ZamDad's World

All Forums >> [General] >> Blog Towne

Message

zamdad -> ZamDad's World (4/23/2005 1:40:33 PM)
This is the return of ZamDad's world. This blog was launched on CW in August of 2004. I write in a journal at home on a regualr basis. I have a variety of things that happen to me on a daily basis and I thought it might be kind of fun to post some of that stuff on a blog. I will post some old writings from time to time and try to keep it current with thoughts about things I deal with on a daily basis. I work as a probation officer and deal with people and their issues regularly. I find that their are spiritual aspects to may of these interactions. I will try and keep my focus on spiritual matters and keep the focus on Jesus Christ.

zamdad -> RE: ZamDad's World (4/23/2005 1:43:01 PM)
So, where to begin. I use the name ZamDad. It’s a name I came up with when trying to find something for another forum I was on. I picked the name because one of my son’s first words was Zamboni. He ven named a bet fish that his aunt bought him Zamboni. When he as three, I came home from work one day and was greeted by his sad little face saying, "Dad, Zamboni was swimming upside down. Mom flushed him down the toilet." He fell in love with the machine scraping the ice between periods of the UAF Nanook hockey games, and the term took on new meaning in our home. ZamDad seemed to be something catchy for the moment and it has taken on a life of its own. ZamDad lives in the country on a 35-acre hobby farm in the upper Midwest. I’m reluctant to say my real name or what state I live in. Although, I will probably divulge my location in some manner in later postings. I am truly a blessed man. I am married to a wonderful woman and we have three beautiful kids (1 boy, 2 girls). My in laws live right next door and having them here is another one of God’s gifts. We attend a Bible believing church, which is growing from a small country church into a medium sized church. The Lord has placed me in a profession where I get to see him working in the lives of others on a daily basis and see His word come to life around me. When He brought us to the area we live in, he blessed us beyond our wildest dreams. Before leaving Alaska, I dreamed of living in a place with rolling hills and lots of trees. I desired to see oaks and maples and other broad leaf trees. I even dreamed of having a couple of acres so we could have a horse. Not in my wildest dreams did I ever conceive we would have enough room for horses, cows, pigs, sheep, chickens and any other animals that the kids might desire to raise. In addition to having the room to raise animals, the Lord has given us the ability to grow a huge garden. As a life long city slicker, I never want to leave country living. I was not raised in a Christian home. My mother went through a phase when I was nine. She took my sister and I to church every Sunday while my dad remained home to watch football. I remember I was nine because it was late 1972 and the Miami Dolphins were undefeated. Even though I was an L.A. Rams fan, it was exciting to watch the Dolphins win week after week. I had no desire to go to church with my mom, so I protested that I wanted to stay home with dad and watch football. Dad did not put up a fight either way, and mom gave in too. Pretty soon she was no longer attending either. In fact, today, while she supports anything I do (including my decision to be a Christian), she is openly resistant to the gospel. When I was 18 and graduated from high school, I hopped on a Greyhound bus in Fresno, CA and rode for five days to Fairbanks, Alaska. Prior to graduation I was getting pressure from everywhere to make a decision about my future. Go to college, join the military, move to LA, go here, go there, just get out of this po-dunk town. I was in such a drug-induced haze that all I could see was the moment. The only thing I wanted as far as a future was concerned was to be able to stay in that haze. I had a friend who had a relative in Alaska and he was going to fulfill a life long dream. He asked if I wanted to join him. He told me that the drinking age was 19 and that pot was legal. Those words led to a decision, something that the family had been asking me to make. One month out of high school, and I was 3000 miles from home, on my own.

zamdad -> RE: ZamDad's World (4/23/2005 1:44:22 PM)
Growing up I had only known a couple people I identified as Christians. I had an uncle who was on fire for God. He spoke about God all the time. He was always praising God whenever something good happened and always asking what God was trying to teach when something less fortunate happened. The other person was another uncle who married into the family. Both uncles shared the same characteristics. I had other relatives that claimed to be Christian, but aside from going to church, I saw nothing in them that made them distinct from anyone else. Yet, I now know that some of those relatives have a deep faith that they have lived out. Like me, some have had to be taken to the wilderness to learn about their dependence on God. After living in Alaska for about a year, I met a family that attended a church in Fairbanks. One of my roommates was dating their daughter. Pat kept trying to get my roommate and I to attend church with her. The apartment we were living in was being turned into a condo and we received an eviction notice. We found a place through the help of another guy who worked in the same building as us. He told us that he was living in a four-bedroom house and that there were two more rooms to rent. He said that his roommate was 45 years old and was on the North Slope, two weeks on, two weeks off. We went to meet “Bob,” the 45-year-old man who was renting the house. He agreed to rent rooms to us for a reasonable amount and told us that he was married, that he was bisexual, that his wife lived in the North Carolina and that she would be coming to visit in a few months. Because it was the early 80’s, we were young and needing a place to live, his sexual orientation was no problem. I figured, he leaves me alone, I leave him alone. Each two week stint that Bob was home got worse. While we were not innocent young men, none of us had any proclivities toward sexual escapades with the same gender. Bob continued to push the issue of homosexual sex and how I would enjoy it and that it did not mean that I would be gay. As his wife’s visit grew closer, he began telling me that she liked younger men. He then began to show me pictures of her and younger men. He finally told me flat out what he wanted to do to me. I spoke to my roommate and found that he had been getting the same pressure. We both left. My roommate abandoned his lifelong dream and returned to California. I had actually bought a ticket to fly back to California as well. But, Jerry, another friend, spoke to me about staying. He got me to thinking about what I would be doing if I returned. He then took me on a trip to Chitna to go dipnet fishing. Dipnetting is when you take a large fishing net that’s normally used to pull a fish out of the water and into a boat. The net is secured to a long pole and placed in the water while holding the other end. King salmon are swimming upstream and swim into the net. It’s an unbelievable fight to haul in a king salmon when you are fighting both the fish and the current. The dipnetting was fun, but the trip was beautiful. I saw some of the most pristine wilderness. I returned from this fishing trip, exchanged my plane ticket, and decided to stay I went to Pat’s house where she required me to attend church with her if I was going to stay there. I felt the Holy Spirit working on me during the services. I began to study the word. I was making some radical changes. I was trying to get away from the dope smoking and the drinking, yet the pull from the enemy was strong. I had gone for three weeks without smoking any dope and one of the cooks from a restaurant in the building I worked in came up and told me he had scored some really good weed. I said no, but then gave in. We went out to his car and smoked a joint. The paranoia was worse than I had ever experienced. I could hear Satan in my head calling me all kinds of names and telling me what a lousy Christian I was, that Jesus would never want me. We were walking back into the building and I placed a beer bottle onto the sidewalk in front of the building. As we got onto the elevator, two police officers, a male and a female, came running into the building yelling stop! As the elevator door was closing, the male officer’s hand reached through the closing hole and forced the doors to reopen. They both pointed at me and asked me to come outside with them. The paranoia just went into hyper drive. They asked for my ID. They then told me that they had seen me place the beer bottle on the sidewalk and that is why they stopped me. When it was determined that I was of legal drinking age, they told me that they were going to arrest me for littering. They placed handcuffs on me and placed me in the back of the police car. I had never experienced the attacks of paranoia as severe as this before. I could hear the voice again, “Now you’ve done it! You’re going to jail. You loser! Where is your god now, weakling?!” The officers asked me if I had ever been to jail. I told them no. They asked if I wanted to go to jail, or sign a promise to appear in court. “Just get these cuffs off me, I’ll sign anything!” Court was another experience all together. I was not told when I arrived that I was supposed to sign in, so I walked in, sat in the back and waited for the proceedings to get underway. After four hours of watching everyone go before the magistrate and him issue orders, four hours of watching the courtroom empty out until I was the sole person not employed there, I was finally called to the defendant’s chair. “One count of littering, five days in jail and a $100 fine, how do you plead?” bellowed the now fatigued magistrate. “No contest” I replied. “Five days in jail suspended, $100 fine suspended, don’t ever show your face in my courtroom again.” “Yes sir, your honor.” I was out of that courthouse faster than a fleeing convict.

zamdad -> RE: ZamDad's World (4/23/2005 1:45:36 PM)
I continued to attend the church and was slowly growing in a spiritual sense. One of the members of the church worked for a major grocery chain. She was the person in charge of all the hiring. She let me know there was a position open and that I should apply for it. I went in and completed all the testing, was interviewed and got the job. I began working the midnight shift as a night stocker. The crew at this store was great. Most of the guys were about my age. All of them worked hard and partied just hard after the shift. My church attendance slipped because the hours I worked provided a most convenient excuse. Truth be known, it was more fun to hang out with the crew and party than it was to go to church. After missing a month of Sundays, I was no longer making excuses about not attending church. I was simply not going anymore. I was completely immersed back into the drug scene. On the midnight shift, we were high all the time. We punched the clock at 11:30 and headed to our respective aisles to stock shelves. At 2:00 a.m., the crew leader would use the store intercom and call the first break. We would all go into the fan room at the top of the store and smoke a joint, then go back to work. Sometimes we would pack into a vehicle drive the two blocks to a strip joint, slam a couple of shots and a beer and smoke a joint on the way back to the store during the 15 minutes. After three years of this routine, I was given an opportunity to work days. I was asked to run a crew of junior apprentices. It was nice to be recognized for my efforts and I worked hard at getting shelves stocked during the day while using my strength in customer relations at the checkstand. I had recently bought a new truck, had it tricked out, and now had $450 per month payments that cut into my party money. It was the summer of 1985 and I was on top of the world. I was making $18.00 per hour working for the Big Red S. My leadership abilities had been recognized and I was being groomed for greater things. One day in June, I saw a man in a business suit walk into the store. I had never seen him before, but he stood out as being more than just a customer. He had a stern look on his face as he walked past the checkout stands and proceeded up the stairs to the manager’s office. I remember something in my head said that he must be from the district office. About an hour later, the store manager came walking down the stairs sharing the same stern look the man in the suit had walked in with. The store manager walked past the check stands and out the main door without saying a word to anyone. There was an odd tension in the air. No one knew what was going on. The store manager was not there and there was a strange man in his office going through files. In due time, the assistant manager returned to the store completely unaware of anything. He was told by one of the checkers that the manager had left without a word to anyone and that there was a strange man in his office. The assistant manger proceeded up the stairs and did not return for another two and a half hours. When he descended from the stairs, he informed us that the strange man in the manager’s office was from the district office and that the store manager had been fired. The following day a team of people from the district office came into the store and began going through the place with a fine tooth comb. Several other people lost their jobs and others were removed from positions; essentially demoted. I continued to run my crew of junior apprentices. About a week into the district office invasion, I was asked if I would return to the night crew as the head night stocker. It meant I would get another raise and senior journeyman status. I showed no hesitation in responding. Again, my efforts were being rewarded and I was a valuable employee to the company. I ran the night crew until February of 1986. Everything at work was going great. A new manager had been brought into the store and he seemed to like the work I was doing and was satisfied that the crew was performing well. The after work parties continued and the weekend parties were livelier each week. I had a serious girlfriend and had begun talking about marriage. Her mother was trying to convince me to go to college. She kept telling me that there was more to life that the Big Red S and that even if I wanted to remain there, a college education would take me to heights beyond my expectations. I told her that I had vowed that after high school, I was done with institutional life. There was no way I was going to go to college. In January of 1986 I was sitting in the living room of the house I was renting from a co-worker. We were smoking dope and watching a Chris Chase special on CNN. The special was on the growing homeless problem. Chris Chase was commenting on video being shown and saying that most of the homeless were mentally ill and had serious drug problems. I laughed and said, in my best stoner voice, “That’s gonna be me.” God had just used the proverbial 2 X 4 and smacked me upside the head. I suddenly realized that I was not in control of my destiny as I had come to believe and that something had to change or I was going to lose it all and wind up like the people on CNN. After that day, I became disillusioned with life. I no longer enjoyed my job. I had just been elected president of the employees association and the passion I had felt while campaigning was gone. Another realization struck me. If I remained in this job, this was what the rest of my life was going to be like. I was going to be a slave of the Big Red S and despise being there. I would go to work because it paid the bills and then come home and complain about work and everything else in life. The thought of waking up to have to spend eight hours in a place I did not want to be caused me to begin soul searching. In early February of 1986, I walked up to the store manager and told him that I was giving him three weeks notice. I was quitting. I had not planned on quitting when I entered the store at 11:15 the night before. But, by 7:00 a.m., I knew I no longer wanted to do this type of work. When he arrived at 7:00, I told him I was done and that he had three weeks to find a replacement. He asked what was going on. He did not believe me. I told him that I didn't know what was going on, I just knew I had to get out. He encouraged me to take a vacation and that I would be okay after having a few weeks off. I remember telling that if I did not get out now, I would never get out and that I would rather be poor and happy than rich and miserable.

zamdad -> RE: ZamDad's World (4/23/2005 1:46:35 PM)
As I considered the consequence of my decision, I figured I had better begin looking for another line of work. My future mother in law kept hammering on the college issue again. But now that I was not working, how would I afford school? I also had a huge truck payment to contend with. There was no way I was going back to the Big Red S. Another friend got a job at a bar in Salcha, AK. He was working one night a week as a male stripper. He told me that he was making a minimum of $100 per night and that on good nights, he could make $1,000. I had done this once before. When I turned 19 the men and women of the restaurant I worked at took me to another local strip joint for my birthday. As I was finally legal to drink, I could enter the strip club again without having to be snuck in. It just happened to be amateur night. I had enough liquid courage in me that I jumped at the chance to perform. All the dancers from the club lined the meat rack and cheered me on. They stuffed dollar bills into the G-string one of the girls loaned me. I won first prize that night, $100. I also walked away with over $200 in ones, fives, and tens that had been stuffed into the borrowed G-string. This one night a week gig could be kind of fun and help to provide some income to help pay the truck payment. I spoke with my girlfriend and she said she was fine with me doing this. About a month into it, I had only made $300 one particular night when a bachelorette party came in. The other nights were just too slow. I decided to quit one night after I had done a lap dance for a woman. She laid back in the booth she was sitting in and I had gotten into a pushup position. She dug her nails into my back and pulled me down to her and would not let go. I had to wrestle away from her. When I did escape, I had blood running from my back where her nails had dug in. The bouncers intervened and helped me to get away from her and then removed her from the premises. It was an ugly scene. While this type of work was fun, it was empty. I was not getting any real fulfillment. The payments for the truck were now falling behind and I knew that the debt collectors were going to be on my tail. I took the truck back to the dealership, gave them the keys and told them that it was theirs. I walked home and thought long and hard about how things needed to change. I saw my life spinning in the direction of those homeless people on CNN. I was seeing several of my friends lives fall apart before me as their drug use was getting in the way of their responsibilities. Drug treatment. Perhaps I needed to go into treatment. I knew I needed to quit doing dope, but found more reasons not to quit than to actually cease use. When I got home an ad came on for the Army. Be all you can be in the Army. This ad was for the Army reserve, one weekend a month and two weeks a year. That made it sound a little better, it was not a full time commitment. When I left high school and vowed that I was done with institutional life, the military was not even worth consideration. My grandfather is a WWII vet and received his commission while serving. He had been in the last cavalry unit to actually use horses which is where he earned his nickname, Dusty. He tried to entice me to look at the service with his stories of the glory of days gone by. But I had grown up during the Viet Nam era. The images that had been fashioned in my mind where not glamorous. I had a disdain for the military and all their regimentation. I wanted to be an individual. I did not want to act and look like everyone else. The military seemed so stupid where people gave up every sense of themselves and followed orders blindly. But the ad got me thinking that the Army could be my drug rehab. The following day I contacted the local recruiter. He came to my house and explained to me that if I was interested in the reserves, I had two options locally, engineers or paramedics. We spoke about drug use and he told me that if I had anything in my system that I had to get it out before I could get in. It was late March 1986 when I finally felt that my system would be clean of THC. I was flown to the MEPPS Station in Anchorage and did the physical. I did a UA, did a whole bunch of other testing, and flew back to Fairbanks. While I was waiting for the recruiter to call with my results, I was wrestling with the decision of paramedics or engineers. I am not a mechanical type of person and was not fond of doing anything that was going to require me to make something or put things together. The medic field sounded glamorous, but could I handle the sight of blood and guts? My decision was made for me one night as I was driving home on the Steese Highway in Fairbanks. I came upon a scene in which two men were laying in the middle of the road, in the center of a bridge. One man had one leg twisted in five different directions and had multiple other indescribable injuries. The other man had a pool of blood coming from his head. Another motorist stopped at the same time. He was an EMT and had a radio. He called for help and took over the scene. I stood there, frozen, not knowing where to begin. The sight of the contorted leg and the blood running from the man’s head were too much to bear. Right then I knew I was going to become going to be an engineer.

zamdad -> RE: ZamDad's World (4/23/2005 1:47:19 PM)
Within a few days the recruiter called and said that I was good to go. I had passed all my tests and the UA was clean. He asked when I wanted to ship out to boot camp and what field I wanted to choose. I told him about the accident and said that I wanted to be an engineer and that I wanted to leave as soon as I possibly could. On April 2, 1986 I departed the Fairbanks International Airport for St. Louis, Missouri where I would then head to Ft. Leonard Wood, Missouri. It was –2 in Fairbanks when I departed and 95 above when I arrived in St. Louis. I felt like I was going to melt. On the flight to St. Louis I read a book called Maggot I had bought at the airport in Fairbanks. It was about Marine Corps boot camp. By the time I finished the book I was scared. What had I done? I must have been crazy to sign up to have people yell and scream at me and make me do all kinds of things I don’t want to do. There were a group of us the Army picked up at the St. Louis airport. They took us to reception station. We were taken into a set of barracks and I was told to grab a bunk and set up there. We would be here until our basic training company was ready for us. I threw my things on the bunk and headed for the restroom. I walked in and there was a trough urinal on the immediate wall as I entered. As I crossed the threshold of the room my heart stopped as I saw there were no dividers on the toilets where I would have to sit. I knew I was not going to have any privacy in boot camp, but I suppose I was clinging to the hope that I would be able to get away from everyone during one of those sacred moments. One week at reception station and the cattle car came to pick us up. Sergeant Coyne was the drill instructor. He was nice. He joked with us to us all the way to our company area. He explained to us that once we arrived at the company area, some other drill instructors would be there and would be yelling at us. And, he said, “No mater what you do when you step off my cattle car, don’t step on the grass.” He continued to cut up with us and put us at ease. Then the cattle car came to a stop and the door flew open. Sgt Coyne transformed before my eyes and began demanding the we get off his cattle car. I was in the middle and I could hear all kinds of yelling and screaming. I got to the door and was cognizant of the warning not to step on the grass. I glanced over my duffle bag at the ground and all I could see was grass. The sidewalk was another 20 feet ahead. I leaped from the cattle car and began a dead heat for the sidewalk. I was met by a little black man with a brown round hat. His eyeballs were pooping out of his little head and his mouth was bright pink as I stared down the back of his throat while he screamed at me for being on his grass. He told me to drop. I was down before he finished the word drop. I pushed until I could not push myself up anymore. I think I did five pushups and I heard him yell to roll over. I rolled over hoping that I was going to roll off his grass. I looked up and saw that this little black man also had bulging biceps protruding from his rolled up sleeves. I had to get off his grass quick. He yelled at me to get up and get off his grass. I rolled back over, grabbed my duffle bag and hurried off that grass. Once I was off the grass, I was lost. I had no other direction and I was in hostile territory. I saw a bunch of the other guys lining up in front of their dropped duffle bags further down the sidewalk, in front of a big brick building. The drill sergeants in their brown rounds were there and yelling at the top of their voices with arms flailing wildly. I got to the rest of the group and dropped my bag when I was greeted by Sgt. Pollock. He was already yelling when he arrived and he stopped directly in front of me. His chest was nearly against my nose. All I could see among the camouflage was U.S. Army and Pollock. He bent down, got eyeball to eyeball with me and stepped back. He then stood up and began yelling again. I didn’t hear a word of it. All I saw was muscle underneath that camouflage. I heard someone say drop and I hit the ground and began pushing up again. When I got up, Sgt Jones was standing in my face. He seemed much calmer. He asked if I was okay. I told him I was tired. He made a mockery of my being tired. He yelled at the other drill sergeants to hear what I had to say. Then another drill sergeant came forth and got into my face. Sgt Bute, (pronounced Butay) had the wildest set of eyes I had ever seen. He seemed to take great pleasure in the fact that I said I was tired and then he had me down on my back flutter kicking. Sgt Forsyth came to my rescue (briefly). He was my platoon sergeant and he had to get his troops together. After we had been taken to our barracks, received our assigned bunks and lockers, we had gear to be issued. We ran form one location to the next. We ran to the back of a truck and jumped in. I was one of the last ones in. Sgt. Forsyth looked up ant me and asked if I was all right. I told him yes. He said, “Why are you so pale private?” I told him, I’m from Alaska, Sergeant!” The rest of us boot camp was not as bad as that first day or as bad as I had imagined after reading Maggot. In fact, when it was all said and done, it was kind of fun. I had learned things about myself that I had never dreamed possible. I had a new respect for my individuality. I was not just another number as I had always perceived the military to be. I had put on 25 pounds of muscle and now had discipline that I had never known. I was drug free and had some goals set to begin a new life. When I learned that the reserves were not full time and that there were college benefits, I decided to take my girlfriends mothers advice. I enrolled in college for the fall. This would allow me time to finish boot camp and AIT and then return to attend the University of Alaska Fairbanks. I came out of boot camp a new person. I went and looked up some of the old friends. All they wanted to do, however, was get me high. I told them that I was done with that and that I had better things to concentrate on. I was going to immerse myself in school and build some type of future for myself. They all told me to have fun and they would be waiting when I came back.

zamdad -> RE: ZamDad's World (4/23/2005 1:48:15 PM)
When I arrived on campus I found ROTC. In basic training, the officers were built up to be so important that they were another class of people all together and we were not worthy. I entered ROTC so as to keep me in focus and disciplined. As I learned about the officer corps, I found that they were no different than the enlisted men. I began to get in to the ROTC program and saw that I had a future with the Army. Being a freshman in college with some military experience, I got to begin at the sophomore level as an MS-II. Our school had two slots reserved for jump school at Ft. Benning, GA. I was told that these slots would go to upper classmen only, the MS III and IV students. PT tests were given and none of the upper classmen passed. I was then given an opportunity and passed along with another freshman. Lieutenant Colonel Hite called me into his office and told me that he hated to have to tell me this, but that because I had admitted cocaine use on my entrance papers, not only could I not go to jump school, I was kicked out of ROTC. The Army could not afford to risk investing in someone who had dabbled in cocaine use as an officer. LT. Col. Hite tried to soften the shock by telling me how he regretted the decision and that I was one of the best cadets he had and that as long as I kept my head about me, I was going to be successful in whatever venture I chose. That afternoon I returned to my dorm room and poured out my grief to some friends. It seemed that word spread rapidly and I had friends coming by offering consolation. Most of them brought beer. By supper time I was already buzzed, but still feeling down. Another friend told me that he had something that would take the edge off. He said he had some really good weed. I told him no, but then said, “what the heck, what do I have to lose?” I got high with him that night. It felt so good. It had taken away the pain of a shattered dream and brought me back to old comforts. But, I vowed, this was a one time deal. I had beaten dope and was not going to allow it to bring me back down. The next day, another friend came to my room. He said he had some weed and that I should smoke some with him. The third day, another friend arrived with weed. The fourth and fifth days friends arrived with weed. My resistance had been weakened after that first night and it became easier to say yes each time. On the sixth day, the weed did not knock on my door. I found myself knocking on doors looking for it. I went to the rooms of the friends who had shown up during that week. None would sell to me. They all told me that I was not the dope smoking type and that I should clear away from getting too involved. I returned to town and looked up some of my old friends. I could almost see the “I told you so” look as I returned looking for dope. In their eyes, I was back. The semester was about over and I was feeling like a failure. I had attended one year of college and was riding a rocket aimed at a successful new life. In an instant, it had been shattered and I had failed again by returning to the grips of the demon who had controlled me before. With the semester coming to a close and my feeling of failure, I did not want to return to the old friends who would be celebrating my downfall by having endless parties. I called my mother in California and asked if I could stay there for a while and work for my step dad’s landscaping business. As the semester came to a close, I found three other guys who were going to be driving down to the states. John was from Florida and was returning home. Malcolm and Steve were from Washington State. John had a pickup truck and was going to be driving the brothers, Malcolm and Steve back to Washington. He agreed to take me along and to drive down to California before turning east toward Florida. We figured out the arrangements for sitting in the truck by making a bed under the tarp in the bed of the pickup truck. It was placed directly behind the cab and was just right for laying down and sleeping. We agreed that we would all take turns driving. Malcolm drove for all of about 20 miles. John stopped him and told him that he was not going to drive, ever. Steve had no desire to drive. It worked perfectly as John and I switched between driving and laying in the back. Three days on the road and we arrived at U.S. Customs. I happened to be sleeping in the back when we arrived. I awoke to the tarp being pulled off the truck and a customs agent over my head telling me to get up. Luckily, we were not searched for drugs as the customs agents could have torn our carefully packed load apart for us to repack. Thankfully, none of us had any dope anyhow. Malcolm and Steve were dropped off later that same day and John and I headed for California. John spent a week at my mom’s house. He also worked for my step dad for a few days to make some extra cash for his trip home. I was assigned to a crew of workers employed by my step-dad. My first day with that crew brought me back into the grips of my bondage master when we stopped for lunch. I came out of the restaurant and found the crew leader holding a joint, passing it to the next guy. They all looked at me as I stared back at them. We were feeling each other out as I was trying to decide if I was going to fall back into the clutches of the demon of my failures and they were beginning to inquire if the boss’s son was going to be cool. Someone pointed the joint in my direction and said, “Here.” I reached for my master as I willingly accepted my return to bondage. Again I wrestled with my weakness for having given in so easily again. But, as I remained in California, the dope was everywhere. It did the same thing as last time. It knocked on my door every day for a week. On the day that it did not arrive at my location, I went looking for it. One of the accounts my step dad had was a gated community. A place where all the homeowners pay neighborhood association fees to have work done to their homes. We were there to mow lawns and tend to all the landscaping. I observed a young lady sunning herself in the front yards of one of these residences. The third week I was there, I determined that I had to meet her. She was stunningly beautiful, out of my league. I asked her out and she said yes. I picked her up and took her out for dinner. I was hoping to get her out drinking with me and do less than honorable things. During our conversations for the evening, she spoke about church continually. She told me about this single adult group she was involved in and asked me to go with her. I forgot about my dishonorable intentions and determined that I was not going to go out with this religious beauty queen again. I wanted nothing to do with religion or anyone who had anything to do with religion. I was now more convinced than ever that religion was for the weak. It was a crutch for those who could not make their own way. After all, I didn’t need anything to get by on, I could do it on my own. I had proven that I could move away from home after high school and make it in the adult world without having to rely on the parents generosity. Yet, here I was, living off mom and working for her husband. As the summer of 87 was coming to a close, I had no idea what I wanted to do. I could remain in the area and attend Cal State Fresno with mom and continue to work for my step dad. I could go anywhere in the state and find another job. I still had a military obligation and I had walked away from it. I was upset with the Army and had no desire to return. But, if I needed to, I could transfer to a unit in CA. In August we had a family reunion in Canada. I drove up with my sister and her husband. He and I were getting high and drinking on the trip up. He had a rifle in the back of the car that he had not claimed at Canada Customs. My sister feared that I was AWOL and probably had a warrant and was fretting that her husband had not declared the rifle. When we arrived at my grandparent’s place for the reunion, I took a liking to a young lady that was a daughter of an aunt’s friend. She too had dishonorable intentions and our mutual attraction drew us together. She also had an interest in drinking to get drunk, so she and I spent all of our time drinking. She dropped me off at my grandmother’s late one night and my grandmother was still up. I don’t know if she knew I was intoxicated, but she held up my grandfather as an example of man to be emulated. She told me that my dad and my uncle looked as awful as they did because they drank too much and did not do physical work like my grandfather. She never came out and directly told me that she was disappointed, but I could see it. She had been praying for me and it was apparent that God was not answering her prayer. The uncle I mentioned at the beginning of this story was her youngest son. As the family reunion came to a close, I was in a dilemma as to what to do. I did not want to return to California, but I had no means of getting back to Alaska. Another uncle told me that he had always wanted to see Alaska. As I spoke to him about my dilemma, he said that he would drive me there as it was an adventure he had always wanted to take. I had enrolled for the fall semester before leaving Alaska, so I had something to return to. My uncle and I headed north. Three days later we arrived at the U.S. Customs station on the Alaska Highway. Here we were in a car with British Columbia plates, headed into Alaska in late August. The guard asked my uncle who was in the drivers seat, “What’s the purpose of your trip?” My uncle replied, “I just want to see Alaska.” The guard said, “Well, here it is, now go home.” I told the guard that I lived in Fairbanks and showed him my Alaska drivers license. He let us through and we continued on to Fairbanks.

zamdad -> RE: ZamDad's World (4/23/2005 1:49:51 PM)
I returned to Pat’s house, my adopted mom and got ready to begin school. I signed up to be an EONS leader. EONS stood for Early orientation for New Students. It was a good opportunity to do some things around campus and an even better opportunity to meet the incoming freshmen girls. Again I vowed that the dope was going to cease. I had kicked it a couple of times, I could do it again. I would have to be more disciplined. During the EONS festivities, one of the incoming freshman women I met is now my wife. I saw her at the dance and found her to be cute. She tells me that she thought I was cute, but that she feared me. She says she thought I was one of the bad boys. My wife was born and raised in a missionary home in Alaska. She is the youngest of five children and the only one to be born in Alaska. When she graduated from high school, she went to Bible college in Washington D.C. for a year and then returned to Fairbanks where she spent the summer as a nanny for a pair of doctors. She had never been exposed to the things of the world, but yet she was curious about the things in life she was missing out on. While we had seen each other and visually expressed interest in each other several times on campus during the year, we never actually spoke for longer than a few sentences. I was working at the campus pub as a bartender. While I was not smoking dope, I was enjoying the benefits of my free “after shift beer.” The Pub policy was that employees were entitled to one free beer at the end of a shift. Anything else had to be purchased. The staff had a loophole in that the keg was one beer and we could all work on finishing off the keg. My grades were beginning to slip and I struggled with direction. I was again in a position where something needed to change. On November 21, 1987, I decided that I was going to leave the bar after work. I would drink one beer and leave. I know God had his hand on this night as I stopped at a dance occurring at the upper commons. I had no intention of staying. I figured I would stop and talk with some friends and be on my way home. I saw that girl that I had been interested in standing with a group of girls. I approached and asked her to dance in the middle of a song. We went out and fast danced through the song and the music suddenly switched to a slow song. We embraced each other and made some very small talk about seeing each other around campus. I was getting ready to say something and I looked into her eyes and saw them saying “kiss me.” I kissed her and, as the saying goes, the rest is history. About three nights after the dance of destiny, we had gone to an Alaska Gold Kings hockey game. She asked me if I would go to church with her. As my mouth tried to form the words “No way,” “yes” came rolling off my lips. I went to church with her the following Sunday with my hypocrite radar in alert mode. The sermon hot me where I needed to be struck. But, something about the preachers style had an even greater impact. He spoke about his own weaknesses and related that he was no better than anyone else, that he had the same struggles as me. But he also spoke about what God did for him and that he had a relationship with Christ which gave him the power to overcome his struggles. I was also introduced into a group of college and career singles who did activities together on a regular basis. I did not feel any condemnation from anyone in this group. Many were aware of who I was and some of the things I had done. But they did not care, they seemed genuinely glad to have me along. As I began attending the church, the pastor wanted to speak to me about my relationship with Christ and my relationship with my new girlfriend. I recall telling him that I struggled with the concept of God. I told him that if God were more real, if I could see him or reach out and touch him, I would be more likely to believe. I don’t recall what he told me. I had the sense that he wanted to throw up his hands and give up. But he persevered and continued to disciple me. He helped connect me with other men who also discipled me.

zamdad -> RE: ZamDad's World (4/23/2005 1:50:35 PM)
As I began dating my wife, I continued working in the Pub. I decided that I was going to stop drinking alcohol all together and God gave me the strength to do it. I began to speak to some of my friends about what I was learning about the person of Christ. Some were okay with the discussion, others thought I was going through a phase and that I would snap out of it as soon as I was done with this girl and had moved on to the next. Prior to meeting my wife, I had done my first performance evaluation. My boss had some really good things to say about what I had been doing on the job, but she really hammered me on some points about being irresponsible and not following through. After I began attending church and decided that I was going to give up the alcohol, I sensed that my performance was improving. My supervisor called me in for my second evaluation and told me that she had seen a remarkable difference in my performance and that others had commented to her that I was much more pleasant to work with. She said something to the effect of, whatever your doing, keep it up, it’s a nice change. I walked out of the evaluation with a new awareness that God was beginning to work in my life. My second year at UAF had come to a close and it was time to find work for the summer to make money for the following school year. In mid winter 1988 there was somewhat of a recruiting drive for cannery workers on one of the many plants along the vast Alaska coast. I applied with several of them and figured I would wait to see what happened. Before school let out, I got word by a company based out of Naknek that I was being offered a job. It turned out that a large group of good friends from campus had also been offered jobs from the same company. Most of these friends had been drinking friends from the Pub. I learned that there would be two seasons, a herring season and a salmon season. There was going to be a two-week lapse between seasons and I would be flown back to Fairbanks for that break. School let out in May and one week later a group of us drove to Anchorage to catch our flight to King Salmon and then to Naknek. We arrived at Peterson Point and were greeted by a little Filipino man named Alfred. He drove us to the plant and explained that this was not a canning operation, but a freezing operation. The fish would come in off the boats, come down a conveyer where they would be cleaned. They would continue on a conveyor to be loaded into metal pans which would then be placed into large upright freezers. After being frozen they would be removed from the freezers, broken out of the pans and loaded into boxes, placed on pallets and hauled to another freezer to be stored for shipping. We were then taken to our bunk areas. They were the most dilapidated, falling apart fire traps I had ever laid eyes on. The building literally leaned to the south. I found an open room and the only open mattress in the room had a spring sticking out in the center. The herring season was strong. As soon as the fish rolled in, the slime line began cleaning and the fish were being packed into the freezers and hauled away for transport to foreign ports. I worked for as long as I could stand. Eighteen to twenty hours a day was the norm. On one particular say I worked for 27 hours straight, stopping only to eat. The herring season lasted three weeks and I was ready to go back to Fairbanks and spend time with my future bride. Before school got out, her parents had given me a brand new Bible. They encouraged me to read straight through the four gospels, Matthew, Mark, Luke and John before moving on to anything else. When I was not working, I found myself reading through the gospels. It seemed to help the endless hours go by as it gave me something to focus on aside from the non stop herring. The herring run stopped and clean up began. During clean up, there was not as much work to do and I found myself looking for other things to do to occupy my time. The others returned to partying when things got slow. It seemed that as soon as the work slowed, the camp became full of booze and dope. When I was not working, I was reading my new Bible in my slanted room and on my defunct mattress. Although I didn’t realize it at the time, the Holy Spirit was at work in me. I ventured out of my room in to a war zone as everyone in camp was intoxicated. For the first time in my life, I was not even tempted. I wanted nothing to do with consuming any beer or any other substance in camp. At the same time, I was able to talk and interact with my intoxicated coworkers without any prejudice toward them for their impaired state. For the first time, I sensed real peace. Even though I felt I was in a very hostile environment, I had felt peace I had never known before. As the crew was beginning to pack to head back home for the break, I was approached by one of the crew leaders. He asked if I would be willing to remain during the break and offered me a position as a lead. I was honored to be asked. It would mean a $3.00 per hour raise for the break and for the upcoming salmon season. But I could not wait to get home and see my future bride so I declined the offer. After a couple of weeks in Fairbanks, I returned to Peterson Point for the salmon season. The whole crew arrived ready to spend the long days standing on their feet sliming and packing fish. With eager anticipation, we all stood around waiting for the boats to come in. With no boats coming in, booze filled the camp. The drinking occurred round the clock with much grumbling about no work to keep us occupied. With no work, I began to dig deep into the gospels. I found it helping me deal with the boredom much easier and build my resistance to temptation. It was more than a week before the first boat arrived with salmon. We saw it coming in and those of us who were sober rushed to the plant to begin work. I prayed that a train of others would follow this first boat. We had the first boat unloaded and processed with in a few hours. It was a disappointment. I returned to my bunk and had difficulty picking up my Bible to read. While I read a little, I felt discouraged and walked to the dayroom where the TV was on. Someone offered me a beer. I fought the urge, but was so discouraged by the lack of work that the thought of the taste was good. I cracked open a beer and took a swallow. I had always loved the taste of beer, but this tasted awful. I looked at the can. It was Budweiser, that had to be it, this brand is gross. I drank three beers total and began to feel hungover before I felt drunk. I returned to my bunk for sleep. In the morning another boat arrived and several more followed the first. We finally had work. I was glad to be working and would stay up for twenty plus hours, go back and sleep for a few and get up and return to work. My hands hurt like the dickens from the work, but it was better than being idle. Over the next few weeks, the salmon run was sporadic. We seemed to have more down time than work and the crew seemed to be having a grand time getting wasted. God worked on me from the inside out and I was becoming aware of his presence in my life. I recalled the conversations with the pastor and that I would believe if I could see Him. My eyes had finally been opened and I could see Him through how He was working in me. Early one morning camp management came into the bunk house yelling my name. I came out of my room and was told that there had been some kind of an emergency, please come to the office. The Alaska State Troopers had called and said that someone had been in an accident. I called Fairbanks and spoke to my future bride to see what was the matter. She told me to stay quiet and listen. She had called the troopers and made up a story to get me home. While I was somewhat disappointed that she had told a lie, I was elated to be getting out of the camp early and be on my way home. I was flown back to Fairbanks that afternoon.

zamdad -> RE: ZamDad's World (4/23/2005 1:51:35 PM)
I thought I would share something I wrote a couple of years ago while doing a study in Proverbs: November 11, 2002 Proverbs 22:13The sluggard says, "There is a lion outside!" or, "I will be murdered in the streets!" I know a young man named David. I have known David for nearly two years now. This verse brings David to my minds eye. In fact, just last week I used my study of this verse in my conversation with him. You see, David is a young man who has not had a job in over a year. He has spent several months in jail and has always said that, upon his release, he is going to get a job. He has a nice apartment and his cupboards are always full of food. He has lots of nice (expensive) clothes, he has a large collection of music CD’s, a nice stereo, a nice TV, several boxes full of pornographic magazines. David smokes cigarettes as though he has plenty of money to purchase them. He is able to buy liquor from time to time. I only know this because he is not allowed to possess it and I am his probation officer. David’s mother works in a café in a tiny town. Somehow, on her income she manages to pay her own rent and pay David’s rent as well as buy his groceries and clothe him. She has also paid some of David’s fines and has gathered the money together for David to meet with a psychologist as ordered by the court. David used to have a job as a dish washer in a restaurant in town. He lost that job after being arrested for driving under the influence. Since his release from jail, David has been “waiting” to find employment. At one point he was waiting to get his license back. At another time he was waiting to decide if he was going to make a move to another city and live with a relative. Last week he was waiting to apply for a job I told him about because he wanted to have some blackheads removed from his face. I quoted the verse from Proverbs 22:13 to him and asked him for his impression of the verse. He said the subject was making excuses. In my reading of the verse, it becomes apparent that the controlling emotion is laziness, not fear. Fear is what one would expect if there were a lion in the street. But, the verse says the sluggard, not the coward. The lazy man (sluggard) creates imaginary circumstances to justify not working and shifts the focus from his laziness to the danger of lions or some other perceived monster. David’s latest lion is the blackheads on his face. He says he wants to look presentable to an employer. One can hardly notice the blackheads until David points his finger to a place on his nose. Further probing reveals that his fear is that no one will give him a chance because he has already acquired a reputation in the community as a drug user. He has a list of other fears, rather excuses, that he uses to justify his delay in finding employment. In my study of this verse, John Piper, the author of A Godward Life, says, “One profound Biblical insight we need to embrace is that our heart exploits our mind to justify what the heart wants.” I think this is what is occurring with David. David believes the creation of his mind because his heart desires to stay home and have his mother continue to pay his rent. His heart desires to continue with his lifestyle of drinking and drugging despite the words he tells me that he is changed person. Piper goes on to say, “Deception can cross from moral depravity to mental derangement-from deceiving others to deceiving ourselves.” I have to wonder if this is not the case for David. He has spent so much energy trying to deceive others that he is only deceiving himself. Proverbs 26:16 says “The sluggard is wiser in his own eyes than seven men who can give a discreet answer.” Piper asks, does laziness make people haughty? He answers his own question that it makes them resistant to any truth that exposes their laziness. So when I am joined by several others who tell David that his blackheads are not noticeable, or that he does not need a drivers license to work in a small town, or that there is no lion in the street, he must insist that there is some type of lion. If he does not insist that there is some form of lion out there, his laziness is exposed for what it is. Truth is sacrificed on the altar of self justification. As I continue to work with David, I have come to the realization that bringing about change in him is an issue of the heart, not of the mind. His mind is darkened and made futile by the rebellion of his heart. In a system where courts make referrals to psychologists and psychiatrists to work with a person’s mind, how do we foster change when the problem is heart disease? I need the help of the Lord Jesus Christ and the church to let David and others like him see that there is no lion in the street and that they can kick that lion in the teeth if they will only get off their rear ends to enter the battle.

zamdad -> RE: ZamDad's World (4/23/2005 1:52:36 PM)
8-24-04 I was leaving the office yesterday and as I was walking past the front of the jail, I could hear a sound coming through one of the windows. It sounded like a file or a hack saw zipping back and forth. The windows are at ground level on the outside of the building and are covered with a metal louvre so as to block access in or out. I stopped at the window and the sound continued. I half expected to see the object come through the louvre. As I was looking for the object to come through, I was able to see glass on the cement uner the louvre. I returned to the jail control center and told them of my observations. I learned this morning that they found two huge pieces of metal in seperate cells and that two inmates were trying to work their way through windows. It made for an interesting day. I had always thought that hearing the file in a jail only happend in cartoons.

zamdad -> RE: ZamDad's World (4/23/2005 1:53:17 PM)
Back to the story: In the fall of 1988 school resumed and I decided not to return to the Pub. I still needed to have a job on campus, so I applied at the sundry desk at Wood Center, the campus student union. After several months, I was promoted to a supervisory position and was also hired to manage the bowling alley and games area. My relationship with my girlfriend had now taken a more serious turn as we began to talk of marriage. In the summer of 1989 we were married. She got a job as a secretary on campus and I continued my studies and working at the Wood Center and also took on a job at the campus police department. In 1990, recriminalization of marijuana was brought to the ballot. During my earlier years in Alaska, I had been an advocate of personal privacy, believing that no one had a right to tell others what to do in the privacy of their own home. I had come to believe that drug use was a victimless crime. One of the criminal justice professors offered a seminar class on the topic of drugs and the legal/moral aspect of drug use. He required us to present papers supporting our point of view and then open it up for discussion. As I began the class I tried to take the middle ground, ride the fence. During the first discussion I learned that one cannot sit on the fence of divisive issues. When one tries to sit on the fence, you’ll always get knocked onto one side or the other. I took issue with one of the pro legalization members of the class in that, as a former user, not only was I able to see through the haze of his doped up logic, I came to realize that his point of view, much like my own had been, was completely self serving. It was about me, mine, I, no one else, to heck with others, they can do what they want as long as they don’t get between me and my idol. As I took my position, I had a chemical dependency counselor in the class tell me that I was “just maturing out of the drug lifestyle.” While there may have been some truth to what she said, I found her position in favor of legalization troubling considering her career was in treating the chemically dependent. I was left wondering if she was still using or if her motivation was to keep them addicted so that she would have job security. I felt that after having to take a position on this issue, I had finally come to terms with my drug addiction. I had gone from being a lover of pot to a person who now hated the evil weed. In December of 1991 graduation was fast approaching for me. I had three on campus student jobs and my wife was a full time employee of the university. She was also pregnant with our first child. I became scared of having to return to the real world and find a real job. I had nearly five years of college behind me. Because I could go to school for free and had employment on campus, I enrolled for the spring semester and decided that I would walk thorough the graduation ceremonies in May of 1992. However, in December of 1991 I got a call from the Fairbanks Youth Facility. I had applied there after someone from there had been to one of my criminal justice classes and spoken about employment there and given information on how to apply. I was offered a position as a non-perm youth counselor. I would be on call and fill in shifts as needed. As the spring semester progressed, I was getting more calls that I had anticipated from the youth facility. I was spending a lot of time working on the detention unit. In February my son was born. In addition to three part time jobs, school and marriage, I now had to take on the role of daddy. Becoming a dad was the greatest moment ever and provided a new focus on my priorities. Because of the hours I was picking up at the youth facility, I dropped several classes during the semester. In May I walked through the graduation ceremony and terminated my student positions on campus.

zamdad -> RE: ZamDad's World (4/23/2005 1:53:52 PM)
With a brand new degree in criminal justice and only one part time position to provide for a now growing family, the job search was on. I had really enjoyed working for the campus police department and had developed a very strong interest in law enforcement. The Alaska State Troopers were hiring and I picked up an application. I never turned it in, however, because I feared that I would get the same results as ROTC and not make the cut because of past indiscretions. I came across an ad looking for someone to work with youth in the community. I applied for the position and was interviewed by a man who had worked for the youth facility for a long time. I was hired and told that I would be on call, as needed. My first “job” was to be a bodyguard for female staff with a female client, a 16-year-old Eskimo girl who suffered from fetal alcohol syndrome and a host of other disorders. This girl had an apartment in the community which was staffed 24 hours per day with a female employee. They gave her everything. The idea was that it was too expensive to ship her out of state to an institution, therefore, provide her with housing, staff the home, and attempt to teach independent living skills. She had beaten up several of the female staff and they now needed someone to come in and just be there in case she acted up again. With both jobs, I had plenty of opportunity to interact with this girl in both capacities. While in detention I had seen her assault staff, other residents, and destroy things for no apparent reason. On one occasion she had a bowel movement in her cell and wiped the walls with it. One day while working as the bodyguard in the apartment, she seemed particularly agitated. I tried to blend in like a piece of furniture, but my presence seemed to disturb her even more. She began yelling at the female counselor on duty that day. The counselor asked her if she wanted to talk. She said she did, but that she did not want me there. She asked that I step out onto the balcony. The counselor nodded to me that this would be okay. I opened the screen door and stepped out onto the balcony. The girl asked me to close the door. I told her that I would close the screen, but I would not close the sliding glass door. As I began to pull the screen closed, the girl lunged at the counselor. I ran back into the apartment and found the girl pinning the counselor against the wall punching her as the counselor was covering her face. I grabbed the girl and threw her to the floor and began to wrestle with her. I placed her in a hold that would contain her for a time, but with no handcuffs, I had no way to restrain her. I now needed the counselor to call the police. The girl began screaming not to call the police and the counselor put the phone down. The girl said that if we opened the door, she would leave. The counselor opened the door. With the door open and the police not having been called, I told the girl that once I let go of her, she should run and keep on running. She promised that she would. I let go of her and she got up, ran to the door, closed it, and turned on me wanting to fight. She grabbed a picture frame from the wall and threw it at me. As I ducked to avoid getting hit, she stepped into the kitchen. I became concerned as she was in the kitchen because she now had access to knives. She went through the kitchen and began throwing anything that was not secured through the bar opening into the living room. I think she realized that she was not going to be able to hit anyone while throwing from inside the kitchen and she came around into the living room grabbing anything she could get her hands on and throwing them toward me and the counselor. The counselor reached for the phone to begin calling 911. The girl saw the counselor with the phone and seemed to focus on the counselor. As I began weighing my options, with no restraints I was not going to be able to get this girl back on the ground and hold her there for any period of time. It was time to attack. I raised my fist and began to yell and lunge toward the girl. Panic struck her face and she froze. It was as if she could not believe that an adult would dare strike her back. As I got closer she placed her hands over her face. I stopped, keeping my fist raised above my head. There she stood with her hands covering her eyes and I stood with a raised fist ready to strike, both of us frozen for a moment in time. Like a little kid, she then moved her hands just enough to be able to see where the threat had gone. When she saw that I was still poised to strike, she dropped her hands, turned and ran. I followed her out the door and down the hall to the stairs. I remained at the top of the stairs as she exited the building. Following that incident, it seemed that the girl had developed a new respect for me. I still had opportunity to work with her in both capacities. In the youth facility she got froggy with one of the female staff. I was first on scene to assist and as soon as I entered the room, she sat on her bed and became cooperative.

zamdad -> RE: ZamDad's World (4/23/2005 1:54:35 PM)
How my three year old son rehabilitated his first criminal. When my son was three, my wife stopped by the Youth facility one night. She and my son were in the control room visiting with me and another staff member. At 10:00 p.m., the B steppers, the kids who had earned the most privileges, were all going to bed. As the kids went to their rooms, they all said goodnight to the staff on duty. As the last door closed, my son comes running out of the control room, into the dayroom, and yells, “Good night bad kids!” All he knew about daddy’s work was that daddy worked with bad kids who had gotten into trouble with the police. Several years later I ran into one of the girls who had been one of the B steppers that night. She began to tell me about how her life had changed. I was encouraged to hear all the good things she had going on in her life. During the course of her update, she asked me if I knew what caused her to change her ways. She told me that my son coming into the dayroom and yelling “Good night bad kids!” had a profound impact on her. She said that she became troubled by the fact that this little kid saw her as a bad kid and that she did not want to be seen this way by anyone else. Thus, she began to make changes in her life. In nearly 15 years of corrections, it is the moments like that that seem to make the biggest impact.

zamdad -> RE: ZamDad's World (4/23/2005 1:55:16 PM)
In July 1992, after seven months of on call status, I was offered a full time position with the youth facility. I went to work full time on the detention unit. I was told that because my other job would create a conflict of interest, I had to quit the other job working with troubled youth. For the first time since leaving the Big Red S in 1986, I was working one 40 hour job with no other obligations. It about drove me up the wall. I had become so accustomed to school and working several jobs that I had to learn all over again how to relax. I would come home from work and begin looking for something else to occupy my time in addition to my wife and baby. While I was active with our church, I was not as active as I could have been. I did not feel up to leadership in the church. I was still growing spiritually and was not yet ready for solid food. My wife and I became active with YoungLife as leaders. YoungLife was fun. We had opportunity to interact with a lot of great people. Working with the kids was fun, challenging, and exciting. But, I struggled with the fact that I was not living what YoungLife was teaching. I was not in my Bible daily and was not walking in an intimate relationship with Christ. In the summer of 1993 we went to an air show at Gulkana Airport near where my wife grew up. She had gone to grade school with a guy I had gotten to know while in ROTC. Tom had graduated college and gone on active duty with the Army. He had been stationed in Germany for four years and then decided to return home to Alaska and go to work full time for the Alaska Army National Guard. Seeing Tom was good as was hearing some of his stories of Germany. He told me that part of his new duties with the Alaska Guard was recruiting officer candidates. He asked me what ever became of my military career after my unfortunate departure from ROTC. He told me that I could still get back in the military and that he could help me get my commission through OCS. I spoke to my wife about the conversation with Tom. She wanted nothing to do with it. Her dad, who never takes sides with either of us, said that he thought what Tom had said would be a good thing. I heard him give approval whether he meant to or not. Soon thereafter, a recruiter called the house and asked to speak to me. My wife told him I was at work and he called me there. The recruiter said, “I just spoke with your mother and she told me to call you here.” I informed him that he had spoken with my wife, not my mother. He told me he had been called by Tom and that I as interested in reenlisting. I told him that I was interested in getting my commission through OCS. Being a recruiter, he was going to tell me just about anything to get me to sign. I reenlisted back into the Army in 1994. I was not sure how things were going to work out having left the reserves without formally discharging. I learned that my discharge had been honorable and that everything was fine for reenlistment. I was required to reenter at the same rank that I had when I left. Even with a bachelor’s degree, I put the uniform back on wearing my mosquito wings (private stripe). I was 31 years old, married with a child and another on the way, possessed a four year degree, was a professional employed by the State of Alaska and was entering an infantry unit of the Alaska Army National Guard as an E-2 Private. I made up my mind before the first drill that I was going to be the best soldier I could be, no matter what. Being one of the lowest ranking members of the unit, I was to be under the authority of some much younger men with much less life experience and/or maturity and was going to have to do some things that I knew would not be pleasant. I found that I was able to assist my team leaders by obeying their orders and developing a relationship in which mutual trust was built. I had been in the unit less than 11 months and was called into the commanders office to meet with the commander and the First Sergeant. I had been in the commanders office one other time. When I first entered the unit the commander called me in to find out about me and what I aspired to do in his unit. I told him that I wanted to go to OCS and become an officer. He was very gracious, but told me that the probability was not very likely as I was an E-2 private at 31 years of age and that I was not likely to get looked at when the paperwork was submitted. But, he agreed to sign on my application and support me if I was willing to try. The First Sergeant told me that I had been called in because the soldier of the year award was coming up in Anchorage and I was being nominated to represent my company at the battalion level. He said that he did not normally pick someone who had been with the unit for such a short time, but felt that I would be the best candidate to represent the company. I was honored and could not believe that I was getting this opportunity. I traveled to Anchorage in January 1995 with Johnny, the gentleman who had been selected for NCO of the year. Both Johnnie and I won the battalion level contests and were selected to compete at the state level representing our battalion. I was introduced to Sgt. Green, the person who was reviewing the applications for OCS. He said, “So, you’re the private wanting to get into OCS!” He told me that my chances were a statistical impossibility. Over the next several days, however, I got to spend a lot of time with Sgt. Green as I was prepping for the various phases of competition. We had to do a PT test, we were grilled on drill and ceremony, we had to review newspapers and magazines and watch the news to stay up on current events, tested on many tasks in the soldiers manual of common tasks. I did well on all the events, but the one that seemed to have all the contestants wrapped in knots was the board. For the board, the soldier was required to be dressed in their dress green uniform, knock on the door and wait until he/she head the word enter. The soldier was to enter the room, move to the chair in the center of the room, face the president of the board, salute, and state their name, “Private Smith reporting to the board.” Once the board was addressed, the soldier was to sit at the position of attention and wait for questions to be asked of them. All questions were to be answered with, “Sergeant Major, the answer to the question is…” After going through this interview, all job interviews since have been a piece of cake. Not even being grilled by a sharp defense attorney in front of a jury is as harrowing as the board. I was not selected to represent the state, but was selected as the runner up. That meant that if the winner was unable to go to the regional competition, that I would be selected to go to Hawaii. While this never happened, another prayer was answered. In April of 1995 I was informed that I had been selected to attend OCS. After having been told that it was an impossibility, I believe that having the chance to compete at the state level in the soldier of the year competition gave those who made the decisions about officer candidates a chance to evaluate me as a soldier and as a person.

zamdad -> RE: ZamDad's World (4/23/2005 1:56:04 PM)
Friday, September 03, 2004 A Typical Day Arrived at the office this morning to find that one of my sex offenders was in jail for domestic assault. In reading the police report, it was apparent that the woman I knew to be his friend, the woman old enough to be his mother, was actually his girlfriend. I had my day planned so that I was going to interview a woman in the jail so that I could begin preparing a PSI. She has missed court in the past resulting in warrants for her arrest and missed the two appointment I had scheduled for her. She was picked up earlier this week on a warrant and was before the court who directed me to get the PSI interview done “immediately” and make a recommendation as to her release. I got the notice from the court on Tuesday afternoon. I could not fit immediately into my schedule until Friday morning. I also had planned to interview a man who pled guilty to registering as a predatory sex offender. Also in my daytimer was a court hearing at 11:00 for a probation violation on a sex offender who had absconded and been arrested on a warrant. When I arrived at the office and learned about the sex offender who had been arrested for domestic assault, I knew it was going to throw a wrench into my previously planned day. I began to adjust and figured that I would go to the jail, speak to him to get a handle on his version of events and then stay in the jail to interview her. As I was leaving the office with both files, the court called and said they wanted to see the other sex offender at 10:00, not 11:00. Okay, another adjustment, I will see sex offender one until just before 10:00. At 9:50, the jailer announces over the speaker that the court wants me up there, now. I entered the court room and the hearing was already underway. The defendant stated that he wanted to admit the violations and execute his sentence instead of being on probation for an extended period of time. Okay, it’s unfortunate that this guy is not going to get treated, but it gets him off my caseload. I returned to the jail to interview the woman. She pled guilty to a forgery and a shoplifting. Before going to the jail, I called an investigator from a neighboring community as I was told that there are more charges pending for theft related offenses. During the interview I caught the woman in several lies. It’s not uncommon to catch offenders in lies, but this gal was smooth. Instead of tripping on her words upon being caught, she would flow smoothly from one lie into another and make the pieces fit together. I was able to call some of the people she had told me that would verify her stories. While contact with them was established, her stories were not verified. I returned to the jail before the end of the day to tell her that she was not going to be getting out for the next couple of weeks. After lunch I was called up to court on the sex offender arrested for domestic assault. The court asked me to recommend an amount for bail. After bail was announced, the offender indicated that he was not going to be able to post. I returned to the jail to speak to him. He began speaking to me about how he has been struggling with drinking and his relationship with his older girlfriend and his relationship with God. He said that he had been raised in a God fearing home and that he saw how he was beginning to do the same things he saw in his father that he swore he was never going to do. I asked him about his Christian upbringing and how he saw his faith working in his life now. He told me that he had done well for a few months at a time as he would be doing the things he was supposed to be doing, but that for the most part he was not walking with God as he knew he was supposed to be. He then said that he had the head knowledge, but not the heart knowledge. He asked, “How do I make the head knowledge become heart knowledge?” The only response to come to my mouth was to completely surrender. I told him that I have seen too many people say that they are going to live fully for Christ, only to make the statement and then withhold portions of their lives. In essence, “Okay Lord, I will give you 100%, but I want to hang on to this piece, and this piece, and part of this piece. Pretty soon that 100% is down to 98%, then to 90%, and quickly it drops further and further. God wants 100%, no more, no less. I then told him that our mission is to be in the center of God’s will, and that sometimes this is a very uncomfortable place to be.

zamdad -> RE: ZamDad's World (4/23/2005 1:57:07 PM)
Friday, November 29, 2002 Proverbs 26:16 says “The sluggard is wiser in his own eyes than seven men who can give a discreet answer.” I suppose the word “fool” can be used in place of sluggard. In fact, I believe there is a Proverb that speaks of this. In my interactions with correctional offenders I get to see scripture lived out daily. Occasionally something will hit me right between the eyes as I’m sitting across a desk or table from an offender. Recently I was sitting in a group of our sex offender treatment program. Joe was in attendance and as he spoke about his relationship with his new girlfriend, Proverbs 26:16 struck me as I was seeing it acted out before my eyes. I need to give some background about Joe. Joe was entered into sex offender treatment after he was convicted of attempting to fondle a 12 year old girl. Joe was out drinking with a friend and went to a bar in one of the local communities. While at this bar, Joe and his friend met a woman who invited them over to her house to continue the party once the bar closed. Apparently, the party continued into the early hours of the morning and the woman’s 12 year old daughter awoke. Joe claims not to have much memory of the event, but he somehow tried to fondle this young girl. He was grabbed by some other partygoers and taken outside where he was nearly beat up. He was saved by the arrival of the sheriff’s deputy. My first meeting with Joe consisted of an interview where I tried to learn as much about him as I could. He explained how he was hanging out drinking with his friends on a frequent basis and that he felt he needed some purpose and direction in his life. I advised him that it was my opinion that he did need to find some direction in life and begin taking positive steps toward living a pro-social lifestyle. One week after our initial meeting, Joe stopped in the office and said that he had been giving a lot of thought to our conversation. He decided that he did need to make some changes. He said he began attending AA and attending the local Assemblies of God Church. Over the next few months Joe experienced incredible growth. To see the transformation was incredible. I saw Joe weekly in the sex offender treatment program I co-facilitate and made frequent home visits to monitor his progress. In his speech I was able to detect a new vocabulary in that profanity ceased to flow from his mouth. The thoughts he expressed indicated that he was a man who was maturing daily and that his growth was infinite. He spoke about the relationships he was building through his church. People who previously had found it difficult to show acceptance toward him seemed to be welcoming him into their lives and their homes. He was able to share his struggles and how he was learning from them. He spoke openly about he was growing in a relationship with Jesus Christ as his personal savior. He brought his pastor on as his community support person. It was a bright future indeed. In September of this year Joe stopped in my office to introduce me to Lisa, his new girlfriend. I had met Lisa previously. Lisa had been in with her boyfriend, David. David was in my office for a transfer investigation on a domestic assault case from another county. During the office visit, Lisa kept answering David’s questions and finally he balled his fist at her and mumbled some comment. Lisa got upset with him and they began to argue in my office. I ended the interview and told him that I would be sending the transfer request back to the county of origin and that it was highly inappropriate to be making threatening gestures to his girlfriend in front of the probation officer who was possibly going to supervise his case. Joe explained to me that Lisa had just been beaten up by her most recent boyfriend, Randy. Joe explained that they were in the process of getting an order for protection against Randy and that they were speaking to the police about having charges brought against him. Then, they were going to see Lisa’s probation officer. Lisa is on probation for passing bad checks. I asked Joe if Lisa was living with him. He said that they had been dating for about four days and that she was not living with him, there was no hurry to get into anything serious. I then asked Joe if he and Lisa had already been between the sheets. Joe sat there with Lisa on his lap and a blank expression on his face. It was as if I could see the wheels turning in his skull. “How do I explain to my PO who knows me so well that I have been sexual with this girl when I just told him there was no hurry to get serious?” Lisa spoke up for Joe and said that they had been sexual, but it was because she wanted to be and she enjoyed it. I looked at Joe with a strong hint of disappointment. I sensed that Joe received my message as he began to rationalize and justify what he knew to be wrong. Joe moved Lisa into his house within two weeks. During group, I brought the matter up. I asked Joe why he allowed Lisa to move into his house (which he owns) after such a short period of time. I asked if he was aware of her history of bouncing around from one abusive man to another. Joe proudly stated, “I don’t beat women.” I asked questions about other trouble she has had in her life like being on probation for bad checks. Other members of the sex offender group began to ask questions of their own. The answers Joe gave appeared to be perceived by the other offenders sitting around the table as mere excuses. It appeared evident to everyone in the room that Joe’s situation was extremely dangerous. It was evident to everyone but Joe. Finally the questions stopped and the unsolicited advice began to come from each offender at the table. Everyone of the men in the room gave Joe the best piece of wisdom each had to offer at that moment. The consensus was clear: get her out of your house and do it soon. He was further advised that if he wanted to work on building a relationship, move her out and go slow in building that bond. As each person spoke to him the verse came to my mind: “The sluggard is wiser in his own eyes than seven men who can give a discreet answer.” The look on Joe’s face said it all. He had shut off the receiving part of his brain as he had no intention of letting the information entering his ears get to the transmitter that would go to his heart. There were more than seven men giving him the answers to keep him from avoiding certain pitfall. But he was not going to have any of it. He sat there with a defiant look that said he was wiser than anyone of them and that he knew what he was doing and there is no danger ahead. It also became clear to me that he was being blinded by sexual immorality. He now had someone to share a bed with and the loneliness he had known for years of living by himself was now gone. He had sacrificed the relationship he had been building with Christ on the altar of sexual gratification. He has demonstrated when the desire of our hearts is something less than Christ, we become lost fools, isolated, separated from God. The security we place in people and things of this earth are quickly fleeting. When we place our security in people and earthly things, the only thing we find is disappointment. I pray this is a lesson Joe learns sooner rather than later.

zamdad -> RE: ZamDad's World (4/23/2005 1:58:03 PM)
Thursday, July 22, 2004 I’m reading a side note in my Bible, Can We Lose Our Salvation? From Romans 11:21-22. I remember speaking to the pastor of a local church about this the first time I met him. He argued that once saved, always saved. It seemed to be his whole premise. It’s a good topic of discussion, but kind of awkward for a first conversation. I then thought about Larry. Larry is a man I met when I began working for my agency. He shared his life story. He had grown up in hell. When it came to sexual abuse, his family could have been the poster family for child sexual abuse. Eventually, he abused his stepdaughter and his own daughters. Larry had been through all kinds of therapy and was taking an assortment of medications to help him feel better and manage his emotions. He told the story of how his therapist told him one day that he could write another prescription, but until he made up his mind that he wanted something different, nothing was going to change. Larry said he left the therapist’s office extremely angry. He even thought about driving into a tree to end it all. He said that he then pulled over to the side of the road for some reason and began to think about what had been said to him. He decided that the therapist was right. He also said that he prayed and gave his life over to Christ at that moment. He added that he tossed the medicine bottles that he had been prescribed out the window and went home and got rid of the remaining bottles. Over the next several months, Larry’s physical condition began to improve. When I first met him, I described him as looking like Young Frankenstein. His complexion began to change, his hair was kempt, he began to put some effort into the clothes he wore, his attitude was different. He was not as negative as I had experienced him being. He began to see through the cloud of deceit that others put before the group and acknowledged that he had been full of lies in the work he had done prior to his transformation. He began doing his treatment work with new enthusiasm and really digging into things that had happened in his life. He wanted to make amends to people he had really harmed. He began to speak about reunification with his family. As Larry progressed, reunification became his focus. Over time, he spoke less about how God was working in his life and how he could not wait for reunification to occur. While he had gone through change, his family had not. His family learned that it paid to remain in victim status. He was not happy with the reunification. His expectations had not been met. He began to bail his stepdaughter out of the trouble she had gotten herself into with her meth habit. He tried to get his wife to do things for the younger daughters, but the daughters ran the show in her home. As we continued to meet, Larry’s appearance began to resemble Young Frankenstein again. He no longer spoke about God working in his life. He returned to the medication and began missing work. He said he had been injured on the job so that he could keep his job without having to be there. He pushed the issue with his daughters and began to get inappropriate. Eventually, he was returned to prison and executed the remainder of his sentence. Did he lose his salvation? Or, is God taking him back to the wilderness to work on him some more? Romans 11:21-22 For if God did not spare the natural branches, he will not spare you either. 22Consider therefore the kindness and sternness of God: sternness to those who fell, but kindness to you, provided that you continue in his kindness. Otherwise, you also will be cut off. It’s not my place to call whether or not Larry is going to heaven or hell. What this verse seems to be saying is that we can be cut off if we reject Christ. The commentary seemed to infer that there is speculation that some believe you can never lose your salvation and others believe you can. My interpretation of this seems to fall on the side of salvation can be lost. I believe that Larry was genuine in his faith, that he had truly accepted Christ as his Lord and Savior. I have no idea if Larry rejected Christ. It could very well be that Christ is taking him out to the wilderness to work on him further

zamdad -> RE: ZamDad's World (4/23/2005 1:59:06 PM)
I began my blog by trying to put together a story of who I am. To try and give the reader a little better idea of who ZamDad is. I had most of it already written and only had to copy and paste to post. But, this week I think I am going to document some of the events of each day. It was a three-day weekend. I turned off the work cell phone and, thankfully, did not get any calls from the sheriff’s office. I had to be out early this morning for a Bible study being held every other Tuesday morning. As I left the Bible study, I decided to check my voice mail. One of my sex offenders called and said that he and his live in girlfriend had a blowout over the weekend and he was moving out. We, the group that he’s in, the treatment team, and myself, have been encouraging him to get out of this relationship for along time. He has never expressed any intention of staying in the relationship. He has continually said that he is going to get out, but follows up his statement with some excuse as to why he can’t leave her at the moment. In his message he said that they fought about something and that she had met up with another man from the area that I have known professionally as being a drug dealer. He said that she did not come home until early Sunday morning and that she had a hickey on her neck. When I arrived at work, I had a message from her asking me to call ASAP. Before I had a chance to call her, the court called and asked me to come up for a sentencing hearing on an offender. This particular offender was supposed to have sentencing on three misdemeanor files, one for theft and two for driving after revocation. I’ve been supervising this guy for three years and the offenses keep piling up. He’s already been to prison and executed his sentence there. After coming out of prison, he picked up new charges for beating up his girlfriend and kicking out the window of the police car. He was recently convicted of assaulting his daughter. The jail released him to try and avoid paying his medical expenses as he has to be hooked up to a machine three days a week to survive and while he was out, he stole a bottle of booze from the liquor store and was caught driving away. He was releasd again and threatened a woman with a knife. In my PSI, I recommended the maximum penalty for each offense, 90 days, to be served consecutively, one after the other. There was an argument by the attorney’s as to whether or not it is allowable to have him serve his sentences consecutively. His attorney argued that he should be getting jail credit for time served on all three charges. In addition, he is also being held on high bail for threatening the woman with a knife. Upon returning to the office after court, I called the offender who had left the message about leaving his girlfriend. He said he was at her apartment collecting his belongings and that her new boyfriend was there too. She is on probation as well. Her PO heard the conversation and came into my office to see what was going on. The decision was made to go to the apartment and get drug tests on each of them. They were both clean. When I returned to the office there was a message from the man’s previous ex-girlfriend that he is not supposed to have contact with. She said that he called her and said that he wanted her back. These people are in their forties, but they act as if they are still in seventh grade. I was supposed to have court on another sex offender for sentencing. He failed to show up. Now he has a warrant and only seems to want to go to prison instead of working to avoid prison. The day came to a close with an office visit from an offender recently placed back on probation for beating his wife. He is no longer allowed to have contact with her. His two greatest loves are her and his marijuana. I reiterated to him that he can no longer have contact with her and he cannot smoke pot any more. He got a befuddled look on his face as he pondered the fact that both of these things can now send him to prison.

zamdad -> RE: ZamDad's World (4/23/2005 1:59:55 PM)
As I said in the beginning of thsi blog, I have been blessed richly by the Lord. I am still in awe at how God blessed me before moving here. before leaving Alaska, I recall praying that we would be able to find a place in the country with a couple of acres where we could have a horse. He blessed us with 35 acres and a home in the country, 10 miles from the nearest town. It's so peaceful. I stand in awe as I look around the countryside and take in the sounds of the birds, bugs and frogs. Yet, in this peaceful place, there come natural hazards as well. I was enjoying the evening one night this week when I heard one of the dogs barking at something down in the pond. I walked toward the pond and was able to smell skunk. When the dog finally came out of the pond, it was a tomato juice bath. Today we spent most of the day putting up a round pen for the horses. Like I said, God has blessed us greatly. I prayed for room for a horse. He gave us the room for lots of horses. Hoever, He has not blessed me with the financial resources to buy horses. This past year my kids joined 4-H. We came across two horses on a lease through 4-H. it gives us an opportunity to see if horses are something we want to pursue. Building the round pen made for a great family day. It gave each of us a sense of accomplishment. It was also fun to watch the horses as they played today. They were running across the pasture for a while. One of the dogs seems to think that running horses are challenging him to a game of chase. The look on his face is priceless when the horses turn the tables on him and begin chasing him. I also feel blessed in that living so far out of town has made us reprioritize our activities to fit family things. We no longer spend countless hours in the mini van eating fast food getting from one activity to the next. It also causes us to get more creative with our family time as we cannot just run to the video store or the local eatery. I'm a very fortunate man.

zamdad -> RE: ZamDad's World (4/23/2005 2:00:20 PM)
Three weeks ago we had a man show up at our church. Whie I don't know him, I know of of him. I know his circle of associates. I know his former employer. I knew jsut enough about him to know him by reputation, not enough personally ro make any sort of judgment about him. I remember the day he showed up as I was very distracted from the service. I found myself wondering what his motivation was for being there. I began beating myself up mentally for being so judjmental. Perhaps his motives were pure. perhaps he was there to really find Christ. To bring about change in his life. Transformation that only Jesus Christ can bring. I began writing my thoughts during the message instead of listening to the pastor speak. I was able to hear the pastor and was aware of what he was speaking of and hoped that the man was taking in the message. I noticed that he was there with a woman, not the woman I knew him to be living with. Part way through the service, another man showed up and sat with he and the woman. It was apparent during the service that the other man was the partner of the woman. I continued to wonder why he was there, and where was his live in girlfriend? Because of the reputation I knew this man to have, I beat up on myself because I pre-judged his motives. His associates are a group of people who do everything they can to avoid work and find ways to get paid to not work. They rely on charities and government assistance for income and have continual scams going for medical claims. Most of this man's friends are known prescription drug abusers. I found myself thinking that he was only here for a handout. I even wrote down that I feared that he would come for a few weeks and then approach the pastor with a financial need. I also wrote down how I wish that my job did not skew my sense of people so blatantly. Well, three weeks have gone by and other night the pastor called with an opportunity to help a man in need. he began to explain to me that there is a man who has been coming for the past three weeks and gave a physical description. I told the pastor i was aware who the man was. The pastor asked if i was laready aware of the man through my profession. I related the story above to him. We agreed that we would give the man some gas for his car as he was telling the pastor that he wanted to drive to another state to visit his father who recently had a heart attack. The next day, I happened to run into his former employer and learned that he too had given the man money to go visit with his step-father whom he had not seen in over 20 years. I also learned that the man owes money to a local business for bounced checks. Was it my gut that I was feeling? Or, was I being judgmental? I feel like it was my gut. That it was instinct telling me this was going to be the case. I wish I could be there to talk to the man with the pastor when they get a chance to talk.

zamdad -> RE: ZamDad's World (4/23/2005 2:01:28 PM)
I was jsut perusing the news thread in CW. I tend to stay out of this thread and the politics thread. even though I have a lot of interest in both, I have a difficult time keeping up with events. The one tha caught my eye tonight was the thread about a right to jobs. The conversation has been going on for some time, so I decided not to post there. I bring this up because I have been troubled by one of John Kerry's ads. It's an ad that shows people being interviewed about jobs, speaking about how President Bush's plan only provides low paying jobs where ne cannot support a family on such measly wages. While I can't disagree that it's nearly impossible to raise a family on $7.00 or $8.00 per hour, I have trouble with the ad because there is an implication that these Kerry backers are entitled to high paying jobs. What have these people in the commercials done to earn a high paying job? Have they invested in themselves with continuing education? Have they made other personal investments in themselves to make themselves more attractive to an employer who would be willing to pay them more? I have worked in several union shops in my lifetime. I have been helped by the union in times where I got the short end of the stick. I had an assistan manager go after me when I was working in a grocery store. The union stepped in and helped me keep my job. i later worked my way into a management position. The union had nothing to do with me achieving position. While working in a prison the union came to my aid when a shift trade went wrong and resulted in me having trade priveleges suspended for six months. Yet, when I began to be noticed by management for going above and beyond the call of duty by using down time to produce extra features to help save time and money, the union brotherhood came down on me for "brown nosing." My last experience with the union mentality showed me that advancement comes only with seniority. Initiative is a bad thing in a striclty union environment. Employees in the prison seemed to feel that employment was a right. In essence, the probationary period was the only time of personal challenge. Once an employee makes it through the probationary period, they are supposed to tow the union line and not do anything that might call attention to self and possibly gain promotion. If this is the basis of support for Kerry, I can't support him. I don'y like him for a number of reasons. But this ad that he is running has, in my mind, blown any chance he might have had. It seems to me that he and those in the democratic party want a class of dependent people, people who will continually turn to the government to solve their every problem. As I write this, I come to realize that this is what keeps me in business as well.

zamdad -> RE: ZamDad's World (4/23/2005 2:02:05 PM)
Methamphetamine. It's another drug in the drug war, right? As a survivor of the drug culture, I have never seen any substance enslave the user like meth. Even as a former user, I can't understand why anyone would want to put something made with nothing but poison in their system. The only ingrdient that causes a high is ephedrine. the rest of it is made with anhydrous ammonia or red phoshporous and cooked with brake cleaner, gun scrubber, Drano, Coleman fuel, ether, and a host of other chemicals that have a skull and crossbones on their labels. I have seen more people slide into bondage after getting involved in meth use. I write about this today because I arrested one of my clients who was tweaking on this stuff today. Jake was sentenced to prison nearly three years ago to a seven year sentence. He got into a boot camp program to shorten his sentence and seemed to be doing so well. After he was released he got a job and was working hard toward rebuilding his life. His job led him into a higher paying job and he bought a house. It appeared that he had everything going for him again. he got to the point where his supervision level was decreased and he began to enjoy more basic freedom. Then, a month ago, he admitted using one time. Last week, he submitted a dirty UA. I told him that I should arrest him on the spot. Instead, because I was aware of his support group, I laid out several requirements that he was to comply with daily. And, he was to report to me every Monday. Iexpalined to him that any additional use will be a one way ticket back to prison. Yesterday, he faield to report and did not call to exaplain. I sensed there was trouble. Today, I went to his house to pay him a visit. He answered the door and was unable to keep himself still. I asked him if he was tweaking. he said no. I asked why he was unable to stand still. he confessed that he was tweaking. I found two grams of meth in his room, a glass pipe and a loaded syringe. He has not been to sleep for a week. He told me that he's done with the stuff. He can stop right now. It seems to me that this stuff owns him. He has become a slave to the substance and will not stop until it kills him. He wanted me to let him go, of course. I told him that I would rather take him to jail than zip him into a body bag. It seems that if he was really going to stop, he would not have returned to use after coming out of prison. Jake is only one of many I have seen throw it all away to get high on this stuff. I have seen mother's leave their children to chase the drug. I have seen countless people get into rehab only to begin using again after thinking they have it beat. This drug is scary. It's nothing like the other hard drugs we have seen over the past 40 years. Users develop psychosis like symptopms which sometimes act up when their has been no use. Some users become to have a skeleton like appearance as they lose weight from not eating and no sleep. Their teeth rot out from the enamel being worn away by the chemicals and from lack of hygiene. The cost to society is huge as we will have to raise the children of these users and we will have to buid nursing homes to house those whose use does not kill them.

zamdad -> RE: ZamDad's World (4/23/2005 2:02:47 PM)
I’ve been thinking about some dialogue I have engaged in regarding war and whether or not God condones it. It’s in the morality folder of CW. There are two people in particular who are advocating that not only is war not justified, that anyone who fights as a soldier or works in law enforcement is not in fellowship with God. I have trouble with this peaceafism. While Christ taught that we are to turn the other cheek if struck by a brother, I don’t believe that he was speaking to the collective population. I believe this was more of a personal statement directed at each of us individually. We are to get along with everyone as best we can. There are some people that, no matter how hard we try, we are not going to get along. If this is case, so be it and move on. Do not hold ill will toward the other party, give it to God. Being angry or bitter about it hurts no one but ourselves. As I think about this and think about my profession, I work with some of the most unlovable people in my community. I could easily cast them aside and do away with them for as long as the law would allow. If I were to be that way, it would mean that I give up hope. Without hope, we have little else. I think about the oxygen thieves I have met in my time. People I meet that I saw no hope when I first met them. I have watched many of them struggle through major battle in life and come out stronger. Many with a relationship with Jesus Christ. Joe comes to mind, He was born into a family with a mother who is a thief and junkie. His dad was in prison, his older brother was in and out of jail and/or rehab. Joe was in and out jail on a regular basis as well. After his seventh or eighth stint, he sat in on a Bible study and took interest. He came out and said he wanted to be different. He did great for a few months but then picked up a felony. He seemed like he had hit rock bottom. I recommended to the judge that Joe be given another chance. While he still has his battles, he now admits that he has battles and speaks openly about how his Lord and savior is working in his life. I believe we are called to be lights to our communities. We need to live in a manner that Christ is glorified throughout our day. If we take on the form of pacifism being espoused in the posts of the two individuals referred to, we become doormats, not lights. My job is to protect the public from criminals by monitoring the behavior/activities of offenders. To do this, I must confront them when they are acting in a manner that indicates they are in behavior patterns that jeopardize their neighbors. If one of the strikes me, I cannot turn the other cheek if I want to go home and see my family. I must respond and subdue the offender and place them in custody to prevent myself or anyone else from being injured. And, I must continue to work with them. Not because my profession says that’s what I have to do, because God commands it of me. He asks me to stay in the offenders life for as long as judge or the Department of Corrections tells them to. God asks me to point out their sin and take responsibility for it to correct their thinking so that the behavior is not repeated. At the same time, I must also be aware of my own sin so as not to find a splinter in an offenders eye, avoiding a plank in my own eye. It’s about relationship: between me and God and me and my neighbor. If rules without relationship equal rebellion, I can’t enforce rules unless I establish a relationship.

zamdad -> RE: ZamDad's World (4/23/2005 2:03:20 PM)

I saw a brother return to church today. I have not seen him in a while. He has been struggling for quite some time with a meth addiction and with a woman who also happens to be the mother of his child. It was good to see him there, although, I was unable to talk to him today.

He always puts on a smile and says things are going well. He has not let too many people know of the things he is struggling with. To most in the congregation, he is a neat young man with good manners and excellent social skills. He is there to listen when others need an ear and does not hesitiate to offer his assistance when there is a physical need to be met.

I am only aware o