Welcome to Bienvenido

Her church is only about 30 minutes from our apartment, but in many ways a very different world. The pavement ends a half mile before you would like it to, and electricity is hit and miss. But this is where Veronica works. This is where her vision and heart lie. She is Dominican, speaks little English, and may be in her late 40's. I don't know much more about her because we just met today.  Well, that's not totally true. I do know a little more.

Abby met her a while back, heard her story, and decided that we should go visit. Veronica has taken it on herself to feed over 100 children every day. That burden became too much, so now it's three days a week. Every Monday, Wednesday and Friday, she and a few helpers cook and then feed the children of the area. We drove out today with some other missionary friends of ours, the Tichenor family from Kentucky.

It's name means "Welcome" in Spanish, and we might refer to the area as the slums, but I guess it's really not as bad as others closer to the Haitian border. It's close enough to the city that some of that money finds its way out. Veronica eagerly showed us around the church building. Not a church in the way we normally think, it's really a small single-family home used as a church.

It has a living room that they use for services, or they go outside under a tent when missionaries come to visit, she said. There are two bedrooms, and then the kitchen in back where the daily miracles happen. Two fridges, one is broken and used for storing plates, but they're hoping to get it fixed. Look at the photo. It reminds me of a rustic camp kitchen, but showing more wear. The sheet metal roof is dotted by tar from numerous patch jobs, and must leak something awful during the thunderstorms that frequent the Dominican summers. The walls are just painted, 10" siding pieces, one on top of the next.

Veronica told me they are praying for a family that would come live there full time. They would teach school and music ideally. I'm not sure what else, but the idea made me shudder a little. Imagine living in such an environment full time. Maybe if you treated it as camping; really long term camping.

The kids started to arrive. Normally they come for lunch, but she changed it to dinner tonight because we were coming and she thought it fit our schedule better. I didn't realize she changed the whole thing for us and I felt a little guilty. Plastic tables surrounded by chairs were lined up in the gravel yard in front of the building behind the fence, and I sat at one and talked to a few of the boys.

They had a plastic toy they played with for a while, and then asked if I wanted to play basketball sometime. It was close enough to walk, but I said we would have to do it a different day with the sun starting to set. These boys were 10-13 probably, and very friendly with me as a total stranger. One kid was blind. He was enjoying the clicking sound and rhythm of the plastic toy.  He gets around just fine by himself, I was told. Hard to imagine in these crazy alleys and shanties. More kids showed up. All kinds of ages. Where were the parents? I would find out later.

Veronica yelled for attention. It was time to eat, but first she had me introduce my family and Bowin introduce his. Then she asked me to bless the meal and the kids all sat down. Turns out we would take the food to them.

They set up a table outside the kitchen and several adults were there to help with the giant pots of rice, shredded beef and salad. They dished a massive portion of rice onto plastic plates, a little less of the other foods, added a plastic fork, and our kids walked it over to the tables, plate by plate. It was messy and noisy, but perhaps at little less than I would have guessed under the circumstances.

Keilani was having trouble understanding a commotion at one of the tables, so I walked over. A little girl no older than three, wearing a shirt and nothing else, had peed all over her chair seat. She remained kneeling in the puddle, eating happily.  I don't deal with those situations well. At all. My only thought was of a hose; no other way I was getting involved. One of the teenage girls was summoned for clean up, and she was not excited about it. She slapped the little girl on the arm a couple times, scolding her, then dragged her out of the chair by her arm. The child didn't seem to mind a bit, and wandered over to another girl of the same age that was sitting alone and eating.

Behind us, were a row of chairs where more kids sat and ate. One boy, probably two years old, was stark naked. He sat on the chair, with the plate of food resting on the seat. The food was everywhere, and his naked butt mashed the rice into the plastic seat as he shoveled the food in with a little spoon. I was frozen. He needs to be cleaned up. He needs some clothes. He needs something; at least some shorts. Again, this was not my area of expertise. I left him as he was.  

That's what I saw. Now for what I learned. I walked back to the serving area with some questions.

How does one lady do this? Well, it's not just her, really. She has a few faithful people who help her cook and clean. But beyond that...it's a lot of faith. One day someone will donate 10 lbs of rice. The next day someone will bring them a chicken. Or lettuce. Or whatever. Veronica used to work in finance and is used to budgeting and planning. But it's hard to do there. Sometimes you have something to budget with, and sometimes you don't. But God provides and the children eat.

And the children. That's where it get interesting. Where are the parents? For the most part, dead. Dead, I asked? Really dead, that many? These are street children, mostly from Haiti, and they live with whomever they can, or no one at all. Be it through disease, violence or accident, many of the adults in their lives have died. Though some were abandoned, at times by mothers who were mere children themselves.

Their lives are why Veronica is here. The food they get allows them to skip work for the day, or for half a day anyway. The children must earn money every day if they hope to eat. Shoe shine work, washing car windows at stoplights, or just regular begging. But there are other, worse options, too. School though? School is for kids who have parents; or at least have food and then don't have to work that day. And that's why the food matters so much.

Lunch is at 12:30. School here can be morning or afternoon classes. So the kids can go to work in the morning, then get a good meal, then go to school after. Or vice versa. Except for one problem. I've written before about the immigration issues. If the kid has no papers or birth certificate, they aren't allowed into school. Many of these Haitian children have no papers, and the Dominican taxpayers aren't excited about paying for their education when they are so short on education money already. An understandable position, and there are no easy answers.

This has really made me think about the importance of education. The purpose of education is to learn how to be a benefit to others, and in so doing benefit ourselves. Tragically, the main skills we are born with mostly damage others. Without learning a skill, so many of these kids fall back on the skills that come naturally; prostitution or crime. One or the other, often depending on your gender. Nobody has to teach us those. No schooling. No studying. They come naturally  and then they destroy us and those around us. Before long, these "children" end up pregnant or dead, creating still more orphans and perpetuating the vicious cycle of sin.

Veronica's mission is to educate these children to love God and to know how to love others. We love others by doing good things for them, but what if you don't know how? What if you can't fix their car, or develop a more efficient engine for them, or grow a more disease resistant food, or help them invest wisely, or write an entertaining movie script, or show them how to save their crumbling marriage, or teach their children to read, or ship their goods to a buyer, and on and on and on. What if you have nothing to offer because no one ever taught you how to love? That is her mission. And it is huge.

She wants to start a school. A school where every kid can come and learn, papers or no papers. They can learn of a God who loves them, and how they can in turn love Him and His people. And they can begin to learn the skills required to put love into action.

We drove off into the darkening night back for our house thinking and talking about what we'd seen. I figured this would be a one-time trip. A trip to see a different part of the country and to add to our experience here. But now I think we'll go back. For one thing, there are some boys in need of some basketball lessons. But God may have something more besides. Guess we'll see. Guess we'll see.

Dominican Christmas poem

Twas the Night before Christmas, in the sunny DR
All the people were stirring, lots of honks from a car
The weather was warmer, with no chance of snow
With stealthy mosquitoes wherever you go

The children were lying on top of their beds
While the loud air conditioning dripped down on their heads
And mamma in her 'kerchief, and I in my cap
Remembered we still had some presents to wrap

When out on the street, there arose such a clatter,
We ran to the window to see what was the matter.
The noise was coming, from a domino game
Out side a noisy Colmado with an American name.

We were a little bit worried they'd scare Santa away
That he wouldn't be able to find a good place for his sleigh
"Should we sing Silent Night?" I asked with a pout
When all of a sudden, the power went out

So we went back to bed, and slept through the night
'Cept once when some fireworks gave us a fright
But the next day was Christmas, and Christmas still came
No snow and no evergreens, but it came just the same.

We went to a friend's house, for dinner next day
Piled into a publico, cheaper travel that way.
We weaved thru the traffic, avoiding a crash
Over a policia acostada, we felt the car bash

We got to our friend's house, and hear their raves and their rants,
Seems the Christmas ham, had been devoured by ants
So we whipped up a dinner of brown abichuela
And listened to stories from someone's abuela.

Then we sang some old carols and talked for a while
We shared tales of life, with a laugh and a smile
So Christmas away, can sometimes seem odd
But with family, friends and Jesus, it's still a Feliz Navidad.

An All-Star kind of day.

Chapel was not normal today. Little did I know, there was a Down Syndrome benefit game beforehand, and baseball was pushed back 2 1/2 hours. On the upside, I got to see a bunch of local celebrities and All-star baseball players.

The stadium was mostly full, and I was in the dugout waiting to see if I should stick around or just come back later. I was hanging over the dugout rail with a bunch of reporters and cameras on the other side. Suddenly there was an introduction and out of the opposite dugout came a line of celebrities dressed in red and white t-shirts. They were made up of local singers, a comedian and TV personalities, none of whom I knew. They stepped onto the field to a thunderous applause and then walked into the opposite end of my dugout where they paused for pictures.

The reporters began to clamor for them to come over, and they then walked toward us and were about to surround me. I decided I should move or tomorrow's paper might have a celebrity group photo and a headline of "Who the heck's that guy?"

The dugout filled with celebrity players and event volunteers so I had a seat under the dugout camera to wait it out. Then the Dominican players came out. A lot of big names. Jose Bautista, who had a huge year for the Blue Jays this year. Pedro Martinez had been there for half an hour signing autographs, but he walked onto to a wave of noise. David Ortiz. Vladimir Guerrero. Jose Valverde. I had a hard time hearing the names over the noise and lousy speaker sound where I was sitting, but I could recognize several of them by face.

Then Ubaldo Jimenez came and sat next to me under the dugout camera. A hard-throwing young pitcher, I drafted him in mid-rounds in fantasy baseball 2 years ago. He was one of the best pitchers in the game and made me look like a total genius.

I knew he'd be pitching in this slowpitch charity gam, and I reached over and slapped his shoulder.

"Ubaldo.  Good luck."

He smiled and reached out to shake my hand. His hands are huge. The ball must feel like a golf-ball when he throws it.

"Don't throw out your arm or anything," I joked.

He laughed. "I'm just gonna pitch covering my face," he said as he held up his mitt.

Pedro Martinez was taking the mound as Ubaldo and I sat there under the TV camera. Then a security guy I'd been chatting with came up and asked for me to take his picture with Jimenez. I took his cell phone and hopped down. They posed quickly and I snapped the shot. I sat back down and a procession of people would stroll by to say hi or get a picture. All with Ubaldo. None with me. (What's with that?)

Pedro was battling Guerrero out on the mound. One of the most feared pitchers in my time against one of the most ferocious hitters. But this battle wasn't exactly fearsome. The softball came in like Aberdeen city-league, fat and slow. Vlad took his trademark vicious cut but popped up sky-high to the infield on the first couple pitches. Finally he connected and sent it soaring over the temporary softball fence. The crowd roared and David Ortiz danced out of the dugout toward the mound, mocking Martinez for giving up the longball.

When Ubaldo finally pitched, it was mostly to the girls who clearly hadn't swung a bat in a while. His face was safe. The one good rip he saw was to Jose Bautista, who had 43 homers this past year, but here he pulled several foul and then lined out to third.

Later, the celebrity women went up on top of the dugout to dance between innings. The cheerleaders do that during the regular games, dressed in as little as they can get away with. These ladies though had on jeans and complete t-shirts. One of them showed up late and I let her use my hands as a step to scramble up with the others.

They were joined in their dance by several kids and young adults with Down Syndrome, and they all boogied down to the music, as the crowd clapped and sang.

It was a fun event and I think the people got their money's worth. I hope they raised a lot of money, too.

We finally had a game, too. The stadium was emptied and then re-filled. Abby brought the kids to their first game. It was Malachi's birthday, and I got to introduce him and the girls to the Escogido first baseman that I've gotten to know. He's a lefty, too, like Malachi, and talked to him about playing first base and baseball in general. The kids will remember that a long time.

A fun day. Just wish I would have taken my camera. Could have gotten some good pictures.

God and The Faithful Screw-up

Are you a screw-up? The Bible records stories of many failures, sins and shortcomings. Even its greatest heroes, with one Obvious Exception, are shown to be men and women of shortcomings. Sometimes devastating shortcomings.

Hebrews 11, the Hall of Faith, is a wonderful example of sin, faith and salvation. This chapter contains a long list of Bible heroes, the names we heard in Sunday School, and shows their great examples of faith. It is an inspiring compilation, and has sometimes made me say, "Wow. If only I could somehow live up to that list. Those guys were awesome."

It can inspire us to live better lives, which is good. But it can also lead to despair if, (no) when we fall short. We've committed our lives to following Christ, doing what He wants, leaving the old, destructive habits behind, and then, wham. We screw up. A thought, a word, a deed that we know we shouldn't have done, but there it is. Done and no taking it back. No better than last time when we swore we'd do better.

We know that's not what God's looking for in his followers. He's looking for guys like Noah, the only righteous man in a wicked world. Or Abraham, Isaac and Jacob, who followed God around the world and began a mighty nation. Or Moses, Joseph, David, Peter and Paul. Those are the guys God is looking for. The pillars. The rocks that God can build on. Not the losers.

It's easy to doubt ourselves, and ask if we're really even saved at all if this is what we have to show for it.

Read Hebrews 11. Sometimes it can make you feel like a little-leaguer visiting the baseball hall of fame, looking at the pictures and stats of Babe Ruth, Roger Maris, Mickey Mantle and others. It can be a bit intimidating. But a closer look tells a different story.

As we read the details of these Bible characters, we see flawed individuals. And unlike the great baseball players, they aren't commended for their accomplishments, but for what happened right before they acted. They had faith. They still messed up. Some of them messed up a lot. But they had faith in the One who never errs.

Take Noah. After being identified by God as a light in the darkness, after 100 years building the ark and one year floating around with God and the animals, after rebuilding in a new world, after all that, he goes out one night and gets drunk and makes a fool of himself. The Bible says he was at least 600 years old at that point. I'd say that's old enough to know better. But it still happened.

Abraham is an amazing example of faith, as are his son and grandson, Isaac and Jacob. Yet they were often insecure and afraid, lying and cheating their way through life. And not just early on, but throughout. Now they also had good works to show, but they never completely overcame their sinful nature.

But, what if they would have? What if they would have done just good deeds all the time? What if you and I did? Here's the interesting thing. By themselves, good deeds don't get us any closer to God.

Heb 11:6 says, "But without faith it is impossible to please God." Doing good without faith in God doesn't help. It then goes on to say that to come to God, we first must believe that He exists, and then that He is a rewarder of those who seek Him. So, pleasing God, gaining access to God, doesn't come by what we do, but by what we believe. And even then, we don't have to get it right the first time.

Consider Sarah. Not ironic that she made it onto this list, but ironic for why she made it. Verse 11 says "she bore a child when she was past the age, because she judged Him faithful who had promised." You remember that story? The women who literally laughed when the angel told her she would bear a son. Not exactly a moment of great faith. But Sarah came around. She is listed here in the faith chapter, for the very act that initially was her greatest failure of faith. Jaded by years of longing and believing for a child and coming up empty, of seeing God bless others but never her in this way, her response was cynicism. But she came around.  She decided to have faith. And a nation was born.

Read the all of Hebrews 11 again soon. Rahab the prostitute is listed. Not a very noble profession there.

David was a man after God's own heart, but he was guilty of lust, adultery and murder. Try running for president with that on your record and see how it goes. And for David, like so many others, this was after years of walking with God and living by faith and working righteously. You'd expect a little more.

Gideon is on the list, faithless coward that he was. Over and over he asked God to prove that He really would be there for him. With all the questions for the angel and the dry fleece and the wet fleece, he wanted to be really, really, really sure that God wouldn't leave him hanging if he went out on the limb for Him. But he finally chose to have faith, and he acted on it.

Several more names. Several more similar stories. If I were Satan, I might say, "Really, God? That's your list? That's your all-star line-up right there? You sure that's what you want to go with?"

To which God would respond, "Absolutely it is! Only with some more names to add besides." Because in verse 16 he says, "Therefore God is not ashamed to be called their God, for He has prepared a city for them." Did you hear that? God is not ashamed of them. God is not ashamed of you. He knows what they did. He knows it and He wrote it down so you would know, too.

And why is God not ashamed of us? The sentence before. "But now they desire a better, that is, a heavenly country." That's why. Again verse 6; "He is a rewarder of those who diligently seek Him." He is proud of us because we seek Him; we desire a heavenly land; we want to be where He is. That's it. That's what comes from faith. And that's what gets us to God. Besides, God doesn't need us to be perfect heroes. That's His job.

Now, if we do have faith, James 2 clearly teaches that our actions will begin to show that. Faith without works is dead faith. But it isn't the actions themselves that make us worthy. It is the faith in God, and then a desire to be with Him.

So the review questions. Are you a screwup? Do you have faith in God? Do you long to be with Him? If you answered yes to these, you will fit in well with this list of "the heroes" of faith that God is waiting for.

Working for Coke

Working for Coke.

We were halfway through Malachi's chaotic practice baseball game this morning when the scouts showed. I could tell right away something was up. The league founder/president came walking up with a lady holding a clipboard. She stayed standing next to first base near me while he went out to the mound to talk to the coach.

I could hear them talking, like a manager visiting the pitcher. They pointed and nodded and something about, "...fifteen minutes from now," and he turned around and walked slowly off with the clipboard lady.

About 15 Dominican minutes later (30 minutes U.S.)  they came back. The game was ended and all the boys were called over to the sideline to gather around the lady. She was a talent scout, sure enough. But not from the major leagues. She was looking for boys to be in a commercial for Coca-Cola and a local cell phone company, Viva. She was going to take a picture of all of them and then do a short video. In the video they would swing the bat then look down sadly like they had just lost. She would forward the photos and video on to Coca-Cola and Viva. If Coke chose you to be in the commercial, you would be paid $4,000 pesos (About $100 U.S). She should have waited to mention that.

The group instantly erupted. They shouted and jumped around like they had just won the World Series. For a moment they were uncontrollable, turning and facing each other and imagining all the ways they would spend such riches. Poor Malachi was the only one with no clue what was going on. He just stood there and watched the craziness around him.

Finally they were calmed down and in line. Baseball could wait, it was showbiz time. One by one they faced the camera and smiled. Big grins, forced grins, gap-toothed grins; a wide array of cute little boys eager for their chance at fame and fortune. They each swung the bat for the camera and then showed a terribly sad face that only an ice-cold Coca-Cola could cure.

After the practice, the marketing rep came up to Abby and me. There was a second audition specifically for the cell phone company if we'd like to bring Malachi. We are still without a car, but another very friendly parent, Emily, was taking her son and told us we could ride along.

A few hours later we were there. It kind of looked like a house outside, but inside it was clearly a spacious office. The same lady was there with a few others. She explained more of the specifics. If our son was chosen, Coke would pay 4,000 pesos the same day as the video shoot, which would be next Sunday. If it the other company, Viva, chose him, the video shoot would be a long day but would pay 8,000 pesos, 80 days later.

Our girls came along and she asked if they'd like to try out, too. So all three, along with Malachi's teammate Daniel, got their picture taken again and made a brief statement about themselves for the camera. Well, almost all. Amelia got the picture, but in spite of all her prep in the living room with me an hour before as she showed how she would sell lotion on Spanish TV, once the camera came on she froze and wouldn't say a word.  

So now we await a call. Or more likely not. But either way, it was a fun experience and memory for the kids. The day they tried out for the big time.

If you were the last one on earth, would you give to charity?

If I were the last man on earth, would I need to give to charity?

Sometimes I have weird questions go through my head. Like that one. If I were the last man on earth, I suppose charitable giving wouldn't be the first of my concerns. Speaking of that, I like the line I heard from some unromantic shlub who said he wanted to be the last man on earth just to see if all those girls really meant what they said.

But I digress.

The question entered my mind as I read about the subject of tithing. Keeping less than you earn is as old as civilization itself. And as crazy as it may sound, the surprising answer is, yes. Even if I were the only person on earth, I would need to give a tythe, a portion of my earnings to charity. Or more specifically, to God. Even though no one else would benefit.

And here's why.

The primary purpose of giving away some of your earnings isn't to benefit others, it's to benefit yourself.

That statement may sound selfish and counterintuitive on the surface, but let me explain.

When Cain and Abel, the 3rd and 4th people on the planet, became old enough to produce a living, they did not keep it all for themselves. Cain raised crops, and Abel raised livestock. They took some of what they produced and destroyed it. Just burnt it up. They didn't give it away to the poor and needy (seems Mom and Dad were doing fine.) They didn't build a new school or a church with it. They sent it up in smoke.

How would you respond, if after passing the plate at church, the ushers took the money out to the back parking lot, threw it all in a burn barrel and had themselves a little bonfire? Well, for one thing, you'd probably start using a lot more checks than cash.

But beyond that, you wouldn't be inclined to give much seeing those kind of money management skills from the leadership.

However,  this was exactly what God wanted Cain and Abel to do. The story talks about how Abel gave right away out of the first of his flock, but Cain did so grudgingly whenever he got around to it. God didn't like Cain's attitude and let him know.

When Noah got off the ark, what was the first thing he did? Do you remember? (Well, maybe after falling on the ground and kissing it like a crazy relieved fool.) He built an altar and killed and sacrificed a bunch of the food animals from the ark.

And yes, the Bible specifically says "clean animals," that's the kind they could eat. Not the lizards and bats and mosquitos. He used the good stuff, the steak, bacon and egg providers. Now remember, ALL living things were gone from the earth. Sending out a hunting party for more game at that point would have been a futile trip. It might have been tempting for Noah to say, "I don't know, since there is no food anywhere on the entire planet, maybe we don't destroy part of our food supply and instead save for the future."

Now, I'm all for planning ahead and putting money and assets aside, but here's the point. Noah knew, Abel knew, and Cain should have known where it all came from. Cain gave an offering to God because Dad and Mom told him to, and little bro' was making him look bad by having his own sacrifice. He completely missed the point.

Noah and Abel knew the food came from grace and goodness of God, not from themselves.

When they sent it up in flame, they were telling God, "I don't depend on this livestock, or the crops, or anything else. I depend on you."

I don't need the stuff, I need the One the stuff comes from. If I have Him, I have it all.

God told Moses, "Thou Shalt have no other gods before me." When we tythe, when we give to charity right away from our paychecks, we destroy again that easy temptation to make money our god. We remind ourselves it's not the money we need, but the One who gave us the ability to earn money in the first place.

The primary purpose of tithing isn't to benefit others (although it does that, and now with other people on the planet, I don't encourage intentionally burning your assets), it is to remind us that we need God. The primary purpose of tithing is to strengthen our relationship with our Creator, the source of everything. There is nothing more important in life than that.

I need God. I need to constantly remind myself of that.

And that is why, if I were the last man I earth, I would still give to charity.

Dominican Baseball

Every major league baseball fan knows that a couple of their favorite players have come from, or have at least played winter-league ball, in the Dominican Republic. This little island country, with about 3% the population of the United States, produces an amazingly high number of top players. Upon arriving here, I expected to discover the secret. It has been harder than I expected.   

A team affiliated with the Cincinnati Reds plays in late Sept, 2011.



Infield practice. More exciting with rocks and divets in the way.

 So what is the secret of Domincan baseball? We have an "in" to discover it.

Malachi loves baseball. And football. One of his biggest disapointments in coming to the D.R. is not being able to play football this fall. He was finally old enough for tackle, and he was looking forward to plowing into other kids. But his solace was the legend of baseball in the D.R., so he could at least do that.

Strangely, at first we couldn't find anyone who actually played the game. We couldn't even find a baseball field. We're in this giant city, millions of people, and no baseball. The small parks that are around are filled with trees and shrubs, nice for shade, but leaving no room for throwing a ball or batting practice. It seemed weird.

Finally Abby met another women who had a son in baseball. We got the details, and she took us to the field to show us around. It was organized chaos, kinda like at home when you're dealing with a bunch of seven year olds. Only even stronger on the chaos and weaker on the organized.

We got lucky. Malachi's age group only practices once a week, and that was today. We were catching the tail end of it. The league president, Enrique Cruz, took him aside to test his skills. Mr. Cruz threw the ball gently to Malachi, his arm now visibly slowed by age. Perhaps arthritis or something else impedes him, but he went through the routine that his body memorized decades ago.

Malachi caught it easily. A few more. Then some slow grounders from 15 feet away. He could have scooped them with his bare hand, but used the glove, tossing them back.

"He catches well. He throws well," is the assessment. "Now let's see how he bats."

As we walk to the batting net, into which he easily hits some soft-toss balls, I think to myself.

"They certainly don't start out with higher expectations than we have in the States... unless they're going easy on the new American kid." I'll soon find out.

Dominican Baseball has an interesting slant in the local papers. They don't follow teams, but players. When Nelson Cruz hit the game winning HR off of Jose Valverde Oct 12, 2011, THAT was the headline. The fact that the playoff game came down to two Dominicans going mano-a-mano was almost bigger than who won.

They love their local boys down here. Albert Pujols, David Ortiz and many more are followed daily in the boxscores. After one game between Arizona and the Giants, the only note was "no jugaron dominicanos." "No Domincans played."




Frightened are the peacemakers

Have you ever seen a fight? Sure, most guys probably have. But I'd never seen one go down quite like this.  Now most of my friends aren't really brawlers, but a couple years ago, I saw a guy punch another player in our Thanksgiving flag football game. He got kicked out and walked to his car swearing and griping about the injustice of it all.

But this past Friday night, there were no refs. And apparently calling the police isn't what you do around here. So it was up to Rich and me to intervene; or at least, it seemed like the right thing to do at first.

Our family was visiting his family Friday night in a fairly typical neighborhood of Santo Domingo. From their second floor balcony of the 5-story apartment, we heard some yelling out on the street. Looking over the balcony rail, we could see a Haitian guy sitting on the 3 foot wall by the sidewalk, with a Dominican really in his face over something. After a moment of yelling, he suddenly swung at him and knocked him off the wall. The Haitian disappeared for a moment on the other side and then was up and back over the wall. The Dominican was a pretty big guy, and eager to fight. The two men faced up, fists raised, right out on the sidewalk, under the street light.

Suddenly a girl from the parking lot below our balcony started to scream at them. I assumed she was the girlfriend or something, and then Rich and Kirsten both joined in yelling at them to back off. They ignored the protests and started in, punching and ducking.

"Rich, you got to go down there!" Kirsten yelled. They knew the Haitian, I discovered. He was the building guard that opened the gate for cars to park beneath the building. They also knew there was bad blood between him and a couple of the building residents.

"I'll go with you," I said, as Rich headed for the door. He grabbed a stick that was sitting by the door, hoping it would help deter the combatants when we showed up. We bounded down a flight of stairs, and out into the gated parking lot beneath the building, heading for the electric gate which was now beginning to open. Somehow I ended up in front of Rich, and I as I neared the gate to the street, suddenly a man came through toward me, a machete in hand. He walked straight toward me, an angry My mind started to race.

In a flash, I had three quick thoughts. It's funny how fast the mind works sometimes. One thought was suddenly wishing I wasn't down here. The second was wondering what it would feel like to get hit by a machete. The third was wondering if running back to the building would be a good move or attract unnecessary attention. He was coming toward me, but he wasn't really after me, was he? I stopped and moved back and to the left, watching him very closely.

Behind me, I heard a flurry of activity. Out of the building  poured 7 or 8 young men, the first one out holding a pistol. With his left hand he reached down and I heard the metal slide as he loaded a round into the chamber. This was not an improvement.

Rich and I had separated to opposite sides of the parking lot. Before us was a guy with a machete. Behind us a guy with a gun. Plus two guys out on the street fighting and a host of young men ready to do who knows what. I moved cautiously toward the group of men behind us.

"Quien tiene el problema?" the guy with the gun asked. Who has the problem. Great. A guy with a gun looking for a problem. The two guys who had been fighting were nowhere in sight, and as I turned around, machete man was heading out the gate onto the street.

"Nobody here has a problem," I said. Some of the other guys who had just exited the building muttered an agreement. Now if everybody could go back inside, I thought, we can end this without anybody dying.

Rich was down toward the street still and some yelling started up again. The gunman ran down toward the sound. I stayed put. No way I was going back down there. Just beyond the wall, voices were yelling out on the street. It sounded like another group had arrived. Maybe from the building next door? A couple guys appeared at the top of the wall yelling into the garage. The idiot with the gun yelled back and then raised the gun, stepping towards them, pointing it and threatening to fire. The men disappeared from the wall. But the shouts and alarm didn't.

You could feel the tension and uncertainty. Is this what it's like right before a riot? Are there sides to this whole thing that I don't know about yet? What side is everybody on anyway? God, please don't let those other guys come back with guns, too. I have a feeling hothead here won't be able to resist squeezing off a few rounds. 

Rich yelled at the guy to put the gun down. I yelled from the back. Another older guy was there now and saying the same thing. (I say older. I mean older like us, 30's, maybe 40's). Finally, the voices on the street quieted a little. The guy stuffed the gun in his front jeans pocket, the barrel sticking out. (For some strange reason I remember wondering if the safety was on. A sudden discharge can be rather unpleasant from that position.)

Rich and Old Fart started to herd them slowly back toward me and they begin to mill around.  It seemed like they didn't know any better than I did what all the fighting was really about anyway.

Now here's the crazy thing. I had just called a taxi to take us home, and we were waiting for it when this whole melee started. So now our taxi pulls up outside the gate in the middle of a growing crowd of people. Calm seems to be returning even as the crowd grows, so I decide to stick with the plan.

"Look," I say loudly.

"That's my taxi. My wife and kids are going to be walking through here in a minute. Take that back upstairs," I say, pointing to Trigger Finger.

"I don't want any guns, or any machetes, or any fighting at all. Go!"

He takes a couple steps toward the door but then hesitates, not sure the action is really over. But now Kirsten is down with us and she lets him have it. What are you thinking bringing than down here and waiving it around? There are families that live here. We got kids coming through. She's pointing and waiving here arms like some crazy Cubana. One by one the guys slip back through the door and I join them to usher down the family.

When we finally all get into the taxi, the driver looks around at the group of probably 30 young people, now girls as well as guys.

"You having some kind of a party or something?" he says as we pull out.

"Yeah," I think. "Something like that."

Little Car in a Big City.

"Firsts" are always an adventure. In a new country you'll find many of them, and these are my thoughts on my first ride in a public car, a "publico."

                I needed to go across town to teach my new English class. I walked the two blocks to the main street and waited. Lisa had given me a verbal rundown on what to expect so I kept an eye out for the little cars with the green signs on the top. Once you know what to look for, they're everywhere. The first three I saw zipped by, already full. The next one stopped and a young lady and I both got in, she in the front and I in the back. The cars are all the same. The smallest 4-doors you can buy, beat up inside and out from countless stops and passengers. They comfortably seat four adults, and uncomfortably seat seven.

                The driver takes off the moment we get in and I hand him 50 pesos ($1.25 approx). All the windows are rolled down which aids in airflow and heat control. As I'll discover, depending on who's sitting next to you, the airflow can be quite important.

                We dart through traffic, the driver's left arm resting on the open window, he gestures with his hand. I discover that waiving his left hand is how he signals he has room for more.  Or not. He pulls over suddenly and a pretty girl gets in and sits by me in the back. I'm wedged in the middle now, with a well-dressed young man in dress pants and long sleeves on the other side. Two girls share the lone bucket seat in front next to the driver.

                We're off again and the new passengers hand money to the driver. I don't know why there aren't more accidents. Horns honk constantly and we cruise through lanes and around other cars, trucks, and sidewalk stands with seemingly only inches to spare.

                One eye is always on the sidewalk, and our driver sees a girl wave her hand. He quickly stops. We cram over to the left for her, and now the pretty girl is almost on my lap. Twenty years ago, this would have been a major milestone in my dating life. Should I introduce myself? Or maybe apologize to the guy on my left for the sudden intimacy. No one says much of anything so I just sit there.

                He needs to get out; the guy on my left. He's next to the door, of course, but no one exits on the street side because doing so would imperil your life. We all pile out of the back seat so he can get out and then pile back in. By the time we get to my street, I'm the only one left in the cab. In a few more blocks, he'll turn around and head back the way we came.

                Later on the way home, I'm in the front seat, but sharing it with another guy. I literally hang my head and right arm out the window to create a little more space, making sure to duck in quickly when we pass a tree limb or a vendor's parked cart. On my next ride, I was the one next to the driver while another guy got the window. The driver asked me to scoot over because he was having a hard time steering with my knee against the steering wheel. I thought about mentioning that it could be because he has two guys crammed into the front seat of his car; but I bit my tongue and shifted over an inch.

                It's a crowded ride with constant stops and starts, but pretty cheap and it works if your trip involves the main streets. And it helps if you're little.

Cockroach battle

This cockroach was HUGE. And skinny. And fast. About the size of my pinky, it sat perched on our windowsill, just a couple feet from my side of the bed, it's antennae and flightless wings twitching around like some freaky alien thing.

I thought about trying to smash it with my fist, but couldn't bring myself to do it. I needed a weapon, quick. My pillow? Cellphone? Across the room I saw Abby's sunglasses case. That would have to do. I went over and grabbed it, one eye still on the alien. Abby sat in bed, surfing the web on her laptop, oblivious.

As I walked back across, weapon in hand, the cockroach darted quickly to the corner of the window and turned to face me, sensing the coming attack. I strode closer and then reached out with my left hand and gently opened the window. In a flash, he was gone through the opening and I slammed the window behind him. I walked back over to the shelf and put down the sunglasses case. Abby kept typing away, never looking up. It's a good thing she doesn't check my Facebook page much.