Deciphering Life

I steal another Counting Crows lyric because I find myself in a city I never thought I’d visit. I’m in Omaha. As in Nebraska. One of the supposed fly over states. Go ahead, go look it up

Okay, if you actually had to do that, I weep for our educational system.

Work-work brings me to the center of the country. Boys Town specifically.

Make no mistake, I’m a bad Catholic. I’m just bad with organized religion in general. From both up close and from a distance, I’ve seen plenty of men and women responsible for the moral upbringing of towns, cities and nation’s continually take something wonderful [faith, belief in greater mysteries in the universe, and the examination of both the preceding in terms of how it relates to one's self and one's behavior] and do their best to turn it into something to smack people over the head with but creating dogma from it. Because of that, I tend to lean towards what George Carlin has written about organized religions: that the music is the best thing to come out of it.

Today I was reminded of something that resorts part of my faith. That people focusing on offering better options to people DON’T have to ask for money in order to get things done. And the the true focus should be helping people make better choices, not getting them to follow your whims because you are righteous.

The people behind Boys Town are certainly dedicated to the core of faith and religion that is the foundation of the organization. It was started by a Catholic priest after all. Yet they realize that helping troubled kids is about way more than being good people of faith. It is about offering good structure, teaching good judgment and oh my fucking god I sound like a brochure.

PR speak aside, until this morning I’d almost never encountered a teenager who would come directly up to me, offer their hand and introduce themselves with confidence and purpose. Try having 80 middle school kids doing that as you’re in their school to watch their day begin. Kids from all across America - all of them sent to there because of trouble at home, trouble at school and just trouble for them - kids of every shade and size came up to me offering their hand, looking me square in the eye and offering their best firm handshake. Besides two or three of the boys who were clearly on growth hormones and towered over me (and at 6′ 1″, having to look up at an 8th grader made me think “Offensive Line, OSU…”), I had to lean over to hear the names of the rest of the kids as they rapid fire went down the line. When a girl who couldn’t be older than 9 is doing her best to squeeze my hand like she’s on a job interview and she wants to make a good impression,  you know that these people are making a difference.

The day was full of work and meetings and talks of sharing files and working together and my co-workers and I rocked it.

And here at the end of the day, I don’t care about that.

I care about the kids at that school, in that specialized town and part of those programs that seek to make them the best people they can be before it is too late.

I hope that when I grow up, I can shake hands like a 9 year old girl.