MAYDAY! MAYDAY! MAYDAY!

 You are the Captain of an aircraft carrier. You have 4800 sailors who are your crew, your men, your charges, for whose lives YOU are responsible.

Your ship  is taking on water. You are sinking.

 You send up a signal flare asking any vessels nearby to come to rescue your men. All the vessels are WAY TOO FAR away, and no one can reach your carrier in time. What do you do?

 WHAT DO YOU DO?  Do you wait for those too-far-away rescue boats ?

OR,  

do you take any necessary action in order to save those sailors’ lives?

Coronavirus is very much like any other lethal thing that would creep onto the carrier; seep into every crevice and KILL EVERYONE ON BOARD. Tell me, is there ANY action that is improper if taken in order to save the lives of 4800 American fathers, sons and husbands who have put their lives on the line every day to serve their country, their fellow citizens, you --and your family?

As a family member of those sailors, would you want the captain to hesitate? Would you want him to wait while his letters and mayday calls to the Navy Secretary make their way up the chain of command?

There are times to wait,  and times to act. When even one sailor’s life in in danger—and that life can be saved by your action or lost by your hesitation—a moral person, a responsible person, a compassionate brave leader will ACT.

There are times when you cannot wait.  When lives are at stake, you cannot wait!

Captain Brett Crozier wrote an impassioned plea to leadership to get his men off that ship! One hundred sailors were infected. The other 4,700  would surely have become infected; and, the longer it took to get them off the ship, the more lives would be lost. That  is not a theoretical: that is a medical scientific FACT.

Think of it as a fire. Or carbon monoxide. A lethal thing that will spread, like a fire ,and KILL.

Would you really wait longer than necessary? When you ask for help for your crew and it when it doesn’t come IMMEDIATELY, what would you do?

When my daughter was two years old, she began to choke on a prune. Would you call 911 and wait for them to come? Or would you do as I did : snatch her up immediately and do the Heimlich maneuver?

When my other daughter became limp and her eyes slowly closed as dehydration strained her body, would you call 911 and wait for them to arrive—or would you do as I did—stimulate her briskly prepared to do CPR and then when she revived call for medical help, take her to the ER, to her doctor for further treatment?

Don’t misunderstand me: calling 911 is an important thing to do. But if you called 911 and they put you on hold, would you just STAY on hold? Or would you take whatever action you believed would save a life?

Captain Crozier dialed 911, so to speak. The Navy Secretary put him on hold while the Secretary tried to figure out what to do.

Can you think how Captain Crozier would have been treated if he had waited on hold and allowed 4,800 young men to die?  How was he treated, by the way? He was fired and relieved of his command.

The sailors on the aircraft carrier know their captain acted to save their lives.  How do they feel?

Watch the video of Captain Crozier marching off his ship after he had been fired. They cheered!

They clapped. They chanted his name. They were showing their thanks. Those sailors’ families thank Captain Crozier as well.

Saving a single life is heroic. Saving 4,800 lives? Isn’t that even more heroic?

I have no doubt that under a future presidential administration Captain Crozier will be awarded the medal he justly deserves for having saved nearly 5000 American sailors’ lives.  As they ask on the TV show of the same name, what would you do?

RETRIBUTION

BLOG POST         RETRIBUTION

When the Secretary of the Navy starts out by saying “ This is not about retribution,” you can be SURE that is EXACTLY what it is about : retribution.

The captain has the responsibility to lead the sailors under his command; but he is also responsible for each man’s life and for making the choices that protect his sailors’ lives. That is a grave and serious responsibility.

When the ACTING Secretary of the Navy FAILED to respond to the immediate and deadly threat of coronavirus ravaging the sailors on his ship, the captain HAD TO ACT. If your chain of command does not respond, you have to become a whistleblower.

And, you see, what he revealed to the press got action: those sailors are now being taken off the ship. Their  captain saved their LIVES.

He may have saved the entire crew. When you have a “break the glass moment”, you must exercise courage-- and BREAK THE DAMN GLASS!

I had a situation like this when I was a third-year medical student working in the ER.  I encountered a patient, an elderly African American man, who was complaining of the worst abdominal pain of his life. He was sweating,  and short of breath. He was obviously in distress and he was frightened.

I cut to the chase . I quickly did an essential examination of him while I was taking his history, listening to his story. On physical examination, I found a huge, tense, pulsating mass in his belly.

Initially he had palpable pulses in his feet; but within a few minutes  on checking again, those pulses had disappeared. The diagnosis? Dissecting Aortic Aneurysm.

This was an extreme emergency. Without immediate lifesaving surgery, he would die within minutes. Period.

Like the captain of that ship, I had choices. The usual procedure for a third-year student on a medical service who encountered a patient with a surgical problem would be to do the following:

Medical student on a medicine service consult your counterpart, the medical student on the surgery service. After that student had responded to your call, arrived at the ER,  examined the patient himself/herself, hopefully agreed with your diagnosis, he or she would then consult the intern.

The intern would arrive, listen to the presentation , do his own exam, and then he would consult the resident. The resident would do the same. 

Then he would call the  who would call the chief resident.  You see what kind of time would have been involved in following the usual protocol of consultation for surgery.

The other choice --the one that I took --was to cut to the chase, cut out all the middlemen. I called the chief resident of surgery, Robert Sally M.D.—an unheard-of thing for a third-year student to do.

 I told him I had a patient with a dissecting aneurysm who was rapidly decompensating—getting worse as the dissection, which was happening in real time, continued to progress.

He came at once, but with the idea that he was going to tear me a new one for daring to violate chain of command , or rules of consultation. But instead, he found exactly what I told him was the case. He agreed with my diagnosis.

Bob Sally, Chief Resident himself raced my patient on a stretcher to the OR, where he would begin the live-saving emergency operation, with everything happening at once.  The nurse anesthetist would proceed with intubation and induction of anesthesia, while the scrub nurse prepped the patient’s chest and belly  with betadine.

The circulating nurse would be opening and setting out the surgical instruments. Another nurse would be starting an IV, while drawing blood for type and cross match, while someone else ran to the Blood Bank for O negative blood for initial transfusion.  There is more that would be taking place SIMULTANEOUSLY,  but you get the idea.

My decision to call the Chief Resident directly and immediately saved my patient’s life.   

My judgement that the life of the man was vastly more important that the chewing out  and reprimand I was risking for violating procedure and protocol. I did not hesitate.

The Captain of the ship did exactly the same thing. He took immediate action to save the lives of his crew. 

He reached out to the ACTING Secretary of the Navy who hesitated. There is not time to hesitate when there is a gun pointed at your head. You have to ACT.

Covid 19 is highly contagious. It is transmissible for perhaps two weeks when carriers are asymptomatic.

It spreads in close quarters. You don’t get any closer quarters than on an aircraft carrier, three men to a bunk wall,  inches apart, using all the same facilities, breathing the same air, coughing, sneezing, wiping  their hands; touching their eyes and faces…there could not be a more hospitable environment for the virus.

 There could not be a more dangerous environment for our  courageous young sailors who took oaths to defend this nation with their lives. If combat were threatening their lives, that would be one thing.

But as the captain said, to leave them on the battlefield completely defenseless against an unseen enemy even more deadly that bullets? That would be unconscionable.

To leave them on that ship, while Command took their own sweet time to try to figure out what to do, that would be comparable to the Captain taking a gun and shooting each sailor in the head.  The captain did the right thing. 

He did the only thing left to him to do, when following protocol got no response.  He acted to save the lives of his sailors. I am sure he would do it again.

The fact that he has been relieved of his command for saving his sailors’ lives and saving his ship is despicable-- and,  yes, it is definitely retribution.

Keep Montclaire Way Open: The Struggle Continues...

ADDRESS TO THE MOBILE CITY COUNCIL and to Mayor Sandy Stimpson

Delivered at the Mobile City Council Meeting held January 27, 2015

To Mrs. Gregory, President, Mr. Richardson, Vice-President,   City Council Members and to His Honor, Mayor Stimpson, 

Good Morning.  I would like to thank City Council for allowing my neighbors and me to address the Council.  We are here to present to the Mobile City Council and to Mayor Stimpson our   petition from the Airmont Montcliff Neighbor’s Committee to Keep Montclaire Way Open.

When you watch the film Selma, I would like you to pay particular attention to the scene in which the marchers are being given bag lunches.  The march began in Selma with 300 people and grew to thousands over the 5 days. Those American citizens who were marching ten miles each day were hot and tired --but they were not hungry.

My mother used to say “An army marches on its stomach.”  The marchers ate two HOT meals every day, and they were given a bag lunch:  a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, a carton of milk and a piece of fruit.

At 2:30 in the morning for those five days Mrs. Bernice Morton, rose while it was still dark and led her crew of church women to prepare two  hot meals  which were sent by truck to the marchers on Highway 80, between Selma and Montgomery.

For her contribution to the Civil Rights Movement, my mother Mrs. Bernice Morton was recognized by the Southern Christian Leadership Conference with the Drum Major for Justice Award on April 4, 1989.  She was seated on the stage in Atlanta next to Attorney Morris Dees of the Southern Poverty Law Center.  He is the attorney who successfully sued the Ku Klux Klan on behalf of the mother of Michael Donald, the last African American man lynched in Mobile, Alabama.

I was not on the Edmund Pettus Bridge on Bloody Sunday, but one of my school mates was: Myra Dawson suffered a broken leg after being trampled by the Sheriff’s horses.  She was 11.  

I remember how it felt to grow up in a city divided—sometimes divided by heritage …and sometimes divided by walls and gates-- but by an 8- foot wooden privacy fences … down the middle of a residential street?

One day my husband just decided to turn onto Airmont Drive and look for houses for sale in the neighborhood.  We were living at the time on Michigan Ave and we wanted to live in a neighborhood where our children could ride their bicycles safely.

We bought our home at 757 Airmont Drive in 1996.  We chose that house in that neighborhood because it had beautiful tree lined streets; homes manicured lawns, free from crime:  a very safe neighborhood.

We raised our three young Huntes who are now adults in the Airmont Montcliff neighborhood. They all graduated from Davidson High School, and they were able to bike, and jog on Montclaire Way.   I taught two of them how to drive on Montclaire, Montcliff Drive, and they were able to practice turning right at the Airmont sign at the Azalea Road entrance to our neighborhood.

When our new grandson Owen visits us here, I want him to be able to walk and ride his bike on Montclaire and Montcliff Drives in the neighborhood where his father grew up. Of course for a while we will be pushing his stroller as he was born Thanksgiving week of 2014.

We are fighting this fight to maintain the integrity of our neighborhood as it existed when we bought our home, and by Alabama law we are entitled to that neighborhood integrity.  We want the neighborhood children to continue to enjoy the safety of our neighborhood streets--just as ours did.  We want the Fonde Elementary School children to travel the safe streets of our neighborhood as they walk to and from school each day.

Walking from Azalea Road via Cottage Hill Road at Airmont Drive can be very dangerous. In fact even driving at this intersection is dangerous—can even be fatal.

 Mayor Stimpson,  you should encourage  everyone  to drive on Airmont Drive and Montclaire Way because they would see an example of what a neighborhood should look like.  We appreciate our neighbors for doing their parts, to keep our neighborhood attractive and safe… and Mr. Mayor...If you have never driven though Airmont/Montcliff... you should.  It is a part of your city --the city of Mobile --of which you could be most proud.

We members of the Airmont Montcliff Neighbors' Committee to Keep Montclaire Way Open (ANC KMO) would never think of trying to prevent anyone from driving on any of the streets of our neighborhood.  Regarding Airmont Drive itself, ours is the only house on Airmont Drive-- this lovely little one-block long street that serves as one of two entrances to the Airmont Montcliff Neighborhood.  My husband and I are the only ones who actually live on Airmont Drive.

Let me close by saying to the Mobile City Council and to Mayor Sandy Stimpson:

I join with all my neighbors who have come here today to bring one clear loud voice of reason and concern before this body in opposition to closing Montclaire Way.  It is absolutely not in the public interest to close Montclaire Way. In fact it is against the law in Alabama to deprive property owners of reasonable access to their homes.  It is against the law in Alabama to vacate—that is give away to private citizens the public streets of Mobile—unless every abutting property owner agrees.  It is the law in Alabama that a person who buys property that had a designed street plan when they buy the property, that person has the right under Alabama law to have that street plan maintained in its integrity as it was when he purchased the property.

We bought our home with two entrances to our neighborhood: Airmont at Cottage Hill Road and Montcliff Drive at Azalea Road. Alabama law says—upheld by the Alabama Supreme Court—that we are entitled to have those access roads to our property maintained as they were in place when we purchased our home.  This is the right of every property owner – the other 80 (eighty) families who live in Airmont Montcliff neighborhood.

It is only in the interest of a select few affluent people who seek to separate and segregate two abutting neighborhoods that have been and are contiguous.  You cannot drive on Montclaire Way and decide that homes west of 3900 Montclaire Way are somehow substantially different than homes east of 3900 Montclaire Way.

Those 26 homeowners who live on Montcliff Drive and Montclaire Way west of 3900 Montclaire Way want to separate divide a street Montclaire Way in half!  They want to divide by an 8- foot wooden privacy fence--the type relegated to back yards--one half of Montclaire Way from the other, with the dividing line being Airmont Drive where it abuts Montclaire Way at 3900 Montclaire Way.

The claim of the 26 -- the members of the Airmont Homeowners Association (AHOA) is that dividing Montclaire Way will "cut down on traffic, crimes of opportunity" committed implicitly by the "non-resident motorists" who drive the public streets Airmont Drive, Montclaire Way and Montcliff Drives.

First, Airmont Montcliff is one of the most crime free neighborhoods in Mobile—and not just in Mobile, but anywhere! There were in 2013 exactly two (2) crimes reported to the police from the 26 homes covered by the AHOA: one burglary and one theft of property.

There were 39 service calls to the police from the same homes for 2013. Service calls to the police are not reported as crimes unless there are actually crimes committed which are then investigated by the police who produce a report, called by the MPD a Crimes Reported Report.

The service call data which is what AHOA presented to the City Council as evidence of all the "increased crime" that vacating Montclaire Way would allegedly solve-- that report showed 39 calls to MPD. But what were the calls for?  Forty percent (40%) of those calls were for burglar alarms going off for no apparent reason: no crime, no crime reported.  Two calls were for hang ups to 911.

NONE of them--none of the 39 service calls were for actual crimes, though one call was for domestic violence-- but because of the nature of that offense the details are not made a part of the publicly reported data provided to ANC KMO by Mobile Police Department (MPD).

It is extremely unlikely that some neighbor driving through the neighborhood is responsible for that service call for domestic violence. Possible-- but not very likely, is it?

The other allegation of AHOA is that there is "cut through traffic" on Montclaire Way and Montcliff Drive. I am unaware of any definition of "cut through traffic" that pertains to driving on residential streets in a neighborhood made up of public streets.

If a person traveling west on Cottage Hill Road turns right onto Airmont Drive and then turns left onto Montclaire Way, how does anyone know where that person is going, why they are going there...and whose business is it anyway?

The driver could be a resident of Montclaire way or Montcliff Drives. They could be a visitor to a resident. They could be a service worker, a care-taker, and employee of a resident. Or they could be driving around looking for homes for sale: there are 3 homes on the market on those two streets. They could be driving to Azalea Road to reach a traffic light to be able to travel on safely.

Who knows?   Whose business is it?

Do the 26 have any right to know which Mobile Citizens travel on Montclaire Way and Montcliff Drives and for what purposes?  Clearly given the paucity of crimes-- two in 2013- they drivers are NOT IN FACT “casing homes to result in crimes of opportunity”  as alleged by AHOA: police Reported Crimes Report of the MPD does not bear that out. There is no crime wave on Montclaire Way and Montcliff Drives. Period.

So now, if there is no crime wave and no evidence that any one driving on those two streets are committing any crimes, what other reasons could there be for AHOA objecting to anyone driving on those two streets?  There is the allegation that the increased traffic-- which is not borne out by the facts--is leading to increased traffic accidents on Montclaire Way and Montcliff Drive. Where is the evidence for that?

There is an extremely dangerous intersection abutting our neighborhood and that is the intersection of Cottage Hill Road at Airmont Drive. There have been two fatal car crashes that I personally know of-- one in which my husband and I rendered first aid to the crash victims on October 26, 2008.

Two cars carrying multiple passengers collided head on.   A toddler was ejected from the vehicle traveling east on Cottage Hill Road: the child expired.

The proposed closure of Montclaire Way would not in any way address that dangerous intersection-- unless it would make it even more dangerous.  For the 80 families who live east of Airmont at Montclaire Way to be deprived of use of Azalea Road via Montclaire Way, would mean they would be using Airmont at Cottage Hill Road to exit our neighborhood. That would INCREASE the congestion at that already busy intersection.

The proposed, planned, and voted on closure of Montclaire Way would have consequences for pedestrians too. First, the 8-foot wooden privacy fence to be erected in the middle of Montclaire Way at Airmont Drive would prevent pedestrians from walking from Montclaire Way, Sherringham Drive, and Airmont Drives from our homes to the Azalea Road entrance of our neighborhood.

 My husband and I walk for fitness and from our home to Azalea Road sign that reads Airmont and back is one mile. Many other neighbors walk for health, or walk their dogs, or push their kids in strollers or jog that route. These three streets very safe residential streets on which to walk.

Why? No traffic. Seeing one car is typical, seeing two cars is unusual-- if one saw three cars on a stroll along those two streets there must be a parade.

The children who attend Fonde Elementary School and live on Sherringham Drive, Montclaire Way, Marcus, Markham, and other streets east of Airmont Drive at Montclaire Way walk to school on these two streets: Montclaire Way and Montcliff Drive. They access Azalea Road and walk the half a block to the light at Cottage Hill and Azalea where the school crossing guard sees them safely across Azalea Road.

If the voted on closure of Montclaire Way occurs those children 5th grade and under would not be able to walk the safe residential streets with minimal vehicular traffic of Montclaire Way and Montcliff Drive. No, they would be forced to instead travel the one block from Azalea at Cottage Hill Road down the narrow uneven sloping shoulder of Cottage Hill Road from Azalea Road to Airmont Drive, where they would have to navigate that deadly intersection in order to reach Montclaire Way east of the planned closure at Airmont Drive in order to continue to walk home.

Would you want your 5th grade or younger child to walk even the one block along Cottage Hill Road? Would you want any child to walk along a major thoroughfare where cars legally travel at 40 miles an hour? Would you yourself want to walk an uneven sloping narrow shoulder inches from cars traveling at a high rate of speed?

To force elementary school children off safe residential streets with virtually no traffic onto the shoulder of a major east west "highway"-- could there be any good reason for such an action? Could that possibly be in the public interest in any way?

Would you want that for your children?   Or for that matter should that be the case for any child in Mobile?

Members of the Mobile City Council, you should not allow it. Your morality and good common sense and governance demands better for our city.

Thank you.

(Editor's note:  This address was delivered by Janice Morton-Hunte, M.D., on behalf of herself, her husband and the members of ANC KMO to the Mobile City Council and Mayor Sandy Stimpson January 27, 2015. Remarks edited and amplified here. Address to the City Council meeting was limited to five minutes.--Janice Morton-Hunte, M.D.)

Editor’s note: From Wikipedia:  Michael Donald (July 24, 1961 – March 21, 1981) was a young African American man who was murdered by two Ku Klux Klan members in Mobile, Alabama, in 1981. The murder is sometimes referred to as the last recorded lynching in the United States.^[1

^{Editor's Note:  KeepMobileOpen.Com is the Facebook Page of the Airmont Montcliff Neighbors' Committee to Keep Montclaire Way Open. Please visit our page, like us and follow us.}  

FIRST DAY OF SCHOOL, PART II

As we drove off campus, leaving our first-born daughter to "fly" on her own, a new chapter opened on the home front. The Scripture verse, "The last shall be first," springs to mind. 

The youngest daughter for the first time in her life-- for more than a few days anyway--had the parents all to herself. Oh, she relished this new position.

It was discussed even as we drove away. “I have you all to myself. I'm going to love this, I think," I remember hearing her say. 

It was her senior year of high school. We were all aware -- two of us more than the third-- that this was a year-- a whole year--but only one.  We would make the most of it.

Not that I believed we had neglected our third born-- certainly not!   As the youngest she had always enjoyed a certain amount of deference. Ask our son: many evenings as he endeavored rather patiently to share something of his day, he endured and indulged the youngest-- putting in her "two cents"-- no matter it was not yet her turn.

But in this the glorious senior year, she was an only child. She sat at the head of the table in our dining room, parents on either side. That way she could see us both and "hold court" as it were. She had a captive audience night after night and no one with whom to share the "microphone."

We got to listen-- not that it was a chore, not at all. We knew she would be in a new position at school as well, having had her sister with her in high school every day the preceding two years, she now drove to school alone, drove home alone, and did not have her sister or her usual group of friends to chat with at lunch.

Nearly all of her close friends had been seniors, who were now freshmen in college. It seemed not only did her sister "go off to college and leave her behind," she “took all her best friends away, too."

So, how to manage this year of transition?  She told me at some point: “I knew I would miss her, miss them. So I filled my schedule with lots of demanding things, so I would be too busy to miss them...much." 

President of the National Honor Society;  Executive President of the Student Council;  female lead of the high school production of  "Disney's High School Musical";   First Chair clarinet in the symphonic band;  Section Leader in the Marching Band--there is more, but  you get the idea. (I am not revealing secrets. I am sure if you Google her, this is researchable information.)

These are just examples of how she filled her life and her schedule. Managing missing loved ones has-- or can have --productive advantages, as well as building character.

During her senior year we watched as a family the shows she wanted to watch. “Gilmore Girls” was still in production and when the weekly shows would air, the three of us sat on the sofa to watch, with her in the middle.

I got the opportunity to see through her eyes and her character favorites how she saw herself.  It was a good thing.  She had been a little more inscrutable than the other two. I welcomed this insight into her self image and her thought process.

That was the first year I ever watched all the broadcast NFL games. Sunday, Monday and Thursday nights we watched football.

Let me say, basketball had been my favorite spectator sport from high school. In college, the games were for socializing with friends. It was great when we won—awful when we lost, but I did not really understand the game, could not follow the plays and honestly—I did not care that much.

But that year, she predicted early in the season who would win—the Indianapolis Colts. She had her favorite quarterback and this was her team. I never even asked her why she favored them, but we as a little family followed them that year.

I learned more about football and actually developed a love of the game—which completely surprised me. She had been right: the Colts won the Super Bowl.  We having followed their whole season felt like participants in their victory. It is rather nice isn’t it, to be right? She thought so.

All the activities meant that the time seemed to streak by. All of a sudden, it was graduation time. The summer sped by even faster as she worked two summer jobs. Then, it was time (I now know) for the last back-to-school shopping trips of my career.

Having done this a few times, she knew the drill. She always knew her own mind anyway—her way of doing things, her organization method. She had thought these things through.

The drive to college—same college as her sister, though decided independent of that—was a mere ninety minutes. Normally, that allowed time for some conversation. I don’t recall what it was about, only that there was less talk and it was over too soon.

Up the stairs, carrying loads neatly divided in clear plastic containers, categorized by location for use. This time having learned from the others, clothes came on hangers and went straight into the closet. This time we already had the cleaning products and supplies and the risers for the bed—no need for side trips to obtain these.

She had everything she needed.  All was in order-- in place, in no time, it seemed.  I am sure this was the quickest unpack-the-car-organize-the-room transition we had accomplished. 

Then, it was time to go.  After lingering embraces and waves, we drove away and she went off to meet new friends of her own.

So, having done this twice before, was it still heart-wrenching and filled with mixed emotions? Absolutely.

On the one hand, we had had the best year of our three lives. We had spent a lot of time: talking, being team members and audience members and occasionally comforters—but always supporters.

On the other hand, this was the culmination of twenty-three years of investing one’s life into the projects of one’s dreams—times three—and the work was all done. Having put in all the ingredients, in the right amounts, in the right order, and according to best values and standards and directions, it was time to put the cake in the oven…and wait for the results.  There was literally nothing else to do.

So we took a deep breath, drove away with only a few tears-- and went on a Caribbean vacation. 

FIRST DAY OF SCHOOL

FIRST DAY OF SCHOOL

The discussion on Morning Joe drew me in this morning. I was writing and drinking coffee, half listening when I heard Joe lamenting about the anguish of dropping kids off at school. At least that was what I assumed the conversation to be about. As is my wont, I muttered my disagreement. " For heaven's sake Joe, where are you dropping them off, federal prison?"

Then, I heard the rest of the story. Chris Matthews spoke of how he felt when he dropped his youngest off...at college. My eyes filled with tears.

I can remember the first day at college for each of our three millenials.  Thinking of those first days fills me with nostalgia, and brimming eyes, warm feelings as well as pride and great joy: truly a mixture of emotions.

With our firstborn, a son, I had two opportunities “to practice” letting go before college drop off day. One chance came during a  month- long summer opera camp on a college campus 170 miles from home. The other practice “test” occurred the following summer when he attended a marine science camp an hour away from home. Our daughters say that the month of the marine camp, every time I walked past his room, I cried. It's probably quite true. 

When he went to college,  he filled his Mitsubishi with lots of his "stuff"; we filled our SUV with even more. They had us park it seemed a block away and did they have carts to help carry all the stuff? I don't remember that. There were many trips to the cars and a walk up to the second floor.

It was a very nice new building, a learning community where faculty lived in the same building with the students. They had seminar classes in the building where they lived and if the students chose to, they could  attend wearing their  pajamas!

He allowed me to set up his bed-- I wanted to do that. He and his dad set up the wire shelving which held his computer, printer, monitor, sound system, TV, phone.

( I'm pretty sure this was before everyone had cell phones.)

Then, he was ready for us to leave...and after tearful goodbyes and one more hug...a couple of times,  his father  led me by the hand to our car and we drove away. I was leaving my heart behind.

You might think that you get better at this. I did not.

Our first born daughter, adventurer that she is, did not opt for "normal" freshman orientation. No;  she chose the week of camping and bonding with faculty and other freshmen for a week called Eagle Adventure.

Not having been an outdoor girl myself, I was skeptical to say the least, but I kept my doubts to myself. They were, after all,  my doubts-- no reason to share them with our determined and fearless explorer. 

We arrived at dorm check-in at the appointed time. The camper adventurers arrived 2 hours later...covered with mud and sweat and smelling not so great.

We got the opportunity to wait, as they ate pizza and were debriefed about their reactions and impressions, what they had learned about themselves through this experience.

Filled with nervous energy and unable to do nothing, I made her bed, set up her sleeping space and we all unloaded her stuff into her room. It was all set up, perhaps not exactly to her liking, but she was spared the third floor walk up with each load.

When she finally detached from them and arrived at her new room, her face shone – despite the dust and sweat-- with exhilaration and exultation. Victorious, she was ready to conquer,  and she did -- the rest of her college career.

She was immediately ready to send us on our way, so she could shower change and get on with college freshman life. I tried not to take it personally-- I know it was not, personal, I mean -- and I had gotten to experience that sense of " mission accomplished dismissal" before... many times.

When I dropped them off at ...sleep away camp, birthday sleep-overs, choir trips, and with our first born... even at Montessori school!  

We had gone to inquire about his attending a particular Montessori school; we never even got to audition a second selection.   He loved it on visiting day.

He was forlorn at the prospect of leaving when the brief visit was over. He was unwilling to wait till the fall. He began attending the very next day. And, when I dropped him off-- no teary good bye from him, no sir!

It was, "Bye mom. See you later. And, he was off!

Next time: Part II

POST HIGH SCHOOL ADULTS: WHOSE EDUCATION IS IT ANYWAY?

Parents mortgaging their homes—borrowing from their own retirement accounts to pay for the post high school education expenses for the post high school adults that they raised?  Preposterous!

As a generation, we Baby Boomers we have different expectations and experiences than do many young post high school adults today. Some joined the military to fight for our country and you can believe that facing battle, seeing your friends killed, and having to kill our enemies, these young men and women grew up in a hurry. Some boomers got married right out of high school and had adult responsibilities at age 18. 

They did not ask their parents for mortgage money or college education money. Do you know how they paid for college? THEY WORKED! They themselves worked --to pay for their own educations!

 Paying your own way is one opportunity to make wise choices. It is absolutely a sign of, a prerogative of, privilege of and a RESPONSIBILITY OF a post high school adult.

Ever take a five-year-old to a store? They want everything that they see.

Ever take them with their own money, say from a cash birthday gift?

 All of a sudden—they are interested in details, weighing the appeal of this toy vs. that one. In other words, they are prepared to make carefully thought out decisions that they weigh very carefully… when it is their money!

So it can be and should be with post high school adults. If a college education is what they want – it is THEIR responsibility to pay for it. 
When they have that responsibility they, like the 5-year-old with his birthday money, are going to check things out-- very carefully.  How much do they really need that new apartment/car/stereo/outfit-- if they have to work to pay for it themselves? 

If you parents are writing the check, whatever they want at that moment is a vital necessity:  it is essential. If they are writing their own check, maybe the item can wait.

Post High School Adults—that really needs to be the new phrase  to put the right “em-PHA-sis  the right sy-LAB-able”—as the Austin Powers’ character said in that zany movie with Gwyneth Paltrow as a flight attendant.  We as a society have lost our minds and our perspectives in some areas, and this is absolutely one of those. We have begun to prolong “adolescence” to the point that we may need to send along diapers in the college back pack-- that we pack for them!

Where to begin? You begin wherever you are.

If they are entering high school that is a very good time to have a sit-down face-to-face heart-to-heart talk.

“Listen, Michael or Michelle, mom and dad need to tell you something very important and very serious.

In four years you will graduate  from high school and you will be an adult. You will need to make important decisions that will affect you for the rest of your life.

“In fact the first day you set foot in a high school class room are already making life- altering decisions.  What are you in a high school class room for, anyway?

“It is my strong suggestion, son/daughter that you are there to prepare yourself for the work you will do for the next forty years. You are there to make the first decision for yourself, for your future: will you go to college-- or not?”

Yes, that is still a decision;  and too many people blow right past it --assuming that college is necessarily for everyone—which it is not.

I am not one of these advocates of the so-called self made man who dropped out and founded a Google-like mega company and made more money that Bill Gates has given away to his foundation.  No, depending on your family’s values, some type of post high school education is essential-- unless you plan to work three entry level jobs for the rest of your natural life.

But the question still needs to be raised, so that a conscious thoughtful decision is made regarding how much and what kind of post high school education your son or daughter wants to attain for himself/herself.

Assuming for the moment that Michael or Michelle says, “Yes, mom, dad I want a college education.”

“Well, wonderful”, you can then say. “How do you plan to pay for it?”

“I thought you guys would pay for it—you have money.”

“Yes, we have a little money—that we have worked very hard for, over a long period of time. We scrimped and saved so that we will have a decent retirement. The money that we have for our retirement is ours.

We will need it to pay for long term care insurance, perhaps a nursing home or assisted living should the need arise. We do not have any money laying around to SPARE to give away to anyone…including you dear son or daughter.”

“Mom/Dad what are you saying? I can’t go to college?”

“No, we are not saying that. What we said is that we are not paying for it.”

“I’m just a kid—how can I pay for it?”

Now you are asking the right question. And there are good answers for that.

I will give you the punch line here: our son and daughters, the three young Hunte

who are 20-somethings now have all graduated college with zero college debt.

ZERO COLLEGE DEBT.   If you care to know how that was accomplished, ask. 

THE SCARY TRUTH ABOUT CHURCH AT AGE 5

        Church with Granddaddy Bill was interesting and a little scary. I liked the music and the singing.  I did not mind the preaching.  Reverend Lett would always call me “baby” and “sugar” and I loved him for that.

He would say, “Come on down here, Sugar, and put your money in the collection.”  I would stand erect and march down the red carpeted aisle to the table placed in front of the pulpit-- but on the floor level, not on the stage.

I’d put my dime on the table. I was not the only one to put my money in the collection like that: that was the way it was done. Everyone in the church—so it seemed to me—got up walked down the aisle and put their money on that table:  coins and paper money. (I realize now, that checks were not used and of credit cards were not even thought of!)  Bill and his helpers would count all the money right there in front of everybody.

The organist would be playing a certain style of music during this time. The tempo was upbeat and lively and it lent itself to marching down the aisle. This aisle was actually down—the back of the church was way higher than the floor area in front of the pulpit. Yes, it was the way theaters used to be-- before you had to take stairs to the higher elevations in the rear of the auditorium, as you do now.  The main floor of the church was tilted up in the back, down in the front!

So, I’d walk down a gentle slope to the lower elevation at the front--no stairs needed. Then, after placing my dime on the table I would march past the table, and then and back up the other aisle. It was, I guess, a parade of sorts. At age five, I loved that.

The scary part came when Reverend Lett would preach. What was scary for me came not from him, but from what would happen in the congregation.  He wore gold-rimmed glasses, a very low haircut and he had a disarming smile. He wore three- piece suits, very often white and all his accessories were white also—sometimes even his tie would be white.

He would start out calmly and speaking in a modulated very smooth, very pleasant voice.  As his sermon progressed, though he began to be more forceful with his words, and his gestures.

 As he raised his voice, it seemed his body temperature would go up too.  As he exhorted the flock about something:  he would really start to sweat!  He would periodically take his out handkerchief and sometimes wipe his forehead. Sometimes he would just blot his face.

The thing is this: that church was one of the few places that I went to in those days that was air-conditioned!  There was always a lovely peaceful shady-feeling-coolness about the sanctuary--no matter how bright and sweltering it was outside.

 This may not be so, but it seemed to me this way: as his volume increased, there would erupt punctuations of “amen” and “hallelujah” from the congregation.  All of a sudden, some woman—I never saw a man do this—a woman would start “shouting”-- literally. 

That’s what it was called. She would raise both arms and seem to rise from the pew then fall back.  She’d do that several times—with her arms in the air the whole time, shouting over and over, “Lord have mercy!”

Two of the white-uniformed, white-gloved ushers armed with paper fans would briskly walk over to her and they both kind of took hold of her arms and patted her arms and fanned her furiously till she settled down.

This stuff scared me to death! Just when the first woman was getting quiet again and looking as if she had swooned, another would start shouting in a different section of the congregation!  The whole thing would start all over again.

There were many of those white-uniformed white-gloved members of the usher board.  They would scramble to do their duty:   to attend the shouter.

After a while with this shouting breaking out in different sections of the church, Reverend Lett’s voice will begin to slow, and to soften.

As he wound down, toward the end, he practically spoke in a calm and gentle whisper.  As he did so, he would begin to smile.  He would wipe his forehead once more; and this time he folded and returned his handkerchief to his pants pocket.

The organist would play a soothing quiet melody, and the whole congregation, it seemed to me, let out a deeply satisfying “sigh”.  Then, church was over.