Granddaddy

Today is the one year anniversary of the passing of one of the greatest people I have been fortunate to have in my life. This is what I wrote a year ago, just an hour after he left us:

May 8^th has never held any significance for me. It’s not a birthday of anyone I hold dear. It’s not a holiday. It’s not quite the end of school. It’s not the mark of a new season. I don’t remember any significant events from May 8^ths in the past. Today changed that. Starting at 6:03 pm today, May 8^th became a day that I will remember forever. It is the day that I will always celebrate the life of my granddaddy, Joe Wammack. The first time I have experienced the loss of a grandparent. My first experience of watching someone suffer until the end of an amazing, fulfilling, and awe inspiring life. No regrets. No sadness. Ready, set, he went. He went to be with his sons. To be with his parents. Went to be with his Savior. He went home. He left a family that made him more proud and joyous than anything else on this earth. He said "see you later" to twelve of his blood that are changed because of him. Hundreds, maybe thousands of others that were inspired to greatness by this one man. I could not be more grateful that I had this man for twenty glorious years. To learn from him. To love him and be loved by him. This world will not be the same without him, but is better for having him in it.

Help! I'm stuck and I can't get out!

I'm having problems. Not a kind to be fixed by a doctor, handyman, or a cold drink. The kind of problem I have is one that has no name. Its a feeling. A locked-in-a-box-two-sizes-too-small kind of feeling….and, taking after my father, I am an extremely claustrophobic person, so I don't like it too well.

Its not a secret that I spent last semester abroad exploring the world and my inner self with amazing opportunities, people, and freedoms. I felt like I could fly as free as a bird. Now, however, I have forcibly regressed into a state of claustrophobia brought on by certain institutions and accepted thought.

Lets begin the dissection of my current mindset with said institutions. I have been afforded the fantastic opportunity to attend a fine educational institution for the past few years. My college is one of the top in the nation for it's Nonprofit Leadership undergraduate degree. I have access to over 6,000 nonprofits and foundations in the area from which to glean top of the line experience. Sounds perfect, right? Well, here's the claustrophobic part. After my experiences last semester I find it hard to live in the "Jewell Bubble" as it has been named. I went from running my life part way across the world to spending each and every day on the hill with the same small group of individuals from the Bible Belt strapped midwest. I don't want to be "that girl" who thinks she's better than everyone else because of her vast knowledge of the world, but some things I see and hear around my campus and among my peers cause me to bite my tongue so hard it threatens to fall off. I might feel less spiteful if I had a little bit of time away from all of this each day to recollect myself and look at the bright side…but I am required to live on campus in this tired, tiny radius for the entirety of my college career. I think it might be difficult for Ghandi to stay calm, collected, and completely accepting if he never got a break from it.

Am I right in these thoughts and feelings that run through my mind every day? Absolutely not, and do not claim to be. I'm struggling with how to love the people around me and live happily in my current situation. How can I be an effective nonprofit leader and live up to what I want to become if I can't love and accept the people living next door? I don't have the answer…do you? (because if you do and could solve all of my problems that would save me a lot of time and also if that is the case then you should maybe look into how you can channel those absolute superpowers into fixing something greater than me…like world hunger or peace or something…)

The second area that is a large cause of claustrophobia is accepted thought in my generation, and especially in this area of the country. The apathetic and somewhat self-centered nature plaguing our world, and especially my generation, is an obstacle that is hard to overcome. No one will do anything unless they are receiving something tangible in return. This is personally hard for me to deal with productively when my life, internships, campus job, and position as the newly elected Nonprofit Leadership Association President requires me to constantly do the work that others refuse to care about…not to mention it is the one thing that gets me so pumped that I feel like I might explode so when people make excuses or just outwardly do not give a damn I feel an unreasonable sense of betrayal and anger.

Oh and also, I don't find the word "retarded" funny or racist jokes humorous.

I know that I'm no better than anyone else. I know that I could care less about things that other people love. I also know that there is no magical place where I will completely leave my tiny box of claustrophobia and find myself in nonprofit and complete awareness heaven….I'm just having problems that have no diagnosis or simple solution….I just feel stuck.


*Artwork by my beautifully talented sister, Carsen Miller.

My Attempt at Shameless Self-Promotion

I have recently learned in my Business Seminar class that an entrepreneurial characteristic I need to strengthen is my shameless self-promotion...so here it goes...

On Friday I was an honoree at the William Jewell College Celebration of Honors ceremony. I was recognized among numerous other remarkable individuals of the Jewell Community.

The first award I share with my roommate and great friend, Paige Vansickle:

Read the WJC Hilltop Monitor Article 

The second I received to fund my internship with the Rainbow Network in Springfield and Nicaragua this summer:

Read the WJC Hilltop Monitor Article

Disclaimer: The Hilltop Monitor is kind of notorious for its inaccuracies. Not all information in these articles is necessarily correct, so if you feel inspired to know more about either project I am always eager and willing to talk about them.

Calvin

This weekend I accompanied a small group of individuals in painting the interior of a house off of Troost Street in Kansas City. The house belonged to a man named Calvin who is deaf, blind and unable to speak. We had the opportunity to meet Calvin before he was taken out of the house and I could not get Calvin out of my head as I worked or since then.

Calvin was born blind and deaf. He is also an African-American who grew up during the civil rights era. Calvin's parents died while he was still very young, so here was this young, deaf and blind black kid with no family and no one who was willing to take care of him. Calvin was sent to various institutions until he had the great fortune of attending the Helen Keller Learning Center in New York. When Calvin returned from NY, he had no home or place to go, so he ended up living on the streets. Finally, he was found by individuals who helped him find a home which he now owns, and has for thirteen years. Calvin is forty-six years old.

As I painted this man's home I almost came to tears. I can only imagine how difficult it would be to be bind or to be deaf…but blind AND deaf….I don't know how I would survive. Granted, that is all Calvin has known. It would be a different story for me to lose my sight and hearing after being blessed with it for twenty-one years. Calvin will never know the beauty of a sunset, will never know how gorgeous his home has become, and will never be able to communicate what he does know about or what he thinks about.

Here is another devastating part of the story. Calvin is just now, at 46 years old, learning how to somewhat communicate. He never had the money, nor the opportunity to learn to communicate. The only way he knows that it is time to do something is by the objects placed in his hands. When its time to eat, he is given a plate. When it is time to sleep, he is handed pajamas. He knows these objects by their shape and texture. So, other people can communicate something to Calvin, but the other way around is more complicated and nearly impossible.

Calvin doesn't know how to tell someone that he doesn't feel good, that he is hungry, that he needs…well, anything. He doesn't know about life and death. He doesn't know where the people that have been in his life have gone. He doesn't know what the world is like. He lives in a life of darkness. 

I may be making this way more negative than it needs to be…that particular way of life is all he knows and he may be absolutely content with it…I was just hit hard today with the knowledge of how incredibly fortunate I am. I have no birth defects, I was born in a free country, I come from a middle-class white family who loves me more than anything, I have had the opportunity to attend exceptional educational institutions….I really can't complain about anything.

Rachel, a twenty-four year old from the Troost/Paseo area of Kansas City, worked with us this weekend. Rachel has been working with Calvin for four years. She has appointed herself as Calvin's family since he has none. Rachel is currently working on her MBA in Nonprofit Administration. Inspired by her friend, Rachel wants to start a home for mentally handicapped individuals in her neighborhood. The individuals who cannot afford to be taken care of.

People like Calvin and Rachel inspire me. They have so much less and do so much more with it. I don't know how many times I will have to be amazed by and reminded of this, but it really is awe-inspiring and makes you think.

Para Terminar

We saw him on the ground. A group of men watching. A car had hit this boy and left him lying there crying in pain. Miguel went over to make sure he was ok. I stood by watching the child writhe on the ground. The men began to disperse, losing interest in the scene. The boy stood, hurt and upset. He had no home. He had no family. He had no mother to kiss his scrapes. He stood there alone and helpless. I walked over to him and put my arm around his shoulders. At the feel of my touch he crumbled into my arms crying harder than ever. He yearned for affection. He wanted to know that another human cared about him and that he wasn't completely alone. As I held him I smelled the chemical running through his body. Huffing glue at no more than eight years old. When he heard the sirens of the Red Cross he clung to me crying out that he didn't want to go. I calmed him and we sat together on the curb while the Red Cross checked him out. he was fine, so they left and we were left with a hurt child with no home and no family. I was panicking with no idea of what to do while Miguel gave him a few cordobas. We left and I felt like I had been punched in the heart.

This experience along with many others on this trip were overwhelming to me. I have seen so much poverty, pain, and suffering. I know I cannot change and fix it all, but the best I can do is work on a smaller scale to empower people that will hopefully cause greater change. 

I don't know how I will do this. There are so many communities in so many places that need so many things, but it has begun to put seeds of thought in my mind of what I want to do.

On a more personal level, throughout this trip I have become more Cassidy. I have learned to be vulnerable, how to laugh at myself, how to be me despite what others think, how to have more grace, patience, and acceptance with others, and now to listen.

I have never listened so much as I have on this trip and after listening to all of the stories and ideas I have been able to begin taking who I have become and pairing that with what I want to do to change the harsh reality people live in. I still have no idea how and where I will put my efforts, but this trip has made it more clear to me than ever that this is what I am supposed to do.

There's No Such Thing as a Free (Trade) Lunch

I walked into a hot, florescently lit warehouse packed with hundreds of people assembling my clothing. I watched as poorly clothed individuals packed up $90 North Face jackets knowing that they would only receive a third of that for the entire week. Each person there makes about $123 per month when they need $400 per month to support their families. However, this is one of the draws for investors; the low wages and lack of taxation. Free trade, especially in Central America, seems to promote a race to the bottom and we as members of the United States support this injustice whether we are aware of it or not.

This is not an actual picture from the factory, but looks very much like the place I visited

In the National Free Zones Commission flier they actually brag that they pay the lowest wages in all of Central America. They also advertise the law that gives investors exemption from all taxes…so Nicaragua does not benefit from the presence of these companies in their country, but it cuts costs for our big businesses in the US that have money to spare.

What can be done to change this? The system is so founded that it is basically out of the question to fundamentally change the entire system. This experience reinforced the feeling even more that this world is corrupt and structurally screwed up and I haven't figured out how to adapt to and function within this system in a productive manner. That's all I can do if I can't change it…adapt. But here is the problem I am facing:

While I am hurt by what I saw and heard at the National Free Zones Commission, they are providing a great number of jobs to impoverished people. They employ nearly 74,000 Nicaraguans who wouldn't be able to feed their families otherwise. So, if everyone stopped supporting the companies who take advantage of the Nicaraguan people, these individuals would lose their jobs. However, it is hard to justify supporting such institutions. 

Maybe the answer is to simply change our consumption patterns. Consumers are truly an untapped power in the US. We make the demands on the market. Right now we are telling them that we want our closets packed with the labels that take advantage of underdeveloped nations and not only that, but we want seventeen of each type of clothing. Why don't we start spending on only what we need and not necessarily on everything we want? Then maybe the structure would begin to change and the people I am living with every day can live their lives with a little more dignity and a little less difficulty.

The Sandovals

“Chicas! Desayuno!” Natalie and I walk out of our room after a cold shower and getting ready in our small, simple room. We sit at the table with a breakfast of gallo pinto (beans and rice), fried plantains, bread, eggs, sweet bread, coffee, and juice. Our host mother wishes us “buen probecho” as she kisses our cheeks. After breakfast we leave for school. “Adios, mi amor” our host mother tells each of us. In the afternoon we return to our family. As soon as we’re in the door the children run to us, eager for hugs. We spend time talking with our family, playing Uno, and entertaining the kids’ curiosity as we try to finish our homework before bed.

I am living in Managua, Nicaragua, the most impoverished country in Central America, for the next five weeks. I live with another student, Natalie, in the home of an astoundingly beautiful family. Living in our home are our host parents, Marta and Leonardo, their son, Leon, along with his wife and three children, Leo-8, Jose Andres-5, and Lupita-3. Marta and Leonardo also have a daughter who lives in the same neighborhood and a daughter getting her medical degree in Cuba.

After dinner one night Marta and Leonardo reminisce about their humble roots and how they overcame this obstacle to get an education. Each of them studied through secondary school and beyond. Marta continued with community education and Leonardo finished nursing school. As we talk about our histories, my host parents display pleased grins when sharing about their work with the National Literacy Campaign.

These proud parents love to boast about the accomplishments of their children. All three of them attended university. Now their oldest daughter, Lucy, went to works for DHL, Queyla received enough scholarships to study medicine and is now becoming a cardiologist, and Leon is currently finishing university as well as working as a supervisor at the Mercedes Bendz car dealership.

After dinner the adults spend time studying with the children. Leo recites information for his next exam, Andres practices his alphabet, and Lupita writes her numbers, each of them eager to share with us what they know. I can’t tell you how many times I have yelled out letters and numbers shown to me by the kids or how many words I have written for them to practice writing, each time they come back pointing yelling proudly, “Mira! Mira!”

As I study each night, shrieks of laughter seep through the walls as Leonardo or Leon play with the children. Of the families I have been a part of during my time here, this family is the most outwardly caring. As Leonardo speaks in a high-pitched voice, teasing his granddaughter, Lupita screams in delight, “Ay! Papa Abuelo!” a term of endearment. Every time I, or another family member leaves the home or goes to bed there is a mandatory round of hugs and kisses. Marta also blesses me with the sign of the cross when I am about to embark on another Central American adventure.

It’s people like the Sandoval family that are the true salt of the earth and are an absolute inspiration to me.