Warning: This blog is more serious in nature, so don't expect any shenanigans from Perry.
The last two days have been a reminder of the more difficult times on the islands. Though there was always "plenty" fun in the sun, this is a very impoverished land where people face very real problems. If you have known me for a long time, you may have followed my blog Saipan Siftings that shifted to Gallivanting in Guam. During my counseling days my blog was never void of good stories. There was the naked girl under my desk, or the boy that tried to kill me with big rocks, the girl who tried to kill me with the scissors, and the girl who kept trying to kill herself by jumping off the roof...hence nearly killing me as I'd have to hold on to her until help came.
For the last two days, I have been working the local system of who you know, what names you can drop, and skin color. Thankfully, I was in the counseling system for two years which gave me the opportunity to see how much of this aspect of the island worked. It's so mixed up, that if it wasn't so serious, it would almost be funny.
My day started at 6:45 trying to call DYA to see when I could pick up my buddy for a physical. (I was told someone would be there at 6am. I called three different numbers for 45 minutes until someone answered.) My friend HAD a physical two weeks ago, but DYA lost his papers. The clinic doesn't have a record of those papers either. How did two organizations that are document driven lose the same set of papers!? Keep in mind the first was a $95 physical. Why? Because my buddy's insurance services were cut off when he entered DYA. I was hoping to get him released to a treatment facility as opposed to handcuffs and riots at the prison. But the facility, with only four open spots, couldn't accept him without his physical. The next appointment was going to be in 3 weeks. Since slots could fill before then, I was able to convince them to reschedule his orientation to the next day, and I'd figure out a way to get a second physical. Well, after another $65, we got a second physical, and I let no one hold the papers except for me!
Since we had time to spare before his orientation at the treatment facility, we squeezed in lunch at the parsonage, two candy bars (he won't be allowed chocolate for a long time), and shopping for toiletries. I'm fairly certain I bought this 16 year old boy his first bottle of shampoo.
Orientation, and the dad--who can hardly walk by this point due to his gout--had to sign over 25 documents. It took both hands for him to hold his pen. But again, no sign--no facility. (One of the papers the dad signed was for information to be shared with him, the dad. That made no sense. I can understand him signing papers to have information shared with me, which he did. But to sign his name on a paper for information to be shared with him about his son. Stupid.)
After that process was completed, we were told to go check out my friend from DYA and bring him back. We get to DYA and they have decided to change policy and they will transport him to the facility to see that he makes it. (Okay, for two days in a row, he had been released to my care for 8 hours...but could not be released for 10 minutes for me to drive him to the place we just came from?) However, even though DYA was going to transport him, they could not take his small bag containing a few changes of clothes and toiletries. So, I still had to turn back around and drive back to where I just came from to give them his clothing. (On a side note, he only owned 2 changes of clothes and a couple of extra shirts--more shopping.)
So, why go to the trouble for a "hardened criminal." Well, first of all, this one has always had a special place in my heart. It was strongly suggested to me two years to take him back home with me to live. I often wonder might he have turned out differently? Sadly, his crime was mild for what I know a lot of kids his age do or have done--not to mention what he has gone through. His mother died about 1 1/2 years ago. Not that he actually was super close to her, but that still must have hurt. He's been raised by his father who is turning 74 in a few weeks. His father has gout so bad, he's been unable to work or drive for years. But because dad isn't a US citizen, he doesn't receive services. And the crime...2 years for underage drinking. (So if you are a student reading this--DON'T DRINK! I already did a "Gibbs" smack on this kid's head for being so dumb.)
Let me show you where they live....The top pic is the shower.
The next two pics are inside their one room shack.
The table had never been piled so high with old dishes before, but with the dad's gout, he hasn't been able to even get up to throw things away and has to use a jar next to his chair for a restroom.
After getting my friend squared away in his home away from home for the next 3-6 months (and if he passes, the rest of his sentence should be dropped), at 6:30am the next morning his dad called. He could no longer get up or move from his gout. Back to the ER to get his meds. We had tried to get his meds all week, but we couldn't because he hadn't seen a doctor. His doctor appointment was the next week--scheduled two weeks after his medicine ran out. Not by choice.
Please pray for my friend. He has a sweet heart. He loves to read--and to find island boys with an interest in books is very rare. I told him I'd buy him the Hunger Games to read and he is very excited--so now I need to order those. He is kind and polite. But due to circumstance and a poor decision, he is trying to fight his way back to society. And pray for his dad. He is having difficulty physically and could sure use some healing. He's a really funny guy. (His jokes are much better than the one about the doted half note...)
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