The Glass, The Leg, and The Whole Bloody Mess!

(continued from last blog) 
11:42 am
Unable to cope with Markie's D death, Ralph walked in concentric circles talking to himself.
 
Pinky was so big, the Wolf-Pack made fun of him saying things like, he couldn't see his feet and that they didn't know how he tied his shoes. That always brought a big laugh from the mean Viking tribe. "Water retention" and "big bones" was his favorite retort of denial.

Knowing it was hard for him to bend over, Joan snapped at Ralph, instead. Interrupting him in the middle of his Catholic "Mea culpas" she barked, "Ralph get over here. Now!"  Without even knowing what she did to Tom a couple minutes earlier, Ralph stood at attention like a mindless Zombie under her control. "Hold this together" she said, putting Markie's leg back together the best she could and made Ralph hold it in place with firm pressure.

Pinky took Kjersten and Annie and Tommy in the other room. He didn't think it was right for 9-year-olds to see a dead body: the glass, the leg, the blood was already too traumatic.

Joan picked up a fragment of the broken glass the size of a John F. Kennedy silver dollar and held it under Markie's nose. She waited a full 20 seconds (that seemed like a year) and became ecstatic when she saw  fog on the glass.  Barking out more orders like the ranking medic of a mash unit, Joan ordered Pinky to fire up the 57 Chevy as she carried the limp body trailed by Ralph (who was covered in blood), as he continued to obey his senior officer and held the dangling appendage together while mumbling Altar Boy Latin.  

Although there was condensation on the small fragment of glass, Joan knew that time was of the essence.
Pinky had wedged himself behind the steering wheel and had the motor running. Joan knew that letting Pinky drive was a mistake, but couldn't think of any other way to manage the situation. Laying Markie out on the back seat on a beach towel, she told Ralph to walk the younger kids home.

11:50 am
In the passenger side of the front seat, she leaned over the back and kept pressure on Markie's leg while trying to talk Pinky through driving a stick shift. One time she even shifted the car from second to third with the heal of her right foot, when Pinky's hand got caught between the steering wheel and his belly.

It was a sight to be sure. The way the car lurched and bucked and roared down Lincoln Boulevard towards Santa Monica, it looked like a drunken cowboy on a bunking bronco.

12:20 pm  Blood-drenched Ralph, delivered Annie to the front door of the Lennon Sister's house and it was as if sirens had gone off: Questions...Interrogations...but the only thing Ralph could do was mutter and stutter and look at the statue of the Blessed Virgin Mary in their front window and kept repeating the, "mea maxima Culpa" thing.

By the time Ralph dropped Tommy off at the Blaser house, rumors had begun to spread like a wildfire around Harding avenue that ranged anywhere from death to amputation.


The hippy Wolf-Pack knew they made the right choice in not going with Joan to the rescue.
"Oh my goodness, what a nuisance"
"How inconvenient... that little twerp!"
"Geez, we still have a lot of partying to do."
"Dude...that would have totally harshed my mellow." 

By the time the sixth needle went into Markie's arm, one of his eyes opened to half-mast and he asked the emergency room doctors, if this had anything to do with Flea-Bait's loogie.  Four of them looked at each other and shrugged their shoulders thinking the kid was reacting to the drugs.  Then more shots. A billion in the leg and lot of them deep. Many of the shots still hurt regardless of how much Novocaine they shot into him.

The second eye opened as Markie was trying to find out what all the fuss was about. He wasn't sewn up yet and inadvertently saw the bloody mess attached to his body that was once a leg. A nurse held his head down and he began asking questions as the guy with the broken arm next to him was released... and then the person with stitches in the forehead had come and gone...and the motorcycle guy with the puncture wound had come and also left repaired.  The stitch after stitch in the deep tissue and layers of muscle didn't hurt much, but this was before they got to the outside layers where the 42 shots of Novocaine had begun to wear off and each one of the 97 stitches on the outside of the leg really did hurt like heck. Markie was no stranger to pain and had been through bows and arrows with needles and the Hamper of Death and thrown over a cliff and didn't think that this pain was worth saying anything to the doctors - and suffered in silence.   

As far as Markie D could ever remember, he never saw anyone in his family cry. Mr. D had always said that "Swedes don't cry and pain will make you stronger."    

1:30 am  '0 dark thirty of the wee hours of the morning: "The Sewing party" was finally coming to an end.

 Even though his leg looked worst than Frankenstein's monster, they managed to put it all back together and save it.

Markie had never seen tears nor had he ever heard the "L" in his house. Oh, the "L" word is "love" in case you were wondering, but reckoned what Joan had done to rescue him, as love. That was all he was looking for as a human being. He wanted to know - he wanted to feel that someone cared.

He missed school for weeks and Joan had her sixth grade class write get well cards. He liked the cards and felt this was also another way of his mother showing she cared.

Two weeks later:   

















                                                       Thank you Tom Colajezzi.










Thank you Perry Halachis.













Thank you whoever you are.



Thank you Mom and Pinky!

And Ralph, stop mumbling - it's okay, I forgive you.

And Thank you Lord, I'm still alive...
                                                     
Oh, and thank you "Weltz" for letting mom "borrow" your car.  Sorry about all the blood in the back seat and your sore jaw.  No one knew Tom's last name before...but the black and blue welt on his jaw provided the perfect nickname. 

Good intentions are one thing but real love is often measured in sacrifice. I think that's all we really want. Isn't it?  To feel as though someone cares and to know that you are loved!  
                                                             
                                                                                           Markie D.

Next the Veloci-rooster and the "Chicken Lady"

A Miracle: Baby Flushed Down Sewer Miraculously Survives

A tribute that life is special and an encouragement to any of us who has ever felt left behind... abandoned.... betrayed!

There is evil in the world... Bad People and Bad Parents do exist! Most parents, however, do try hard. Most mothers will do just about anything to protect and care for their children, because they are wired and designed as nurturers. Therefore, when we come across something as egregious as this, it upsets something in us. We universally recognize that something is wrong which upsets our built-in justice sensors and the moral code that is written in our heart.

When something like this happens, we must never blame the child or make them feel any less human or any less worthy of our acceptance and love.  It is not your fault.. you are not a piece of refuge to be thrown away.  God does see it that way and neither should we.

YOU ARE STILL VERY PRECIOUS TO GOD.  You are special, unique, and worthy of all the attention of God's perfect love.  You are accepted by Him, regardless of background, color or religion. Irregardless of your past failings, shortcomings and your sin... He relentlessly peruses you with His Divine Love.

His Mercy...His Grace...His Acceptance...and His Forgiveness is available to all...because all of us ARE SPECIAL TO HIM!

Whoever you are, where ever you've been, whatever you've done - He loves you, accepts you and freely opens His arms to you... KNOW THAT YOU ARE LOVED above all things in the Universe!

Part 7 The TRAGIC TALE: The Dramatic Conclusion

I guess it's time to try to end this story... the story that Marylin and family had read in the newspaper... a story I didn't want anyone to hear on that first day of fifth grade.  It is a story that still brings with it - an emotional response of the little boy left behind at Salton Sea. Healed? Yes... absolutely, but whenever we suffer like this (as with physical wounds) scar tissue remains.

It is possible that those scars not only serve to remind us of the things that are important... family, forgiveness, love, care, protection...but those scars can also remind us how God can use ugly things to beautifully shape us.  I am reminded of that by a response I received to The TRAGIC STORY part 5...

This is from a person very near and dear to me... one of those to whom my amazing mother had opened our hearts and our home.  If there is a picture that can be sadder than that dirty little boy left behind by his family at Salton Sea... it is the picture of baby twins abandoned on the beach in Marina Del Rey.

THIS IS WHAT SHE WRITES:  "I wish I was there to love that little boy. There is something amazing here Mark. Much of what you have so eloquently put into words mimic some of my own experiences. We have something in common as a result - God used the hurts and built in us a compassion that could only come from Him. We both have chosen to tap into this professionally and personally - you as a pastor, me as a nurse. My kids will always know how much I love them - as I know yours do too. We both are drawn to those who are hurting - to love them. I believe your hurts fueled the unconditional love you showed to me and David when we became part of your family. We now have an unbreakable, God given bond forever. His plan at work..."

Perhaps it was this searing sense of loneliness that burned in me a driving desire for connection to God. Who knows, as Lisa above has just reminded me, maybe it is this funny, tragic and ugly story that has beautifully shaped me for ministry that desires nothing more than to let people knew they are loved by a passionate God who relentlessly pursues them.

The Conclusion:

The officer stepped towards the station wagon with only the faint, red-glow of the neon signs from the aging Pink Pump dive that was several hundred yards away.  With jaw set and a telling red glow, the officer approached as the apprehensive crew silently held their collective breath. Mrs. D hid in the tiny toilet stall and the other kids in the trailer had been cleverly buried in camping gear. Mr. D's hand was perched and ready to strike.The tribe had taken the oath and nobody was about to give away the fact that bodies were stashed illegally in the trailer.

In an effort to control his temper, the Highway Patrol officer began the conversation in low tones. "Evening, Mr. Dahlin" he said.

"What's seems to be the problem, officer?"  Asked Mr. D apprehensively.  This had already upset the officer of the law - Abandoning young children is the problem he thought... What kind of parents would do such a thing...dropping them off one by one at the most desolate locations on the planet?

Not giving his cards away, he calmly replied. "Uh, Mr. Dahlin, is this your family traveling with you?"

"Why, yes it is your honor...officer!"

The officer looked into the window and tried to count the number quickly... He counted 11.  But was informed that the number was between 15 and 17...  Mr. Dahlin was obviously lying.

"Mr. Dahlin, um...it would be safe to say that all of your children are all here, correct?" The trap was set!

Mr. D gripped the back of the seat, showing the tense white knuckles, to let the boys know what was at stake... (the threat of "THE HAND")."Um...boys is everyone here?" he turned and hollered rhetorically over his shoulder.

"Yes, dad... we're all here" came a tentative reply from the back seat.
"Why, yes officer, we're all here!" Dad said nervously.

The officer's blood boiled and his heart was still racing from the pumping adrenaline of his high-speed pursuit.  "Mr. Dahlin"  He said, raising his voice, exposing the anger he has been suppressing. Syllable by sharp syllable, the officer continued louder, "Mr. Dahlin, are all of your kids in the car with you?"

"Is everybody back there?" Dad asked, squeezing the seat so hard, with his threatening fingers, that he almost poked holes in the upholstery .

The boys did a fake head count - making sure to count some of the sticky bodies twice... "Yes Dad, we're all here..."

Even before dad could repeat the answer, the officer yelled, "MR. DAHLIN, DO. YOU. HAVE. A. SON. NAMED. MARK?"

Flustered, Dad turned and ask the mob in the backseat, "Do I have a son named Mark?" This was not the right thing to do at that moment.

Now, sure that this was a conspiracy being covered up by the entire clan, the officer grabbed his billy-club and asked Mr D. to step out of the car. As dad slowly grabbed the door handle...Karl in back yelled up front "Uh, dad...I think we might have left Mark back at Salton Sea."

"YOU! THINK!" Screamed the officer, spraying spit on everyone one in the front of the car... not once, but twice, "YOU THINK!" He yelled, showering everyone and everything within a ten foot radius.

I have to break before continuing with a bit of commentary. Obviously, those in front thought I was in the back and those in back thought that I was up front  - strategically placed by Wolf Pack for THE HAND!

Okay, this makes sense (I mean, after all, the mother and step-father of Jesus did the same thing leaving Him behind so I guess this is a natural mistake that can happen to the best of us. Just ask my daughter about the hockey rink incident of 2001).

Anyway, this wasn't rocket science! Think about it...
               1) An officer pulls you over and he knows you by name.
               2) He asks if your entire family is in the car with you.
               3) He asks you to take a head count to see if anyone is missing.
               4) He asks if you have a son named Mark.
               5) He asks if your son Mark is in the car.

Okay, so you thought he was secretly hiding away in the trailer with Mrs D and the overflow, but come on, by number 2, any normal person probably should have had a clue!  (The operative word in that last sentence was "normal" but then again any normal person doesn't take 62 people to Salton sea - illegally hiding half in that abominable thing we called a trailer.)

Normal or Not...the next thing my dad said was not the thing you say to an irate officer of the law.  Mind you, my dad was both frugal and practical. In his mind he figured:

         1) Why would a intelligent highway patrol officer go through all this trouble of chasing him down and  not bring the kid!
         2) Had he brought the kid - this whole mess would have been over and done with.
         3) What was easier, more practical and economical?
         4) Now Mr. D would have to spend all of this time unhooking the trailer, leaving it in Indio, making a    recon run all the back to Salton Sea and then back again.
      5) Think of the time...think of the money...(in his mind he was thinking "What's wrong with this police officer?")

Computing and thinking and weighing in on all the consequences is the reason my dad blurted out the way he did...  Dad said, "You mean, he's back at Salton Sea?"

Nostrils flared.. sucking in a gallon of air before responding... "Yes he is Mr. Dahlin!" said the officer with pursed lips and tight neck... doing all he could to hold himself back from choking the ring leader of this child abandonment campaign.

MR. D, "DO YOU MEAN I HAVE TO GO BACK AND GET HIM?" This made perfect sense to everyone in the car, but only served to infuriated the officer to the degree that it took great restraint not to pull out his billy club and clobber my father...
Hitting the dirt with his billy-club, the officer called for backup so they might restrain him from wielding his wooden baton  instrument on the top of a certain man's head.

Back at the diner, I had no idea what became of the the highway patrol's efforts to catch my family. I had to wait and see if I was to be an indentured servant, end up in an orphanage, or if my dad and the Wolf Pack would return for me.

In my pathetic Zombie-like state I stared at my little cheeseburger...my blessing - manna from heaven and gulped...and tried, but still could not swallow even a sesame seed. (insert cheeseburger song here). 

It was late - nearly the middle of the night and I had been holding on to my Popsicle stick as though it represented holding onto my family... hoping against hope!

Then the door at the far end of diner burst open with dad and a small reconnaissance crew. People in the restaurant cheered. My dad and the four older brothers took one look at me and ran in my direction.

This is the point in the story where everything goes into slow motion... (If I had a background track for this part of the story, it would be the Chariots of Fire music where all of those guys are running on the beach in slow motion)...

Hum if you know what I'm talking about...  "du, du, du, du, du, du....du, du, du, du, du"
Pushing dad aside, the brothers ran towards me with outstretched arms... I was loved and I was missed. (more of the sound track)... they wanted me! I had not been erased. Slow motion they ran...it was all about me! I was loved!

I smiled and set my Popsicle stick on the table... my chest stopped heaving and my throat cleared enough for me to take a bite of that beautiful cheeseburger. I had earned it, and now it was time.

With their arms outreached and happy faces, they ran to me as I stood up on the seat of that blue vinyl seat and opened my arms to receive their smothering hugs.

In slow motion, the boys raced each other and dived on the table fighting for my cheeseburger.

They wolfed it down along with the fries and watery malt...  (I found a fry that had fallen onto the seat and ate it)... and my angel had disappeared.

One of the men in the restaurant said, "If it was me, and I was their father, I would have left all of them here to die a slow death"

There is no place like home! I made it back to Venice and we lived happily ever after?!?

Until a week later, when I joined the cunning Wolf Pack in a game of hide-N-seek!

A Tribute to the Late and Great Mrs. D. and all women.

Mrs D. we called her as kids...sometimes Joan! She was funny, crazy, sincere, smart, religious, (my Sixth Grade Teacher - that's for another day) but for now, mom (as I learned to call her as God changed my heart to love her) HAPPY MOTHER"S DAY.

This Mother's Day tribute might go out to all moms, and to all those women who wanted to be moms, and last but not least to all those women -  that had moms (I think that covers all of you ladies).

My mom – gave me a rich heritage of faith – modeled by the fact that she was always in church… (could you blame her –  the poor thing. With all of us kids - she had to be).

My mom was a generous person… always giving her money away without any questions asked.

My mother taught me the meaning of contradiction. She would say to us… “If you fall down off that roof and kill yourself – I break your neck..  or IRONY, "Keep on laughing, and I’ll give you something to cry about."

She taught me how to hang in there 

My mom unconditionally reached out to strangers – 1) She told every bank teller and every grocery store clerk all her stories. 2) She took every stray kid in off the streets.

My mom demonstrated what it meant to be a servant. She was always rushing to rescue us whenever we had a bad battery, out of gas, a leg broken or one that was nearly severed off (that was me) or whenever we dropped our keys in the bottom of the lake a hundred miles away or needed help typing term papers (or for the older boy - needed help writing a term paper).

My mother taught me about science and health and English!

For Genetics she said,  “If you keep making that face it’ll stick like that." 

For Health she would say,  “If you don’t eat your vegetables you won’t grow up." Or "If you eat them, it'll put hair on your chest."  (I guess I never ate my vegetables).

For English she'd say, "A turkey in the oven in done, you on the other hand are finished." 

She was brilliant. She could watch I Love Lucky on TV… be on the phone and carry on a conversation with Ida Nargie across the street, have the newspaper open reading an article and at same time should could be typing one of the boys term-papers on a typewriter without making a single mistake. 

She taught me how to be independent. 

She taught me how to achieve my Black Belt. When she locked herself in her room and wouldn't come out... I had to learn to defend myself against my 42 older brothers... exaggeration.  

I guess there is a lot I could be mad about but instead I made a conscious mental decision to let go of the childhood junk – that we as adults hold on to as baggage.  

Good, bad, or ugly… at some point my attitude towards her has to do with the inner working of my heart.  

THANKFULNESS AND FORGIVENESS are great healers.  

No matter how bad it may have been for you - look at this this way - you’re alive – a mother brought you into this world – even if you were given up for adoption... she loved you enough to have you… even if that is the only one thing you have to be thankful for – rehearse it and thank the Good Lord for it!

You woke up this morning” (in other words – I’m alive I have something to be thankful for).

For all those women who dreamed of being mothers, but couldn't have children... who never got married... know that you are not second class women -  YOU ARE LOVED.

To the women who have had an abortion - Know that your child is in heaven and that you are forgiven. 

Women today, I celebrate you.  KERRY I LOVE YOU.  Kiera, (my daughter and future mother of my grandkids), I'm proud of you.

For now I'm done... Oops ...I mean "I'm finished!"