Charitable Component

I originally wrote this before the trip but I never posted it.  The time never seemed right.   Check the bottom for why I’m posting it now.

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I come from a long line of charitable mother****ers.  My Dad is an executive with a fairly large non-profit.  He has spent most of his career helping non-profits and he is, quite simply, a financial and managerial badass.  I used to love to go to work with him when I was a kid.  He has this way of talking to everybody with respect, Whether you are an executive or a warehouseman, you get the same courtesy and consideration.  I model my corporate communication style after his but I’m nowhere near as good at it.

He could have gone anywhere and been a winner.  He chose non-profit after a start as a big-six consultant. 

His Dad was a lifelong Shriner (a subgroup of the Freemasons).  He achieved the highest rank within the Masons.  He used to organize and volunteer at the Shriner’s Carnivals in the Kansas City Area.  When I was a kid, he used to give me bicentennial quarters that he collected while working the ticket booth.

He also used to ride in their scooter and motorcycle parades.  One of my earliest childhood memories is the gleaming, 70’s Honda 350 in his garage.  He let me play on it. I think he may have taken me for a ride once but the memory is pretty fuzzy. I could probably draw the Shriner’s logo (that was emblazoned across the tank and windshield) from memory.

For the last several years we’ve been donating a little to the Shriner’s Hospital in Galveston.  The hospital mainly serves children with burns and other severe/congenital injuries.  A few years back I heard that some friends of friends had to life-flight their son there after a campfire accident.  The Hospital is one of those “Pure” goods.  Light against the darkness type shit.

When I was 17, I spent a year as a volunteer firefighter with our Volunteer Fire Department.  I must admit that I wasn’t very dedicated and they tolerated me quite a bit.  Still, I learned a lot about fire service and first response.  Eventually, I left the department for personal reasons (and the fact that they had just about had it with my lackluster participation).  I’ve often wondered what the “personal reasons” were.  In the end, I think it was the kids. 

I had a horrible recurring daydream that involved kids in a house fire.  Some people are wired to deal with it and move on (our next door neighbor has been EMS forever).  Not me.  Couldn’t shake it.  Working major accidents off 290, I saw some pretty grisly shit.  I still have the occasional nightmare.  I have often wanted to rejoin but something always stops me.  Since I don’t drink any more, there is no way to unsee the really bad parts.  I’m just glad some people can do it.

Anyway, if I had to pick a charity for this ride, it would be the Shriner’s Hospital.  Partly because of my Dad and Grampa but mostly for what they do.  I couldn’t even hack first response. The folks at Shriner’s pick up the pieces and rebuild lives, most of it at no direct charge to the families. 

Same goes for the charities my Dad has supported all these years with above and beyond service.   My Grampa and my father aren't angels.  Both have engaged in some NFL-level fuck-ups (as have I) but it has always been clear to me how much they cared about people.

I’ll probably do 20 cents a mile (the trip will be about 2200 miles) to the Shriner’s hospital in Galveston.  I’ll also put the hospital logo somewhere on the bike.  Ideally I would like to drop off a check as I roll through Galveston.

I think Grampa would like it.  I wish he could ride with me.

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Why I’m posting this now,

Long story short, I wanted to “dedicate” the whole ride to the Shriners Burn Center in Galveston.  I had grand plans to roll up and donate a check.  Almost all of my timetables for the ride were completely wrong.  I got to Galveston on a Sunday and literally had no time to stop by the hospital.  I was extremely disappointed.  I was resigned to just sending them a check after the ride.  Not the most poetic or memorable outcome.

Then, on day 6, weird shit happened. I took a wrong turn in Tampa. This was pretty common as my Phone was being a world-class prick.  My wrong turn took me directly to the driveway of the International Headquarters for the Shriners…at 9:30 in the morning.  Holy. Shit. 

Fighting back tears (I was pretty raw and tired by day 6) I rolled in to the garage.  I took a minute to reflect on the whole thing and then walked inside.  I had my biker vest on with an old shriner tie pin that my Grandpa used to wear.  I walked up to the front desk and said that I would like to make a donation.  Somebody came right out and worked through the paperwork with me.  I told her some of the story and how it wasn’t planned, or that it was planned, just not really…you know, with the wrong turn and all.  She smiled and said “Oh it was planned, it just wasn’t your plan.”

Normally I argue with this kind of thing because I don’t buy any of it.  I had a very hard time calling up any argument on this sunny morning at the Shriner’s Headquarters.

The Shriners International Headquarters in Tampa, Florida

They had a tile dedicated to each chapter.  This was the one my Grampa belonged to.

I snapped a few pictures, texted J and headed across the Tampa Bridge.  I had lots to think about on the way to Key Largo.