Paul's Heart

Life As A Dad, And A Survivor

Archive for the category “Adoption”

05 Apr 2021

Frustrated By Bystanderism


Like many, I watched the horrific murder of George Floyd in May of last year. And then I watched the anger, the fear, and the wreckoning of understanding that racism is still a major problem in this country, seemingly no better than decades ago, only now, massive awareness.

Like many, I have been watching the trial of the murderer who took the life of George Floyd. Like the jury, I have seen new unseen video footage, including from bodycams and other angles.

I want to be perfectly clear, I support our police and other first responders. And there is a huge difference from a cop that accidently takes the life of a suspect or in self-defense, and one that blatantly disregards human life. No matter how the defense attorney tries to deflect away the true cause of Floyd’s death with accusations against the victim and finding faults in the various witnesses including first responders and police supervision, his client, in the end, well, we all witnessed the same thing.

The average person may not understand all of the medical terminology being thrown around in this trial, but unfortunately, many of the terms are all too familiar to me, given my extensive history as a cancer survivor. I know the terms hypoxia, RCA, lactic acid, and many of the other terms, because they all deal with cardiac concerns, of which is one of the health issues I deal with.

But, besides the fact, that Floyd lay unconscious, unresponsive for as long as he did until paramedics arrived, and the murderer remained on the neck of Floyd ignoring his obligation to be responsible medically for the victim has left so many scratching their heads, what else could have been done, since the killer would not relent.

In the schoolyard, probably all of us at one time or another, had witnessed a fight on the playground. Two combatants in the middle of a huge crowd, being cheered on. Likely, one fighter a bully, the other the target. Or perhaps you witnessed someone being pushed around publicly in a restaurant. Witness a parent just wailing on a kid’s ass in a grocery store? There are three participants in an act of bullying, the bully themselves, the target, and the third, the bystander. This is the person who for whatever reason, is unable to stop or prevent the assault from going any further.

The reasons of the bystander(s) can vary from apathy, to fear and apprehension, physical, or even health issues. If you really want to understand the mind of a bystander, you could not have a better example, than those who witnessed the murder of George Floyd. Testimonies by the many witnesses who gathered at the scene, finding their words as the only method to try and stop the murder. Sure, there will be those who will claim the behavior and language only enflamed the situation. Really? Could you picture yourself at that scene? All you had to do is watch the testimonies, and you could see why there was no easy solution for them to save the life of George Floyd. We see a fight… we try to stop it, and get hurt in the process. We see a cop killing an unarmed, restrained, and unconscious human being, if we lunge at the officer, the only thing that clearly would have prevented this killing, we would have been shot by the other officers at the scene.

My friend, fellow Hodgkin’s Lymphoma survivor, actress, author, Annie Lanzilloto did what she does best a couple of days ago, put her feelings, the way many of us feel, into words. With her permission, I am sharing the gut-wrenching monologue and video. An advocate for many causes, these words strike a hard reality. And that there is the possibility as history is witness to, justice still is at risk to not be served in the end. Floyd will still be dead. And we will still not have an answer, how to protect others from those who are supposed to protect us.

With that, I present the text and the video about “Bystanderism, the risk of stepping in,” by Annie Lanzilloto. Annie, these words are perfect!

“It’s Good Friday, and the crucifixion is happening every day. Bystanderism is unbearable testimony in the Chauvin case. The guilt the underage witness Darnella Frazier feels, saying, “I’m sorry George.” Meanwhile without her witness and steady hand, where would we be? Frazier’s video is the gospel of the Passion. It is how we best know what happened second by second. The helplessness and rage of off-duty firefighter Genevieve Hansen and all the witnesses. What they have to bear is unbearable. If they rushed the officers, they would have been shot. Yes I wish we all bumrush bullies of one stripe or another—that the three Marys tackled the Roman guards and got all three guys off the crosses, that we could all be like Todd Beamer and passengers on flight 93 on 911 headed for D.C. rushing the terrorists together, that the doormen in the lobby tackled the attacker of the Asian senior citizen woman on 43rd Street as he stomped her. Me? I cut my baby teeth on my father’s kneecaps biting through his green work pants as he shook my mother by her hair in the Bronx, 1969. Baby teeth are sharp. Bystanderism. The mortal risk of stepping in, I know well, as I got kicked across the room, into the piano. The guilt the witnesses bear and do not deserve. Kitty Genovese, 1964. What have we learned. Where are we? Who are we? And the horror of the Defense message about “interfering with police business” this Passover, Easter Week, and Spring Break, the timing of the Chauvin case on the calendar when we all are home watching. There are only two kinds of people now: when you look at George Floyd, do you say, “He is me,” or “He is not me.” He is me.”

Posted in Adoption, Bullying, Education, Family and Friends, Inspired By... | Leave a comment
04 Apr 2021
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Happy Easter


I would describe myself as a “traditional” kind of person. I may not have traditions, but I do want them. Traditions are important. They remind us of times that we could count on, safe, happy. All too often, we also recognize that traditions come to an end.

Most of my childhood, we had two kinds of get togethers, Sunday dinners and holiday meals. My grandmother was the common attraction as we all gathered for her. Sadly, we knew there would come a day that she would no longer be with us, and it was likely we would no longer get together. When she passed, those traditions were gone. I knew that it would happen.

In my adulthood, pre-parenthood, it was fairly easy, my 1st wife and I would just hop from one family to another on holidays. There were not really any thoughts or feelings behind these gatherings, because at this point in my life, I had become really jaded against holidays because of the various crisis that I had faced, commonly around the holidays.

But that changed with my second marriage, and the arrival of my daughters.

I had to start caring about the holidays again. As I child, I knew that it was important. It was also another chance for me to open my heart to holiday traditions, these of my own. Christmas, Easter, all of the different holidays would be fun again. At Easter, just as when I was a child, Easter baskets were hidden in the house, as well as some other fun plastic eggs with treats inside. I usually like to commit 100% to the act, but admittedly looking back, I failed in one aspect of proving the Easter Bunny had arrived. Sure, he at the carrot left for him, in retrospect, I should have scattered Cocoa Puff cereal on the floor just for effect. But, that is my sense of humor.

Our family had three separate celebrations each holiday, one for their mother, and one with my mother and one with my father. But Easter was the only holiday that my father asked to host. For years, he would cook a ham, and all the veggies. We scattered eggs in his backyard for my daughters to find.

Just as with the other holidays, the only bad thing, was that we spent the entire holiday, out on the road. With my parents living an hour away, that meant at least two hours on the road, and the countless hours visiting homes. My daughters barely had any time to enjoy their Easter goodies once we got home at the end of the night.

This was the last year that I celebrated Easter. It was 2014. My father was dying of lung cancer, and would succumb a month later. Without him hosting the annual Easter meal, just as with my grandmother, we no longer got together except for one more time, at my father’s funeral. Since then, either by my choice in some cases, and in some cases others, that has been the last time most of us have even spoken.

As if things were not spread thin enough as it was, with my parents being divorced, now my second wife and I in the process of divorce. Holidays were going to get much more complicated. In an attempt to keep things as civil as possible during proceedings, and coming to an understanding with custody, I made the unusual and unexpected decision to give their mother every holiday. It was an easy decision to make, given my feelings with holidays, and knowing they meant more to their mother, it would be one less source of friction as we brought our marriage to an end. I would work out a time period around those holidays, but the holidays themselves, with the exception of Father’s Day, would belong to her.

Time has flown by. One of my daughters is now of adult age, and the other is not far behind. This is going to give a whole new meaning to future holidays, because it will no longer be me doing the scheduling to see them, but when they can, and want to see me. I am hoping that they both continue their education, and then likely after that, they will begin to build their lives, and hopefully their own families. And that will mean their own traditions.

Will they remember the fun things I did to make their holidays memorable? I hope so. But they will also want to create their own. But if there is one thing I wish I could do over again, and I hope they learn from my mistake, make the holidays about themselves, and their children. Let their children enjoy these special fun days. They do not last forever. Yes, I know, that means I am likely going to be making the trips, but I am okay with that if that is how they build their own traditions.

Posted in Adoption, Education, Family and Friends, Inspired By..., Recreation
24 Mar 2021

Yo! I Made It!


Of all the reasons I have had to celebrate over the last thirty-one years of my cancer survivorship, today ranks up among the top.  To my daughter’s credit, she is taking this day a lot more reserved than I am.  It is a milestone that many teenagers see as a big deal, second only to when they turn old enough to get their driver’s learning permit.  Turning age 18.

Like many of my friends, I now have an adult age child.  And while her milestone by itself is a big deal, it was a day that on numerous occasions, I almost did not get to see.

In 1989, I was told it was not likely I would have a family due to my treatments.  In 2008, less than four years after adopting my older daughter, and two years adopting my younger daughter, a fatal heart condition almost cost me my life.  Four years after that, a diagnosis of sepsis via aspiration pneumonia again almost took me away from my daughters.  There are numerous other health issues that I deal with.

But, this entire time, I have had one constant from the beginning, who planted the idea in my head, the doctor who recognized what was happening to my body because of the treatments I underwent for my cancer.  I will never forget his words:

“I cannot reverse what is happening to you.  I cannot stop it either.  But, we can try to slow things down, manage what we can.  I want you to see your daughters get older, graduate, get married, and someday make you a grandfather.”

This was a lofty goal considering what I had just been through, a pipe dream, just blowing smoke up my behind.  But he really had me believing that.  And here I am, celebrating my daughter’s 18th birthday.

I did it!  We did it Doc!

I get so many eye rolls from both of my daughters because of the big deals I make about their milestones and achievements.  Their youthfulness has shielded them from the severity of the many events that I have faced.  But as they are older, and aware that there are more issues coming my way, they are quickly understanding, each new day is another milestone, another memory for me.  And it is a big deal.

I consider myself doubly blessed.  In just over two years, both of my daughters will be adults.  I will do all I can not to watch the clock that is ticking against me at that point.

Posted in Adoption, Cancer, Education, Family and Friends, Inspired By..., Side Effects, The Heart | Leave a comment

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