February 22, 2012

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Don’t Snore On My Parade

March 29, 2011 By Tracy Beckerman Leave a Comment

“Honey, you were snoring really loud last night,” alleged my husband.

“That’s impossible,” I said. “I don’t snore.”

“Oh no?”

“No, I would hear it if I snored.”

“You don’t hear it because you are sleeping!” he declared. “Something I was not able to do so well with all that snoring going on.”

“Maybe it was the dog?” I suggested.

“Listen TyranaSNORous Rex,” he said. “The snoring was coming from the body in the bed next to me.  I think after all these years, I can tell the difference between you and the dog.”

I shrugged and disappeared into the bathroom.

Truth be told, I kind of knew I had been snoring. It might have something to do with the fact that I was dreaming I was bowling in a thunderstorm while fireworks were being shot off and men with jackhammers worked nearby.  Or maybe it was the fact that I actually woke up at one point because I heard someone snort. When I realized my husband was not in the bed, it did not leave a lot of other people to blame it on.

I was actually pretty aghast to discover that I might be on my way to becoming my father.  My dad snored so loudly that one time when I was growing up, the neighbors called wildlife control because they thought there was a wounded warthog roaming the streets.  Although I have been informed that my snores sound like a cross between a congested cow and a rusty chainsaw, I had no doubt that I would soon be elevated to warthog status if I didn’t address the problem.

I was pretty sure my snoring was due to the fact that every night I was stuffed up. And I was pretty sure I was stuffed up because our humidifier was on the fritz.  I decided that in the best interest of spousal harmony, I should call in the humidifier repair people.  However, calling for a repairman and actually getting something repaired are two different things. It took four days to get someone to come look at the problem, two hours to determine that it needed a new part, half an hour to determine that the repairman didn’t have the part on the truck, and then another week to get the part in and install it. During that time, I was informed that I snored nine nights, snorted four times, and whistled through my nose twice.

The good news was, by the tenth day, the humidifier was back in action, the bedroom seemed less dry, and I was sure that my night would be snore-free.

The morning after a well-humidified night, I woke up feeling really refreshed and was convinced that my snoring days, or rather nights, were over.

“So,” I said, turning to my husband.  “Did I snore last night?”

“I don’t know,” he replied. “I couldn’t hear anything over your teeth grinding.”

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The World’s Fattest Toddler: I’m Not Worried

March 28, 2011 By Teresa Strasser, Creators Syndicate Leave a Comment

Step aside, infamous Indonesian smoking baby, there’s a new gross-you-out and get-you-incensed Internet sensation in town. It’s the obese Chinese toddler!

Perhaps you have seen photos of Lu Hao, a 132-pound 3-year-old who eats three bowls of rice at a time and refuses to walk to school. It’s compelling stuff, the swollen kid crammed into a raft, floating in a pool, the massive baby gnawing on a chicken bone or being hoisted by his sweating, regular-sized dad as his girth tests the tensile strength of a T-shirt.

If you see the story anywhere online, don’t even bother reading the comments section. This is very predictable, the kind of kid story that causes parents to do one of two things: A) lots of pontificating about how mom and dad need to take charge and are actually abusive in their neglectful/idiotic parenting or B) feel sorry for the child and post about their pity, which causes group A to attack group B. These two groups will go round and round while missing the point: This fat baby is onto something, and I don’t just mean a steel-reinforced Bumbo chair.

I don’t know exactly what Bethenny Frankel does or is, but I know her name, I know she has written a couple of bestselling books, and I know she regularly trends on Twitter and has been featured on five reality shows, two that focus solely on her life.

Forget about the Strasberg Institute or the Writers’ Workshop at the University of Iowa. Skip Juilliard, practicing your guitar, attending classes at Second City or even going to culinary school.

Just have yourself some brawls like the “Desperate Housewives” or the cast members of “Jersey Shore.” In other words, embrace your total lack of impulse control, and you will be on the road to fame and fortune.

If you find you can’t keep your mouth shut, you might end up getting punched like Snooki and become an overnight sensation. If you can’t restrain yourself — from toppling a table at a party, screaming, conniving, drinking, vicious gossiping, smoking, having inappropriate sex, having a zillion kids or, in the case of little Lu, eating — we are going to be very interested in you. You could be five bowls of rice from your own series.

Discipline gets plenty of lip service, but if you want to “trend” in our culture, don’t call a therapist when you can’t control your impulses. Call CAA. I think they are opening a special “Impulse Control” division because that’s how profitable it is to completely give in to your urges, at least if there’s a camera there to capture it. Only suckers bother with training, practice and long, boring, expensive educations that mainly lead to working mundane jobs while hacking away at manuscripts that will never sell. You know who sells books? The Situation. He sells books, and last I checked, he hadn’t “paid dues” or “even read a book” himself.

If TLC doesn’t get ahold of this obese baby, they are missing out on a chance for a docu-soap that could fit nicely into their lineup, the way Lu’s diaper fits perfectly over a queen-size bed. “Little People, Big Baby” could be the story of two little people struggling to raise a giant child. Look out for “The Littlest Biggest Loser,” in which Lu competes in weight-loss challenges with other chubby babies from around the world.

Lu could move in with the Duggars or be disciplined by Jo Frost or perhaps team up with the smoking baby (who has finally quit smoking, by the way) to live in a house on the Jersey Shore with Bethenny, her new family, a few MTV Teen Moms and an aging Puck from “The Real World.” A swirl of ids could provide new catchphrases, books, spin-off shows and viewing parties.

This fat baby is already learning something important about making his mark. The only thing he really has to worry about? The next 500-pound 4-year-old knocking him off his top spot. Or the smoking baby picking up again. Fame is a hard habit to break.

 

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Unknown Soldiers – Top Gun

March 25, 2011 By Tom Sileo, Creators Syndicate Leave a Comment

 

U.S. Navy Cmdr. Dave Mundy, executive officer of the Carrier Airborne Early Warning Squadron (VAW) 121, presents a U.S. flag to the widow of Lt. Miroslav Steven Zilberman during his memorial ceremony April 8, 2010, in Norfolk, Va. (U.S. Navy photo by Mass Communication Specialist 2nd Class William Wienert/Released)

When future U.S. Navy pilot Miroslav Zilberman lost his grandfather, a Russian World War II aviator who spent almost a full year as a prisoner of war, he searched for the right words to honor his hero.

“I will always remember him as a loving and caring grandfather,” Zilberman, then training to become a pilot, said at the cemetery. “The next time I come here, I will proudly be wearing my uniform, and with honor, salute my grandfather and remember his life.”

Zilberman, known as “Steven” by many of his relatives and friends, worked incredibly hard to turn his dreams into reality, becoming a Navy lieutenant. He grew up in Kiev, Ukraine, but quickly became endeared to America after moving here in elementary school, eventually even referring to Columbus, Ohio, as home. Yet other than his family, including a wife and two children, there is one thing he adored above all else.

Officers bow their heads aboard the aircraft carrier USS Dwight D. Eisenhower (CVN 69) during a memorial service for Lt. Steven Zilberman. (U.S. Navy photo by Mass Communication Specialist 3rd Class Chad R. Erdmann/Released)

“He loved to fly,” Zilberman’s mother, Anna Sokolov, told The Unknown Soldiers. “One time, I remember I called him, and he was in Texas, and he was not in a good mood, which was unusual. I asked him, ‘Did something happen?’”

Zilberman told his mom that bad weather conditions would prevent him from flying that day.

“I said, ‘So what, you’ll fly tomorrow,’ and he said, ‘Mom, you don’t understand,’” Sokolov recalled. “He breathed aviation.”

Assigned to Carrier Airborne Early Warning Squadron (VAW-21), Zilberman soared into the skies, earning numerous educational and training achievements as a naval aviator. But as a dear friend who once helped a young Steven learn English noted, he did not make these sacrifices at his family’s expense.

“At the same time, (Zilberman) fulfilled the lofty personal goals of remaining a loving son to his devoted parents, Anna and Boris (Zilberman), a loving husband to Katrina, the love of his life since age 18, and loving father to their two beautiful children, Daniel and Sarah,” Marylin Rofsky said.

Tragically, those touching remarks were made at a memorial service for Zilberman at Naval Station Norfolk, Va., on April 8, 2010. The 31-year-old pilot’s E-2C Hawkeye crashed in the Arabian Gulf on March 31 while returning to the USS Dwight D. Eisenhower from a mission over Afghanistan. Despite a frantic and extensive search, his body was never recovered.

“I thought that it could not be because I only had one child and I brought him to America for a better life,” an emotional Sokolov told me. “Everything was all right in our family, even though my father was in two wars before he died at 92. It was horrible.”

(U.S. Navy photo by Mass Communication Specialist 3rd Class Chad R. Erdmann/Released)

Zilberman’s selfless actions in the moments before the crash earned him the Distinguished Flying Cross. According to numerous accounts, the pilot urged his three crewmembers to bail out as he battled a mechanical failure, keeping the plane steady just long enough to save their lives.

“Without his courageous actions, the entire crew would have perished,” a Navy citation reads.

Zilberman’s parents were unaware of many of their son’s accomplishments until his memorial service.

“He was a top pilot, but we didn’t know,” his proud mother explained. “He was very modest and would never brag about his own accomplishments. To him, it didn’t matter.”

When we think of American military pilots, many of us still recall Maverick and Goose gliding around the skies in the classic ’80s film “Top Gun,” with roaring engines and rock music in the background. Yet as we are reminded by Zilberman’s call sign of “Abrek,” which means “valiant man” in Russian, the real protectors of the sky are in danger at this very hour, flying perilous missions over combat zones in Afghanistan and Libya.

Today, we find ourselves set where Lt. Miroslav “Steven” Zilberman once stood, searching for the right way to honor our heroes. Maybe we can start by living a little bit more like them: making our country better and following our dreams, while at the same time always putting our loved ones first.

 

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Dave Says, “Get Out of Debt Even Faster”

March 24, 2011 By Dave Ramsey Leave a Comment

Dear Dave,

I’m 26, single, and I’ve been working your Total Money Makeover plan to pay off my debt. Right now, I have just $25,000 left to pay off, including my car. Recently, I was offered a chance to move to Singapore for the next six months as part of my job. I won’t have any real expenses while I’m there, but I’m worried about the effect it might have on me getting out of debt. How can I make all of this balance out?

Jared

Dear Jared,

Why does there have to be a balance here? In my mind, this whole situation is a fantastic catalyst for helping you get out of debt even faster than before.

Think about it. You’re single, and you’ve got no strings attached. This is a wonderful opportunity to travel and make more money and save more money than ever before! You’ll be able to accelerate your financial plan and have a great cultural experience, too!

Now, I’m not up for this idea if you’re going over there just to hang out and goof off. But if you’re committed to the plan and to getting out of debt, then this is something you absolutely must do. You could even go ahead and sell the car now. You’ll be rid of insurance payments, buying tags, and all that stuff. Plus, it’ll just sit there losing value while you’re gone, anyway.

I’m not hearing anything negative in this entire situation. Go for it, Jared!

—Dave

Dear Dave,

I called a creditor recently to settle an old debt. They offered a settlement, but said it was their policy not to put settlement offers in writing. Should I accept the deal?

Joseph

Dear Joseph,

No way! If you don’t have anything in writing, then you have no proof that they extended the offer or agreed to a specific amount. The only one who will have “proof” of anything in this scenario is the creditor, and that’s just asking for trouble.

My suggestion for handling this ridiculous situation goes something like this. Explain to them that you seem to have reached an impasse, because you have a policy of never accepting settlements and handing out money unless the settlements are in writing. No writing, no money! It’s not a hard concept to understand, and it’s fair to both parties.

—Dave

Dear Dave,

I’d like to move to Las Vegas when I retire in about 10 years. I’ve saved up quite a bit of money, and could pay cash for a property now. Should I go ahead and buy, and maybe rent it out for a while, or wait until I actually retire?

Bruce

Dear Bruce,

If you can pay cash now and still have plenty of savings left over, then there’s no reason not to go ahead and buy. The housing bubble has burst out there, and you’ll be able to find some real bargains in and around Vegas.

I’m not big on being a long-distance landlord, but I’d be tempted to do it in a situation like this. Keep in mind that you’ll probably have to renovate the place if you rent it out for several years. It’s just the nature of things in the rental world, so make sure you figure that into your cash plan—and your emotional plan, too!

—Dave

* For more financial help, please visit daveramsey.com.

 

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Getting Our Ducks In A Row

March 23, 2011 By Tracy Beckerman Leave a Comment

Photo courtesy of Lee J Haywood

“DUCK!”  Yelled my daughter.

I dropped to the floor.  “What? Is something coming at my head?”

“No. Duck… in the backyard!” she clarified.

I got off my knees and peered out back. Sure enough, there was a mallard pacing back and forth along the outside of our pool fence. He was quacking and pacing and if ever a duck looked annoyed, this one did.

Last time I checked, ducks could fly, so I was perplexed why this duck was staying on the wrong side of the pool fence.

Now for those of you who are new to this column, you should know that it is not an unusual occurrence for us to get ducks in our backyard. There is a pair of mallards, Larry and Loretta, the snowbirds, who fly up from Boca Raton every spring to their lovely place here in New Jersey. They have been doing this every year since we moved into our house 11 summers ago.  The last two years they brought their friend Sy with them to enjoy duck paddling in the frigid water that collects over the winter in our pool tarp.  I tried to convince them to wait a month until we actually open the pool, but I guess they prefer to be here early and get first dibs on the drowned worms.  Early bird and all that… you know.

Anyway, at first I thought one of the ducks had arrived alone. But I soon saw that all three were actually here:  Larry and Loretta were in the pool and Sy was the one outside the fence.

This is when I realized that there might have been a falling out in duckland.

Every time Sy approached the fence, Larry hopped out of the pool and ran straight at Sy, quacking and flapping his wings in obvious disapproval.

“I think the ducks are fighting over the pool,” I said to my daughter.

“Seriously, mom? Don’t you know anything? She said rolling her eyes. “They are fighting over Loretta!”

I looked back and saw Loretta calmly preening her tail feathers while the male mallards engaged in a quack-off.

“Well, that’s not very cool of Sy,” I said glaring at the outcast duck.  “Doesn’t he know that ducks mate for life?”

“I guess he missed the memo,” said my daughter. I laughed out loud.

While we pondered the situation with the ducks, we failed to notice someone else who was becoming increasingly bothered by the duck wars.  It wasn’t until my daughter opened the back door to the deck to go out and get a better look that we realized the dog was on high alert. He bolted out the door and ran toward the pool, barking his head off at the ducks. Without another quack, both Larry and Sy flew the coop. But Loretta calmly hopped back into the pool and started swimming again.

“Well I guess that solves that,” I said. “She’s not going to pick either of them now.”

“Why?” asked my daughter.

“Because now she knows they’re both chickens.”

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It’s Ivy League Preschool or Enlarged Bust

March 21, 2011 By Teresa Strasser, Creators Syndicate Leave a Comment

 

Photo courtesy of Gideon Tsang

She goes by the name Divine, but her life is anything but. When she can afford it, she speedballs cocaine after a long night giving lap dances at the Diamond Bar. Early mornings are hard — the sun coming up, the old baby toys glaring and gathering dust — and the memories of her baby, born drug-addicted and taken by the state, haunt her. The Xanax helps her sleep until her next shift.

 

When money is low, she carefully plucks half-smoked butts from the coffee can on her stoop and saves them in an Altoids tin.

She tells her johns she’s working her way through med school. No one ever believes it.

She smells like cheap detergent from the vending machine at the laundromat mixed with vanilla and regret — all of this could have been prevented 19 years before.

The same is true for Sam, who waits for dinner to be left in the dumpster behind a Pizza Hut. He eats the cold slices left behind by families who will go home to warm apartments and finds comfort in a tattered green sleeping bag perched on the stairs of a church where he sleeps most nights.

Both of these young people could have been spared a life of failure, struggle and despair.

Sadly, because their parents didn’t push hard enough to get them into the right preschool, didn’t do their research, didn’t attend the requisite school-sponsored Mommy and Me classes and fundraisers, because their parents missed this all-important bus to happiness and achievement, Sam’s and Divine’s fates were sealed as toddlers. Without admission to the right preschool — which could have provided access to elite elementary schools, which of course would have meant a high-caliber high school followed by college — their lives hit the skids. With one boneheaded move, Sam and Divine were robbed of the fulfilling lives they could have had.

Sam and Divine aren’t real people.

They are only real inasmuch as this is how serious parents are made to feel our choices about preschool really are, as evidenced by the lawsuit filed in Manhattan Supreme Court alleging that a $19,000-a-year preschool failed to properly prepare a 4-year-old for the ERB, an exam required for entrance into the city’s top elementary schools. The toddler’s mother, Nicole Imprescia, is suing York Avenue Preschool for sticking her child with younger students who were still learning shapes and colors and essentially charging her for running “one big playroom.”

According to court documents filed by the family, “(G)etting a child into the Ivy League starts in nursery school.”

When Imprescia realized her daughter wasn’t getting appropriate test prep (the ERB happens to be notoriously unreliable as a measure of intelligence from what I can tell, but no matter, it’s important to schools in New York, so it was important to this mom), she yanked her kid out of the school in a matter of weeks and wanted her 19 grand back. The school told the mom no dice, we’ll have our lawyer, who is well versed in shapes and colors, see you in court.

Sure, there’s much to mock here. Overpriced preschools, parents who bite and claw for the privilege of paying a fortune for “creative play.”

I have visited one preschool so far. My only question: Where are the books? You know, books? Those things that help you learn how to read?

“Learn by play,” they explained.

As we drove off, I muttered to my husband, “Whatever happened to learn by … learn?” and he muttered “$17,000″ over and over to himself, like the name of a lover lost at sea.

On the upside, the tour was very diverse: There were not only white parents; there were also SUPER-white parents.

It would also be easy to make fun of the mother for suing. But hey, I don’t fault a lady for wanting her dough back after a few weeks of shapes and colors. I’m just saying, let’s focus on what’s important in the life of a child: It’s the preschool, folks. That’s obvious from this lawsuit.

Forget family of origin, community, genetics and peer-group influence, and focus on where your kid will finger paint for a couple of years. Make the wrong choice, and mark my words, Sam and Divine won’t just be imaginary. They will be as real and stupid as this entire fiasco.

 

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Attack of the Snack Food Giants

March 20, 2011 By Will E Sanders, Creators Syndicate Leave a Comment

For years, a steady anger grew within me as I watched one candy bar manufacturer or snack food company after another slowly decrease the size or quantity of their product, but the price remained the same or rose.

If you don’t believe me, look at a Cadbury Egg the next time you’re at the store — they are so small that I could take them like aspirin. Or a Snickers bar. When I was a kid, they cost 50 cents and seemed as large as diving boards. And don’t even get me started on bags of anything, especially chips. Sometimes I wonder if I’m buying a bag of snacks or pre-packaged oxygen.

But something happened recently that sent me over the edge. I noticed that family-sized bags of Combos went from 8.5 ounces to a slim 7 ounces, yet the price stayed exactly the same. That’s right, the fat cats over at Combos are ripping us off, America!

Now some of you might not be aware of what a Combo even is, even though the thought appalls me. Combos are those oven-baked, cylinder pretzel or cracker snacks with flavored filling injected in between. And I love them. I could probably live exclusively off of Combos for the rest of my life — but only if a private party funded the experiment. In all honesty, if Combos aren’t going to be in Heaven, then I am not sure I want to die.

Are times that tough over at Combos? Has the price for a pound of pretzel gone up these days? Did crackers and cheese become an endangered species? I mean, what gives?

I decided to call Combos headquarters in Clovis, Calif., the other day to get some answers. While I was on hold, I heard a recorded message that stated the following: “If you have a medical emergency, hang up the phone and call (908) 979-XXXX.” That’s an awfully strange message. I wonder how often people incur Combos-related accidents? Perhaps, this was the reason why I was receiving a smaller amount of Combos? And what tormented soul would ever call a snack food hot line over dialing 911 in the case of a snack food related injury?

I imagine Combos has that message playing for a reason. Some idiot out there probably stuck a Combo some place he shouldn’t have, so now they need that disclaimer. Boy, I sure would hate to be that guy.

I can see it now: A guy injures himself while trying to open a bag of Combos with a pair of scissors. “Honey,” he yells to his wife, “I’ve just cut off my thumb. Where in the heck did you put that Combos snack food emergency number again?”

“Don’t you think we should call 911 for something like this?” she replies.

After I called Combos headquarters a second time, I reached a representative named Tyrell. “Tyrell,” I asked him, “why am I paying the same price for a smaller quantity of your delicious, salty treats?”

Tyrell was taken aback at the question, and I don’t blame him. “Let me look up the manufacturing history,” he replied. “Please hold.” Three minutes later, Tyrell came back on the line (and for some reason seemed like he was out of breathe, but I didn’t ask why). “It was a marketing decision.”

Now there is a marketing strategy I can stand by: less quantity, same price. As a consumer, I find the philosophy doesn’t carry much weight.

So how can Combos get away with it? Unlike most snack foods, Combos does not have a generic off-brand. If you have orange gunk on your hands, the culprit could be from Cheetos or from cheese puffs. The rich eat Fritos, but the poor eat simple corn chips. For every two Doritos I find under a couch cushion, there is always at least one exotic-flavored tortilla chip. But a Combo is a Combo is a Combo.

If you ask me, the folks at Combos have the market covered. Not to mention they operate off the simple marketing philosophy that no American can resist: food injected inside of other food. We have a holiday especially devoted to it — Thanksgiving turkey and stuffing anyone? And sure, jelly-filled doughnuts built the market, but Combos reinvented the food-within-another-food snack genre.

So, I suppose I should give Combos the credit they deserve, even if it gives a whole new meaning to the phrase of having a light snack.

 

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Dear Margo: When a Teen Needs to Grab the Reins

March 19, 2011 By Margo Howard, Creators Syndicate Leave a Comment

Dear Margo: I’m a 16-year-old girl with no life of my own. I live with my mom, her boyfriend and my 3-year-old brother in a two-bedroom apartment. My mom is on a bunch of meds for depression, bipolar disorder, anxiety and diabetes. She sleeps a lot, so I end up taking care of my brother most of the time. He has even started calling me mommy. I come home from school and have to fix supper and clean the apartment because my little brother has trashed the place all day. I have started applying to different colleges because I want to be a nurse.

My problem is that my mom won’t take me to visit any colleges, and she won’t agree to anyone else taking me. I feel like she wants to keep me trapped here forever. I am not allowed to go anywhere with friends or to have a normal teenager’s life. I wanted to get a summer job to earn money for school, but I was told no. I don’t want to have kids of my own because I have already been a mom to my little brother. How can I make my mom see that I am feeling suffocated? — Hopeless Teen in Ohio

Dear Hope: You don’t need me to tell you that what is going on at home is not good for you and most unfair. You will not make your mother see anything, but here are possible ways to improve things.

Because you describe no social life at all, if you’ve made a good friend at school whose family might let you live with them until you graduate, that would be good. (This happens more than people think.) And because you are not able to visit colleges, I would ask the guidance counselor how to proceed — perhaps with an appended letter outlining the reasons for being unable to visit. I worry about your little brother, too. Unless your mother’s boyfriend is a solid guy, you might have to involve the department of child services. I wish you luck, and I predict a better future. — Margo, hopefully

 

Treat a Disagreement as Just Another Subject

Dear Margo: My girlfriend and I communicate very well. The only thing we don’t do well is fight. We both prefer to avoid conflict and confrontation. Of course, we have differences and disagreements. I am wondering how we can get to be as good at talking about our differences as we are at talking about everything else. — Wanting To Improve

Dear Want: Let me just say this: A relationship in which there’s conflict avoidance is far preferable to the neurotic couples whose common bond is going at it — and each other.

There is such a thing as “good fighting.” It is essentially fair fighting, and it involves dealing with the issue without personalizing things. It involves rational discourse, not hollering, and it requires that you stick to the subject. That is, if you’re differing about domestic chores, stay away from side issues, such as throwing in, “And I never liked your sister!” I do think you are wise to want to find a way to work out differences. Just stay on the topic as two grownups trying to iron out a difference of opinion. — Margo, peacefully

 

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Unknown Soldiers – Holding His Hand

March 18, 2011 By Tom Sileo, Creators Syndicate 1 Comment

Former Senate Majority Leader and World War II veteran Bob Dole with Sgt. Rusty Dunagan, who was wounded in Afghanistan. Photo courtesy Susan Porter.

One fall day in Guthrie, Okla., Glenda Porter was preparing to call her younger sister to wish her a happy birthday. But before she could dial the number, her phone rang. It was Angie, the wife of her son, Sgt. Rusty Dunagan, who was deployed to an undisclosed location in southwest Asia.

“She asked me if I was sitting down, and I just started crying,” Glenda, 55, tells The Unknown Soldiers. “I said, ‘Just tell me he’s alive.”

This is the call that she, and every military mom with a son or daughter overseas, dreads beyond imagination.

“She said he was alive, but he lost both his legs,” Glenda says. “I started to lose it, and then she said, ‘He also lost his arm.’”

Glenda hung up, cried and began frantically contacting relatives. Her sister, Susan Porter, who had recently moved to Pennsylvania, was expecting some 48th birthday shenanigans from her sibling, until picking up the phone and hearing a sound she’ll never forget.

“She was screaming,” Susan says of Glenda. “She wasn’t making any sense to me, and I thought something happened to our father, but it was about Rusty.”

After realizing that there had been an explosion on Sept. 22, 2010 and that her nephew was fighting for his life in Germany, Susan asked Glenda how she could help.

“I told her that we need as many people to pray for Rusty as possible,” Glenda says. “I told her to get on Facebook and put it on there, and she did.”

What happened next has reinforced Glenda’s unshakeable belief in God and the nation her son fought for. Thousands upon thousands of compassionate citizens began joining the page, “Hold My Hand,” to send prayers to Rusty and his family.

“People have just been so kind,” Glenda says about the Facebook page, which now has almost 20,000 supporters. “It really shows you how great America is.”

Susan thinks her nephew’s resolve caused the massive outpouring on the Facebook page she created.

“We get so busy and caught up with life, we’re used to conveniences and certain things,” Susan, who is planning an Aug. 6 benefit for her nephew in their hometown of Guthrie, says. “But when we hear about tragedy, and you can really put a face and name to it … it becomes a resource for people to be encouraged and for people to do something.”

In the first days following the explosion, Glenda would wait for 4:30 a.m. phone calls from a friend at the hospital in Germany. News was sometimes encouraging and sometimes grim. When I ask the soldier’s mom how many surgeries Rusty has underwent since September, Glenda says she’s “lost track.”

“He almost bled to death during his first surgery, and it seemed like he was having surgeries and blood transfusions almost every other day,” Glenda painfully recalls. “But he’s really strong — Rusty is so strong.”

Today, Dunagan, 30, is continuing his long recovery in San Antonio. There have been bad days, but also some good ones, like when the wounded hero got to see his three stepchildren for the first time since the explosion.

“I was concerned about how that would go,” Glenda admits. “But they didn’t act like anything was wrong; they went straight up to him and started hugging.”

Dunagan, who has a nine-month-old baby with his wife, has gone through more uncertainty than most of us will in a lifetime. But through faith and genuine appreciation of his remaining blessings, this soldier is still fighting.

“Someone asked him why he’s so positive,” his mom says. “He said it’s because he didn’t pass out — he remembers the explosion — he looked down and saw his legs and an arm gone, and yelled for the medic.”

“He thought he would die then, and thought he would die after it happened,” Glenda continues. “But he didn’t, and he believes it’s a gift. That’s his attitude.”

When Glenda got that heartbreaking phone call from her daughter-in-law, she wanted to be told that Dunagan was alive. He is, with a grateful nation holding the hand he has left.

 

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Dave Says, “Strive for Balance”

March 17, 2011 By Dave Ramsey Leave a Comment

Dear Dave,

I recently graduated from college, and I think I’d like to get into the real estate business as an agent. I don’t have much real world experience, so what can I do to learn and become a great real estate agent?

Ryan

Dear Ryan,

Congratulations on finishing college! It sounds like you’re ready to hit the ground running.

I think the first thing anyone in your situation should do right now is get a first-hand look at the day-to-day life of a really good real estate agent. Find out what someone who sells 100 houses a year does on a daily basis, how they got to where they are, and how long it took them to get to that level in terms of skills, referrals, knowledge, and recognition in the marketplace.

You might consider driving to a nearby city—one that’s far enough away so that competition won’t be a factor—and finding a superstar agent. Tell them your situation, and ask if you could ride around with them for a day or two and pick their brain. Basically, I’m talking about interviewing them and finding out how you can be them when you grow up. Believe me, you’ll learn tons about the technology and marketing sides of things, too.

Real estate is probably the perfect example of The Pareto Principle. It states that 80 percent of the people make 20 percent of the money, and 20 percent of the people make 80 percent of the money. Learning as much as you can as quickly as you can is a great first step to making sure that you’re in that top 20 percent!

—Dave

Dear Dave,

I own a small company, and lots of times I feel like I’m devoting too much time to the business and not spending enough time with my family day to day. How do you find a balance between home and work?

Pat

Dear Pat,

You know, I get asked this question a lot. Truth be told, the idea of everything being in balance on a daily basis is a myth. No one can perfectly juggle all that life has to offer—the spiritual, emotional, financial, home, work, and physical—every single day. It’s just not possible. Still, you need to make sure you strive for balance over the scope of time.

I started running a few years ago, and I’m out of balance if I’m training for a marathon, because I spend more time training. The same is true with work. There are times when you have to work hard, and occasionally this can bleed over into other things. I think the answer lies in really being into whatever you’re doing. Listen and participate in conversations with your kids instead of watching television. Take your spouse out on dates, and turn off the cell phone. When you’re with your family you should really be with them. Then, when you have to work, chances are they won’t be mad at you.

Honestly, we waste so much time and then we complain that we’re out of balance. Ebb and flow takes place in every aspect of our lives. So, I think we should all stop wasting the time we have!

—Dave

* Dave may be coming to your town soon. For more information, please visit daveramsey.com/live/home.

 

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