Happy Birthday Holly

I still remember it.. my mother and father calling me into their bedroom.  6323 Rygate Drive North, Reynoldsburg, Ohio 43068.  614-866-8735.  The limeish greenish siding, the white cinder block wall that held the front steps in place; the backyard with the dog kennels.  The Amish shed would come a little later, as would a new fence, different cars; and much later on- the different faces that would occupy this home. But at this point I was still preoccupied with my matchbox cars; reruns of Adam-12 and Emergency; new episodes of Chips, and trying to decide if I wanted to be an FBI agent when I grew up.  I was six years old, and I had everything a boy could ever want.  Most of all, I had my parents to myself. 

But that early spring morning they called me into their room to tell me some news.  Then, as now, I often assumed incorrectly.  I was convinced I was about to be told a trip to Sea World was in the offering for my spring break.  Giddy with entirely reasonable excitement I sat down on the bed, across from the mirrored dresser and they broke the news.  News that would alter my world-- as much as if my own personal globe took a leisurely tumble off the Empire State Building.  I was going to have a brother or sister. 

My parents were so thrilled.  You could see how happy they were.  Only later would I come to understand just how hard it had been for my Mom to have children.  Just how much pain she had endured in the quest for a child.  A path that led them first to Franklin County Children's services and the surprise acquisition of yours truly a few years hence; and a later, even more shocking surprise that my Mom was able to have a child the old fashioned way.   And on August 28, 1981- Little Holly Nicole Carver came into the world at the Old St. Ann's Hospital on Bryden Road in Columbus.  She was as beautiful as most.  And things went quite well until, only a few days in, I discovered what all siblings ultimately do.  Much like North and South Korea today, a subtle battle began-- never all out, just some occasional jabs here and there in an attempt to establish roles and dominance. Given that her favorite thing to do from about two on was to run behind me and tackle me to the floor; or run out the front door to hide in the front bushes while my mother organized search parties and chartered helicopters, I suppose you could say she was a challenge. 

But it was never a bad challenge.  I defended her honor at school when my class read "Sister for Sale" by Shell Silverstein and my seven year old self decried the horror of such a thought.  She returned the favor years later-- by calling out a fellow student in speech class who had decided to do a presentation on why gay people should never have the right to adopt children. My sister dismissed her bigoted speech directly and proceeded to speak of her real love-- manatees.  

We faced challenges together as well.  My mother's illness and passing at the age of 60 in 2005 being probably the most lasting, and most revealing.  My sister lost her best friend and her mother in the same instant-- but she gained a brother, even more than before.  And I listened to the stories of the bad boyfriends, and the frustration and pain at trying to find love in a world that does everything it can to kill it.  I offered advice (and more importantly an ear) as she pushed her way through college and EARNED her degree-- becoming the kind of teacher that children are lucky to have, and that, perhaps, our Mother should have been all along. 

Through every trial I cried silently with he.  And I cried in joy that April morning when I loaded her and her wedding dress into a rented mini-van for the short drive to a Spanish chapel and a beautiful wedding to a man that I still sometimes think doesn't realize how lucky he is. 

I almost didn't get to talk to my sister on her birthday this year.  Hurricanes have a way of doing that.  But the great thing about family is that no matter whether its the passing of a loved one, or the landfall of a storm; or the end of a love; or the celebration of one-- family is still family.  And I am very lucky to have been able to watch my sister from day one.  To be there for the smiles and the tears.  And to be able to be there, in one short month, when she will give birth to little Emma.   I cant help but hope that she is not an only child.  I am glad I wasn't. 

And by the way, Id still punch Shell Silverstein the mouth for that poem.

Holly Nicole Carver-- Ireland June 2010

Hurricane Season (and lessons in what's right)

There are a few moments in your life when you truly feel as though you were part of something greater than yourself-- able to claim that you witnessed people do great things in your presence.  This past weekend was one of those times.  I have been in the emergency communications profession for almost seventeen years- I have worked Tornadoes, plane crashes, ferry crashes; blizzards; terrorist attacks, Blackouts, and more fires than I care to admit.  But in almost none of those situations was I alone-- and this was no exception.  One of the most striking things about working for the FDNY during the landfall of a Strong Tropical Storm on CONEY ISLAND (80 miles out to sea? right....)  was the fact that my brother and sister dispatchers,  with almost no exception, came to work.  Despite the threats to their own families; the not knowing how long they would be there-- they showed up.  In most cases, they came hours early-- battered by the rain and the wind-- to ensure they would be able to do their job.  And do their job they did.  Without hesitation-- without complaint-- and they made something good our of something that could have been tragic.

It reminded me of a very important truth.  So much of this world today is about talking, posting, tweeting-- all the time never really doing. Trying to convince ourselves and others that its the talk that matters.  Comforting our fragile ego's and tired selfs with the idea that if I just talk long enough-- loudly enough-- people will notice.  Life will be the way I want it or dream, meerly by the effect of my keystrokes. 

We make lists, we talk about our plans-- we decide how it will be so many days, weeks, months, or years down the road. We list our friends, post silly phrases, and beg for people to notice what we are saying or doing.  Redeemed by the like button, or, better yet, a comment.  We become  certain that the virtual life, or the planned life down the road,  will be so gloriuous that it will make everything worth it and happiness will come not today, not now-- but later, when I loose weight, or write that book, or take that trip or save $1,000, or someone new "friends' me.   

But what did you do today?  After all, its not about talking-- its about doing.  Its about showing up-- whether at your job to be part of a team that exemplifies dedication and service to a community-- or simply  taking responsibility and exerting action in your own life.  We are so much ado about nothing today.  It took a Hurricane to remind me of that.  And in those howling winds, and in those fierce rains-- in the images of quiet Vermont hamlets that I will not be able to visit next year or the year after, in a conversation with a talented friend who knows not his gifts I was shown in the clearest way that we all have a role to play in this world-- a role that is unique to each living soul, and something only that particular person can accomplish. 

For each person who hesitates, who becomes bogged down in all those distractions, whether they come in the form of fear; or hate; or thieves of time; or a lazy couch..a voice can be heard if you truly take the time to listen.  Take time for silence and you will hear a voice  and it will say clearly and loudly and with God's greatest love:  Get off your ass.. shut your mouth... and get to work.