COVID 19 - The Coronavirus: George Floyd

What happened: George Floyd died while being arrested by four police officers in Minneapolis.

I watched parts of the video. I wished it never happened and it was depressing to watch, but I'm glad it was recorded.

I didn't watch the entire death, but I did watch Officer Chavin kneel on his neck.

I heard with my own ears, "I can't move."

I heard "..get up, and get in the car..."

George said, "I will," but the knee never left. I heard another command to get in the car, but the knee never moved.

I wrestled. I coach wrestling. I trained BJJ. I don't claim to be the best at any of those things, but they did give me first-hand experience of feeling pressure or my neck.

Spoiler alert: It's unpleasant.

Your carotid arteries are on the sides of your neck. A move that pressures them prevents bloodflow to the brain. There's a huge sense of pressure that builds in your head and consciousness can be lost in seconds.

In training, chokes that target the arteries are considered 'safer' than those that target the airways. There's a window of time from when someone 'goes to sleep' from a blood choke that if the hold is removed they reboot without lasting effect.

Officer Chavin's knee didn't press down on both arteries, but it was there for minutes not seconds.

It wasn't removed when George Floyd stopped moving, either.

A high-school wrestling match with double overtime is 8 minutes and 30 seconds. It feels like a small lifetime on the mat.

I did not count the seconds myself, but an article I read said "I used the times noted in the coroner’s report: five minutes and 53 seconds of kneeling before officers declared that Floyd was unresponsive, followed by two minutes and 53 seconds of continued pressure. That totals just less than nine minutes."

George Floyd was murdered.

I have been in adrenaline moments. They make seconds feel like minutes.

I have restrained a student with two other adults to break up a fight. I've restrained students solo. The students were never handcuffed and the restraints felt like they lasted forever, but usually lasted under a minute to get control of the situation.

To hold position with a knee on the neck for that long to someone who was on the ground, handcuffed, and begging that they couldn't breathe and saying they would comply is murder.

I'm no lawyer, but I feel murder charges are appropriate.

My heart goes out to the 17 year old girl on the scene who recorded George die, but I'm glad she was there. There is an abundance of video that cannot be ignored.

I read the initial call for police was because George used a counterfeit $20 to pay for cigarettes.

The officers said that George was resisting arrest, so I watched 5 minutes of footage from a store camera before George was put into the police cruiser. One officer led him away from his car with his hands cuffed behind his back. If he was resisting, I didn't see it. There was a small pouch George dropped while he against the street wall, but he moved when he was told to move and the biggest question moment I had was when he was pushed into the cop car and seemed to fall out the other.

I saw nothing that justified being murdered in the streets.

Was it okay that the store owner reported a counterfeit $20? Sure.

Is a counterfeit $20 a good reason to pull someone out of their car and handcuff them? I don't think so.

But what if he had some sort of drugs on him? Drug possession is not a death sentence much less an instant death sentence.

What if he was high? I don't care if he was drunk or high. Four officers don't need to abuse someone handcuffed.

What if it was a heart attack and not the police? I saw this theory posted on some YouTube comments. Two coroner's reports have been released with some conflicting information. I don't think someone kneeling on your neck would help someone having a heart attack.

Whatever qualifiers a naysayer comes up with: George Floyd died.

Was it racial? I think so.

It may be hard to prove in some people's eyes, but the responses to each step escalated far faster than they should have and led to tragic results.

Even if it wasn't, it's still murder by those who are supposed to serve and protect.

Police are human. They make mistakes.

However, I think it's fair to hold them to a higher standard, because of the authority they are given.

The actions of the officers in question came at a time when the nation was already stressed to the brink. They provided a spark and a conflagration has followed.

I saw video of a man turn a bow and arrow on a crowd of protesters. The crowd reacted and flipped his car. It exploded.

If I hadn't seen the video myself I would have doubted the story.

Protests have kicked off around the nation. There are looters and criminals who try to use the protests for their own advantage. There are touching stories of police who had sided with protesters and there are stories of police who have attacked protesters. There are stories of police being attacked and the president has threatened to use military troops on US soil.

These are challenging times.

My prayer is that God uses these times to refine us through the challenges to have hearts that love and to redress wrongs that have long gone unsolved.

Very Random: Animals of Rank

It started with Sgt. Reckless.

Reckless was a horse promoted to the rank of Sergeant in the Marines for her actions in the Korean War. It was not an honorary promotion either (like Sgt. Stubby from WW1); it was a legal one.

There is a statue of her at Quantico. If traffic is ever bad enough on 95 and we're riding through, I'd love to stop and take a peek.

I sent my friend, John, the link for the article and he replied back, "Wasn't there a dog who was a general?"

It's amazing what you can find on the internet.

Nils Olav is the Colonel-in-Chief of the Norwegian Royal Guard and knights. He's also a king penguin (in Scotland, nonetheless). John insisted that he should have a cameo in the Penguins of Madagascar movie or series. 

William "Billy" Windsor retired as a salaried lance corporal in the Royal Welsh infantry battalion. He got daily rations of Guinness and cigarettes. There was one mar on his career when he was demoted for trying to headbutt his brother in arms nether regions in a parade.

There was a horse that was a Roman senator, a cigarette chewing bear that fought the Nazis, an elephant that had to be the oldest surviving non-human animal WW2 Veteran (He passed away at 86 years old), and many many other stories. (The elephant is the first animal on the link).

Today, all military service dogs in the US are NCOs and outrank their handles. 

It's fun to learn random things. If I can somehow tie this in to a math activity or to get my student's attention all the better.

A History of Me: Carrie Meets Nana!

History: The Future Wife Meets the Future Mother-In-Law

Disclaimer: The version of this I tell is slightly different than my wife’s.

My mother did not know about Carrie.

I grew up with a certain set of rules. One of them: if Mom knows, everyone knows. Nana thinks and processes by talking. If I didn’t want something talked about then it was best if she did not know.

As a teenager, I decided I didn’t want my mother talking about my love life. I didn’t want motherly advice. I didn’t want motherly commentary. I didn’t want my mother telling anyone about any break-ups I may or may not have had.

That said, the rule didn’t apply very often. I had one girlfriend before I hit twenty and none before college. 

My sisters set me up on a blind date for my high school prom, so I wouldn’t go stag. Then I scraped the side of my parents’ van in a parking garage with my friends watching and my date beside me.

The rule stuck, though. Nana cemented it in my mindset when she asked if I was really interested in girls.* It became a running joke to reply to her questions about my love life with offbeat answers.

“Mike, are there any cute girls in your new classes?” Nana asked once.

“Sure, but I don’t care. I ordered a mail-order Russian bride.” I replied. “She should be here next week. Will you be home to sign for her?”

Nana’s jaw dropped.

The goal was to get her goat. I didn’t curse; I wasn’t mad. I loved my mom even when I thought she was being nosy. I wanted to say something absurd, because I found her prying absurd. The more surprised Nana was the more amused I was.

This joke (among others) was replayed multiple times over the years.

By the time I was twenty-six, I only had two girlfriends that my mother knew about. Both relationships could be measured in months instead of years (to be honest: there were some other dates in between, but not a lot. I was no Casanova).

Enter Carrie.

When things started clicking, I knew that I was going to have to introduce her to Nana. I love my family and it was important to me that Carrie could love and be loved by them.

My replies to Nana’s questions and advice started to change.

“I ordered another mail-order Russian Bride, Mom. This time, I paid extra for air mail!”

My sense of humor wasn’t any classier (I like to think that it’s improved with age), but I did start teasing 

Nana that some sort of change was imminent. I don’t think she really recognized that it was anything but obnoxious.

I told Carrie the whole story. It turned out my future wife had a flair for theater. She decided to play the part.

We called my Russian friend, Igor, on the way to visit my parents. He coached Carrie on how to say several quick phrases (spelled somewhat phonetically in English and riddled with errors):

“Privyet” – Hello!

“Oh-cheen pree-aught-nya” – Pleased to meet you.

“Mayo-eem-ya __________” – My name is __________.

By the time we arrived, Carrie was Katalyna.

Pop and Patrick were working in the yard as we walked up the driveway. They stopped working and Carrie greeted them in Russian. They smiled. They knew mischief was about.

“Hey Dad, where’s Mom?” I asked.

“In the basement.” I want to say he chuckled. I'm sure I remember his smile reaching ear to ear.

Carrie and I went inside. We found Mom cleaning out the basement. She started to talk as I came down the stairs, but stopped the moment she saw Carrie.

Carrie acted coy. “Privyet. Oh-cheen pree-aught-nya. Mayo-eem-ya Katalyna.”

Nana was shocked silent. She sat there for a pregnant pair of seconds that felt like longer.

“Mike, that’s illegal!”

Right after she said that, in my recollection, Nana squealed with joy and hugged Carrie. My wife swears that she had Nana completely hoodwinked and under her acting spell for far longer. I’m sure Nana will rebuttal that she was never fooled at all; Just amazed that I found a woman!

There was plenty of laughter in the house that night. I felt truly blessed to have found my future wife and to be part of the family I was born into.

It was the age before good cell-phone cameras, but I do have one blurry picture from that night. I swear I look squirrelly.

I’ll always like this picture, though. 

*Which, was an honest question on her part. She’d dated since elementary school (aka holding hands) whereas I tended to pine behind a stoic face after girls I had no chance with for way longer than I should of. It turns out I have a very good poker face about some things. I wasn't really offended when she asked, either. Good mothers care, which means they ask. Besides, I’d been hiding almost all the information about my love life from her, so it’s not like she had much to go on. It did irk me at the time, but (as mentioned above) it became a running joke.

PS - It turns out, I DID write this story once. Rats! However, I spent the time writing it so I'm not going let it go to waste. I should search my own blog more often. It's funny to compare and contrast the then write up and the now.

A History of Me: My Father's Line

After I wrote my first two posts, I asked Pop to check my facts.

He shot me back a quick email that piqued my curiosity.

"Both of my dad's (Vernon's) parents were school teachers.  His dad was also a school administrator.  So he usually was both a principal and a teacher at the same time.  Vernon's dad got his college degree in teaching on the same day that Vernon got his degree in mechanical engineering (I have a copy of a newspaper picture with the two of them in cap and gown holding their diplomas).  Vernon's dad was about 48 or so when he got his teaching degree.  In the WW2 time frame, they let you teach school in small town Nebraska without a college degree.  Both Vernon's parents were working to get their degrees, primarily in summer school over quite a few years.  Vernon's dad had some college from a small school in Nebraska but quit going to school to work.  He later started going to summer school at the Univ of Nebraska in Lincoln to finish his degree.  Vernon's mother was still working to get her college degree when she died at age 54.  Vernon's grandmother was also a teacher which was unusual for a woman to have a college degree in the early 1900s.  Vernon's sister Mary was a teacher.  Vernon's sister Ellen was a substance abuse counselor (kind of like a teacher).  So you have a lot of teaching DNA in the lineup.  

Just some trivia for you.  

Love,  

Dad"

I wrote back immediately.

Here it is.

How's that for a piece of history?

Pop also gave me something else I found really interesting: Grandpa Vern's resumé.

It was a two-pager. It really struck me close to home, too. Grandpa Vern wrote the resumé when he was 30. My dad was 3 and 1/2 years old.

Here I am 31 with a 3 year old.

Shane may not find this interesting, but I found it fascinating. I'm really glad I wrote those posts, because they opened up some good conversations and I learned a lot.

I knew about Grandpa Vern's service in Japan after WW2 (he had a sword he won in a card game!). I didn't know that he was on MacArthur's staff. He got promoted to be in charge of a Cryptographic Distribution center because he aced an Army intelligence test. The army offered to send him to OCS, but Grandpa Vern decided he never wanted to leave Nebraska again. He got a job at a watch factory (yet he made fuses for guided missiles?!?) and then switched to work at Cushman when he would have had to transfer out of NE (the factory was relocating).

Very cool stuff. I'm glad Pop showed me.

On a side note, I found some of the newspaper adds to be funny. There was nothing jaw-dropping, but I scanned them in if you're curious.

History of Me: Jobs

Growing up, Nana’s rule was “Volunteer, work, or go to Summer School.”

The summers of 8^th and 9^th grade I found myself volunteering at the local library. I got to sit at a desk a couple of hours a week and sign kids up for the Summer Reading Program. In May at the end of 10^th grade, I wore a suit and went around the local mall asking for applications from stores. I would have kick-started my career in retail, but the phone never rang. 

Thankfully, I did get a job that summer. It was a game-changer, too.

A History of Me Posts

Occasionally, you’re going to see a new kind of post. It won’t be about Shane; it won’t be about Roxy.

It won’t be about anything current, either.

It’ll be about me.

A part of me says “That’s so narcissistic!” I’m a person like anybody else, and it’s more than a little premature to start planning my autobiography.

However, one of the reasons I started this blog was to hold memories. If my time comes before Shane is old enough to ask me some of these questions himself, I figured I’d have a few things chronicled out.

The first post is going to be about my job history. The reason is twofold:

1)      I asked my parents about their career paths when I was a kid. Well, at least I asked Nana or she started volunteering information (I’m not 100% sure which!). I think it’s a natural question as a kid hits the teenage years and starts to think “What in the world am I going to do with myself?”

“What did my parents do? How does that compare to where I’m at?” may not be guaranteed to be the next questions, but I expect they’re not far after.

2)      Your job may not define you, but it does change you. That means stories! Understanding where a person comes from can tell you a lot about them. Even the most menial job can be a learning experience, humbling, and a fun tale (“Wait…you did WHAT?!”)

Everything seemed so permanent to me as a kid. My dad had his job, my mom was mom, and my friends’ parents did what they always did. Somehow everyone knew what they were going to be, because they were adults. I think it was Bill and Dan’s dad that first broke some of that illusion for me. He had tales of when a gun store he worked at was robbed (full with the owner grabbing a machine gun) and of fixing cars underneath a tree.  

The "Great" Recession

People always ask 'older' people "What was it like when..." questions.

I wonder if one day someone will ask me "What was it like during the 'Great' Recession?"

This is not meant to be a complaint post, but a reflection. My family has been effected, but we've been greatly blessed overall. 

Flashback: They Don't Make Them Like They Used To

Flashback post. (Aka, one of the many posts I wanted to do, but the pics were never uploaded or I got distracted.)

Before school started, Carrie and I took our first (and still only) vacation from being parents. We dropped Shaney off with Carrie's parents, went to an amusement park, and WE TOURED A WW2 BATTLESHIP!

(Note: there are videos and other things that need to be uploaded but it's late o'clock and I'm not doing it tonight.)