into their present pickle, they would admit it was of their own doing. Offenders tend to do that, when the Court process is over and they have nothing to gain or lose by speaking their minds. So I walked over to them, and began a conversation.
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We were sipping coffee in Starbuck’s when...
I think our fixation on "self esteem" has...
As stewardesses on an international airline,...
Christmas 1969 was probably my most...
As I walked through the Probation Department...
