Happiness

Why are we always so unhappy?

How have you been? How’s life? How’s work? What’s new? What’s been going on?

Fine. Eh you know, life. Work is work. Same ole same ole. Nothing really.

Have you asked or been asked these questions recently? Have you heard or given these answers? We are most likely all guilty of partaking in the above exchanges far more often than we should. Does this scream happiness to you? Are those really the answers we want to be giving? Happiness is a tough thing to measure. It definitely seems like it’s much harder to obtain. But how do we work toward obtaining happiness when most of us can rarely identify what it is we want in life that will provide us with happiness? If you’ve figured it out, I envy you. This post isn’t about me preaching how to find the road to happiness. Hell, I’m just as lost as anyone trying to find my way down that road. But there are a few things I’ve read and learned recently that I think are worth sharing. And it’s been almost 4 years since my last blog entry, so here I am attempting to get back on that horse (pun intended, if you read my last post).

Work.

When asked why people are unhappy in life, work seems to be the prevailing answer. It didn’t take much research to find stats to back it up. A poll of 230,000 workers in 142 different countries resulted in 13% of workers saying they feel engaged, meaning they possess a sense of passion for their work and deep connection to their employer. They spend their day driving innovation and moving the company forward. 63% said they don’t feel engaged meaning they are unhappy but not miserable. They have checked out of their career mentally and are sleepwalking through their day-to-day tasks with little energy or effort. And 24% of workers say they are actively disengaged from work translating to them simply hating their jobs. They harm productivity by way of their own actions and add to the loss of productivity by bringing down their peers. They insult their employer and the system. They play the victim, blaming any and everything surrounding them for their misery. So disregarding the 13% of happy workers, this leaves 87% of workers who feel disengaged and emotionally disconnected from the workplace.¹

Although depressing, those are not surprising numbers to me. I honestly expected to see the happiness percentage at less than 10. So why are we all so unhappy with work, and why do we let that unhappiness control our overall attitude and happiness? I’m not going to get into why employees are unhappy with work, because it’s a far more complicated discussion and would take this a direction different from what I intend. It can be explained simply as people don’t like being told what to do, or don’t enjoy being forced/obligated to do something for a fixed period of time. Or it can be a deeper dissatisfaction based on not being appreciated, or not finding an emotional connection with your work. Whatever it may be, I certainly haven’t figured it out or even begun to scratch the surface enough to talk about it in this forum. What I would like to touch on is why we let the misery from work infect the other areas of life. The average work week in America is now up to around 47 hours per week ². Again, a discussion I’m not getting into will be if Americans work too much, work more than any other country, are overworked, etc. Regardless of how 47 hours compares, that represents 28% of our week. Assuming that most adults probably only get around six hours of sleep per night, or 42 hours per week, that represents 25% of your time. This leaves 47% of your week free to do with it as you please. So why are we letting 28% of our week destroy the remainder, especially when we have full control of almost half of our time? It’s because we let it. We indeed do have full control over our perspective of how work affects our lives. You don’t like your work? So what, almost 90% of the world joins you. You can’t find happiness in your life? That’s your problem to solve, and don’t blame a job that occupies roughly a quarter of your time.

Vision.

My attempt to give you some perspective is to explain vision, at least the way it’s been taught to me recently. On November 3^rd I had an amazing day of life-coaching from Danny Bader4 . One of the first and most important exercises we did was developing and documenting our vision. I’ve heard of this, I’ve thought about it, I’ve given it a shot. Seemed like just a bunch of crap that was almost impossible to come up with. Never gained any traction with me. That was until Danny asked “when I come back this time next year and ask you ‘how has your year been?’ what will your answer be? And if I challenge you to tell me why, what will you say? What examples will you give?” This made me start to think a bit differently. My answer would probably be similar to those answers I used in the opening of this blog: “It’s been good; you know - work is work, gotta pay the bills; life is just moving along” But if anyone asked me to explain that answer, give some examples of why my year was good, could I? Was it really what I wanted for myself during that year? Do I even know what I want in the next year? So the exercise was to begin writing a letter to yourself dated one year from today. Imagine that you are one year older and looking back at the past year and talking to yourself about why the year was good. You would be amazed at what begins to flow as your desires start to reveal themselves. It was an amazing first step to establish a vision, but the next step and even more important, is to identify individual goals within your vision. Then the third and final step, and most important, is laying out measurable objectives to complete these goals and setting a timeline. For example, my vision consisted of six broad goals: (1) strengthen my marriage; (2) increase quality time with family & friends; (3) improve my financial position; (4) advance my career; (5) maintain my physical health; (6) improve my mental health. Taking it a step further, specific objectives to achieve these goals were: (1) dedicate at least one date night per month to my wife & establish rules of engagement for when an argument starts; (2) contact family and friends at least once per week; (3) accumulate a certain dollar amount by developing a per-paycheck saving rate; (4) obtain an additional professional certification in order to earn a promotion and raise; (5) exercise 4-5 times per week while staying under a 2,000 calorie per day diet; (6) have 10 minutes of “stillness” per day to empty my mind and be at peace. I hope you can see the three tiered system and how each small action throughout a day or week is ultimately tied to the overall happiness that you seek for the next year or more. So if I don’t have one date night per month or abide by our 5 minute rule to extinguish a potential fight, then I am not taking the steps I planned for myself to live a happy life. If I don’t immediately stash away the determined amount of money per paycheck then I am defaulting myself and my future happiness. If I don’t exercise at least 4 times per week, I am not leading a lifestyle that I myself decided would bring happiness. I hope this gives you some perspective into why you are doing or not doing certain small actions each day and each week for a grander reason. Most applicably, why you are working. Whether you like work or not (most do not) you are working for a reason. That reason fits in your vision. Your vision is defined by you and is your roadmap to happiness. So working is an ingredient to your happiness. It’s not just something you’re forced to do for 8+ hours per day. Perspective.

The point of talking about work is because this blog is about happiness and work is one of, if not the leading cause for unhappiness. The purpose for discussing vision is to provide some perspective for how work fits into your vision which should be your controlling purpose in life and is spawned from what you determine will bring happiness. Again, I can’t help you find a job you will love. I can’t help your desire, or lack thereof, to get out of bed for work each morning. I can only try to help you gain perspective as to why we let work (or other negative events) ruin the majority of our life that we can control. What I ultimately hope for, is that you can come to terms with why you are doing what you are doing and having a purpose for each action in life. We do work for a reason, whether we like it or not. And the sooner you cope with why you are working rather than dwell on the fact that you must work, the sooner you will find happiness as the pieces of your vision come together. And again, I use work as an example because it’s an easy one to use, but the same principles can be applied to any other area of life. For some, the main cause of unhappiness could be marriage, family, or health. Instead of complaining, think about what needs to change to bring happiness, develop a plan to achieve it, and hold yourself accountable to the plan of action you develop.  

Expectation vs. Reality

And finally – the formula for happiness. Okay, maybe not the way you’re thinking. It’s not the formula for how to find happiness, but it definitely applies to my point of your perspective on happiness. Reality minus Expectation equals Happiness.³ So when reality is greater than expectation the result of the formula is happiness, however when expectations exceed reality, the result is disappointment. This is a concept I read about recently (article cited below) and the example that the author used is applicable to the point I’m trying to get across. It basically explains the disconnect between our expectations of life, specifically work, and the reality we experience. My grandparents’ generation grew up in much harder times than I. Some experienced the Great Depression, so naturally expectations of life in general were low. Expectations for work were very low. Just having a job and putting food on the table was something to cherish. This mentality was instilled in my parents’ generation by their parents, the survivors of the Great Depression. So entering the workforce, my parents had low expectations for the fulfillment they would receive from a job; it was simply a necessity to live. So throughout their career of keeping their head down and working hard, the economy blossomed, they received raises, promotions, and praise. They were able to accumulate savings, disposable income to spend on luxuries, purchase homes, and comfortably raise a family. Reality was far exceeding their expectations so the result of their formula was happiness. Transition a few decades to the current generations. Those luxuries, comfort, and praise that was earned by the prior generation is now expected as if it’s an entitlement. Something that is owed to us because we watched our parents receive such, with little knowledge of how hard they worked to get there. Growing up it was all given to us, because our parents wanted to see us live an easier life than their own. Then we ran into the brick wall known as life – reality. We realize that things are not always handed to you. Luxuries and praise and comforts are not a right in life that everyone is given; they are earned with years of hard work. Our reality fell quite short of our expectations and the results for many of us was disappointment. And I can’t just criticize my fellow Generation Y peers for this. Many of those who are now approaching retirement age have watched the gap shrink as their expectations grew year after year until expectations now exceed their reality = disappointment.

So if we know the formula for happiness, how do we ensure that ours will result in happiness and not disappointment? Almost an impossible question to answer, but if you know and understand all the pieces, we can take significant steps toward that majestic happiness. Expectations are much easier to control than reality. Have you identified your desires in life within your vision? Your expectations should mirror these desires. How realistic are your expectations? Did you set clearly defined and easily measurable objectives that need to be accomplished to achieve your goals? If so, then you’ve set your expectations and know what you need to do for your reality to meet or exceed them. If they don’t, then you either didn’t accomplish what you said you needed to, or you set your expectations too high. Either work harder to make that reality inch closer to your expectation, or get real with yourself and modify your expectation a little closer to a reality that you can accomplish and live with.

So in conclusion, there are a lot of things that we cannot control in life that negatively affect us. But there are also plenty well within our control. Far too often we focus on the former and not the latter. For the things you can control – you should absolutely concern yourself with. The things you cannot – analyze your perspective because that is something you do control. So speaking of what we should or shouldn’t concern ourselves with, I’ll leave you with one last stat to worry about. The Fog of Worry – 40% of our worries will never occur or affect us, 30% of our worries are in the past and cannot be changed, 20% of our worries are the problems of someone else, and the remaining 10% of our worries are truly legitimate problems we should concern ourselves with (borrowed this from another day of life coaching with Jim Trunick⁵). Imagine how much happiness you can find by eliminating 90% of your worry. It’s all within your control; just change your perspective.


How have you been? How’s life? How’s work? What’s new? What’s been going on?

¹ http://www.forbes.com/sites/susanadams/2013/10/10/unhappy-employees-outnumber-happy-ones-by-two-to-one-worldwide/

² https://www.washingtonpost.com/news/on-leadership/wp/2014/09/02/the-average-work-week-is-now-47-hours/

³ http://waitbutwhy.com/2013/09/why-generation-y-yuppies-are-unhappy.html

⁴ http://www.dannybader.com/

⁵ https://jimtrunick.com/ 

The Buck

      It was a pleasant June day by Louisiana weather standards. It was warm, but definitely bearable for anyone who has lived here and is used to the weather at this time of year. I was saddling up Mistral for my annual trail ride. When we moved to Covington from Kenner, I thought I was going to turn into a cowboy. For my first Christmas in the country I wanted western boots, a hat, and jacket. I pictured myself riding horses daily and herding cattle and all the other stuff you see on TV. It didn't take long for me to dump that wardrobe and continue playing baseball rather than tend to my mule. So now my equine activities consisted of around one ride per year when there was nothing else to do on that particular day. My mother was tacking up her horse Poco. He was the dream horse. Just perfect. Exactly what she has been looking for. It had been six months since the crash, and she had ridden him a few times in the yard, but this was going to be the first time taking him outside the fence. I guess that was my main motivation for deciding to tag along on this ride. Of course there was nothing else to do, but I did want to be there for the first real ride after the accident.

      Our neighbors Dan and Crystal were in route to our house via horseback. They were going to join us on our little adventure through the trails. Crystal had just got a new horse named Shakespeare and Dan was on his trusty friend Roulette. The offer to swap horses with Crystal was put on the table so I could see how the new horse in the neighborhood rode. Usually when I ride, Mistral is the only one I'll saddle up with. For only bonding once every 365 days, we have formed a pretty good relationship. And he's like driving a Cadillac on a freshly surfaced road. When he trots, your butt literally doesn't come out of the seat. But, for whatever reason, I decided that today I was going to be Mr. Adventurous Cowboy and see what this new dude was all about. So, the four of us set off on the endless trails to bond with friends and connect with nature.

      It was about as pleasurable as it could be for me. I wasn't starting to regret the decision just yet, but it wasn't exactly my idea of a good time either. Who I really felt bad for was the horses. Horseflies are always bad at this time of year, but today they were horrendous, by far the worst I had ever seen. As humans, there isn't a spot on our body where we cannot swat away a flying insect, but for a horse they only have a tail and mouth to defend themselves from the useless bloodsuckers. They can twitch their skin in the area where these two defense mechanisms can't reach. That usually works for your standard fly, but when a horsefly latches on it takes more than that to detach the little vampires. All four horses were male, and a frequent target for these horseflies was the you-know-what area (the male's most sensitive region). The horses were stomping, swatting with their tails, nipping with their lips, shaking their skin, and just getting down right pissed off. Because of the bombarding our buddies were enduring we decided to turn around early and call it a day. Before we headed back I jumped off my horse, handed the reins to Dan and stepped into the woods to relieve myself. As I was zipping up my trousers and turning to head off on the second half of our hike I heard the yell.

      When I turned around to see what was going on I saw Poco jumping up and down and using his rear hoofs to try and paw at his genital region. It was obvious that he had a big one latched on and he could not withstand any more pain or blood loss. I don't think his intention was to buck off my mom, but regardless of what he was trying to do she made an involuntary dismount and fell hard to the ground. Just like the crash, it was probably only two or three seconds, but watching it felt like an eternity. The red clay had replaced the damp grass of the ditch beneath my mother, but here we were back in the same situation. This time was much less dramatic thankfully, but no easier to handle. All she could say was that it hurt and she couldn't get up. She was very calm about it. I guess for her the situation was more tolerable this time because she recognized the pain and knew it would heal. The first time was pure panic because of an unknown future. Regardless, her back was again broken and we were back to square one.

      Dan's idea was for the two of us to run back on the horses and get his four-wheeler then come back to get my mom. As in control as I was during the crash, I wasn't afforded the opportunity to take control this time. I had the reins of Shakespeare back in my hand. In response to Dan's recommendation my mom said, "Y'all don't have to do that. I have my cell phone. I can call your dad and he can come get me in the truck." Dan and Roulette were already galloping away. Pasture mates get buddy sour and one horse doesn't like to watch the other run away. Well how lucky was I to be holding the reins of Roulette's pasture buddy as he created a dust storm down the trail. I was thinking that mom's idea sounded much more reasonable than the alternative, but the pressure on the reins was either about to rip them free from my grip or drag me alongside the horse if I refused to let go. I don't claim to be a cowboy, but this next move was some real John Wayne shit. I took off running along side Shakespeare until I was able to grab the horn of the saddle, which was about eye level at least. With one hand on the horn I made one smooth, swift motion and was perfectly seated in the saddle better than Zoro himself could have done it. That was the fun and exciting part. Riding this beast was not. Compared to Mistral's Cadillac like grace, Shakespeare was a dump truck. A really fast dump truck. I more than considered bailing as I searched for the softest landing area. I decided against the suicidal jump and tried to ride it out. One hand was pulling back the reins as hard as possible while the other had a death grip on the horn. I could already feel cramps in my forearms as blisters began to form on my hands. The horse had no regard for what he was barreling through. I was bobbing and weaving, ducking and leaning, moving side to side to avoid the branches that were waiting to unseat me. With the slightest relief on the reins I could feel Shakespeare dig his hooves deeper into the dirt and accelerate. As scared as I was, I paused for a moment to admire the raw horse power that these animals possess. And all the while, as I struggle to stay on, I look over at Dan who has one hand on the reins and the other relaxed by his side. "How's it going buddy?" he asked. I couldn't even open my mouth to speak. I tried to say, "Slow down!" but it obviously didn't come out right, because we didn't slow down.

      I've been on planes, trains, roller-coasters, and ridden with crazy drivers, but this was the very first time I felt the need to kiss the ground after safely arriving somewhere. We dismounted the horsepower with a brain and jumped onto the horsepower with an engine. I like horsepower that cannot think for itself. Although the ride back down the same trail was equally as chaotic, not a bit of anxiety ran through my nerves. The ATV has brakes, an accelerator, and handlebars, all of which is controlled by a human, not making its own decisions. Come to find out, Dan admitted that he was panicking the entire time, scared that he was going to wreck us. I was straddling the back of the seat totally in my element, just as relaxed as he had been on the horse. We arrived back at the scene of the accident just as my dad was helping my mom get into the truck. Speechless. That is what I was then, and that's what I am now. There are no words to describe how I felt. I wasn't mad, there was no one to be mad at. I wasn't disappointed or upset or sad or discouraged. I surely wasn't happy. I was just speechless. I couldn't believe I had gone through all of that effort for nothing. I was just emotionally and physically ready to collapse.

      Looking back on it, we can't help but laugh. The thrill ride on the four legs followed by the ride on the four wheels is funny to us now. At the time it was far from comical. My mom didn't go to the hospital that night. She just strapped on the brace and dealt with the pain. She did go to see her doctor and get more scans done. The spine was indeed broken again. What raised interest was that it broke in a different spot, and the fall wasn't as severe as the crash. It was bad enough to re-fracture the original break, but not create an entirely new one. As maybe you can guess, she was diagnosed with osteoporosis and must administer a shot into her own leg daily.

      The year 2010 was unquestionably trying on our family. Our patience was tested, and our resolve was challenged. We withstood life's attempt to break us down. We passed this cruel test. For me it serves as a great lesson that I will undoubtedly remember for the rest of my life. It is just one of many trials and tribulations that we must journey through in the battle of life.

The Crash, Part II

I wrote The Crash to try out my hand as an author. It has become a recent dream of mine to write a book, so this was an attempt to see how I would do at telling a story. Apparently I did fairly well, because the feedback was overwhelmingly positive. I can't give enough thanks to all of those who took the time to read the story and share their thoughts with me.

It was not at all my intention for the story to be emotional. I wanted it to be dramatic, and a little bit suspenseful. However, I did not want my audience to cry, but that is what almost every reader told me they did. Most people who read the story knew what happened. What I wanted to do was give them the inside perspective. They already knew what happened from their perspective. Dona and Little Johnny got into a wreck and Dona broke her back. That was the extent of the situation as far as most people were concerned.  I wanted them to see the story from our perspective. I wanted them to feel our fear, and experience the turmoil that we went through. Although I wanted them to see it through our eyes, I did not think the readers would get so engrossed into the story that they would become emotionally affected. Thus, I must compliment myself on the level of detail put into the story, and my ability to allow the reader to connect with the author. I was amazed, and pleased, with the number of people who said, "I felt like I was in the accident with you."

With that being said, I want to follow up the story with this "note from the author." There was a lot of detail in that story. But looking back on it, and reading over it a few times, there are quite a few glaring omissions. The Crash, Part II will serve as my epilogue to the story I previously told.

My first fear was that people would not know who was at fault in this incident. After I re-read the story, I was happy to notice that I described the accident by saying the Suburban was in our lane bearing down on us. This would indicate that the other driver was at fault. And that was the case. I will admit, while I was sleeping and felt the brakes lock up and heard my mom express her expletive, I thought she had made a mistake and was about to run into someone. Shame on me because she has never caused an accident as far as I know. The driver of the other car was coming around a pretty intense curve, and with the roads being wet as they were, she had slid into our lane. My first thoughts were that she had lost control. I gave her the benefit of the doubt. She had come into the curve too fast, with the roads slippery, she slid into the opposite lane. I thought it was an innocent mistake, an accident. I thought that if there was anything she was doing wrong, maybe she was texting.

Well, I was wrong. It wasn't an innocent accident and she wasn't texting. She was drunk. That is the first glaring omission from my story. But I don't regret leaving it out of the story. I wanted to give the reader a detailed account of the incident and her being drunk had no effect on the way I handled the situation. I didn't find out until days later. The hospital tested her blood and got results of .15% which is almost double the legal limit to be driving. And those tests were done about an hour after the accident.

There are a few other intense details that happened on scene which I could have included in the story but did not for no reason that I can explain. While I was talking to the 911 operator (and she was asking so many damn questions) the woman who was first to arrive on scene ran over to me and said, "the lady (the driver of the other vehicle) said 'where is my son, is my son OK? My son was in the car. Where is he?'" The operator heard this and said, "Sir, did I just hear that there is one more person involved in the accident?" I was blindsided by this so I said I didn't know. The operator asked me to find out. I went to the passenger's side of the Suburban and opened all the doors. I looked front to back, side to side, top to bottom. I looked under the seats, and under the vehicle. I ran around and looked in the ditches. There was no kid to be found. I told the operator exactly what I had found: nothing. The persistent voice on the other end of the line kept wanting to know if there was a kid in the car, and my response was, "If there was, he was thrown too far into the woods for me to find him." Once again, maybe I wasn't the best at being sensitive in this situation, but my mother's well-being was the one and only concern on my mind. Come to find out, the driver of the other vehicle had just dropped off her son at her mother-in-law's house less than a mile away. Thank goodness that the young boy didn't have to go through what we did.

As I was getting into the ambulance I saw the fire department walking over to the Suburban with the "jaws of life." I had never seen them before in real life. Every time I heard someone had to be cut from a car with the jaws of life, I knew it was serious. Well here I was walking away from an accident that needed the jaws of life. One of them carried the huge cutters, and the other toted the generator to power the scissors. I already knew both cars were totaled; I knew the head-to-head collision was bad; I knew we were all physically wounded; but it was seeing the jaws of life that told me this accident was no joke.

As I mentioned, I want this to serve as a view into the mind of the author. I am not trying to tell a story here. This is my epilogue. I am telling you what I left out of the original story, and giving a behind-the-scenes look into my thought process. However, if there is one part of this where I would expect you to gasp, this is it. As you already know, my mom had a broken back. Because of this, necessary scans were performed. The results of these scans is what truly makes this story amazing. The doctors found a tumor on my mother's kidney. It took months of tests and consultation to decide that the entire kidney should be removed. However, the surgery was so physically demanding that it couldn't be done with her spine in its current condition. Four months of recovery was deemed enough for the surgery, so in April 2010 she was re-admitted into the hospital to have her kidney removed. We didn't know if the tumor was malignant or benign, but because of its size and given the circumstances it was recommended that the entire kidney be removed. The biopsy results showed that the tumor was cancerous and if it wasn't caught when it was, who knows how far or fast it would have spread. The wreck that could have killed my mother saved her life. Call it ironic, call it luck, call it fate. I don't care what you believe in or what you call it. My mother had gone through living hell and she is still here to talk about it; that's all I care about.

The tumor and the resulting kidney surgery was just a reason for us to say, "what can go wrong now?" Little did we know, we were just four months into the most hellacious year of our life.

The Crash

Wednesday December 23, 2009 4:30 p.m. Hammond, LA
      It was the beginning of a four day weekend. Tomorrow is Christmas Eve, Friday is Christmas Day, then we were off of work Saturday and Sunday. It was the end of our work day, and we were stepping out the door to begin our one hour commute home. As you know, if you read This is Me, I ride from home to work/school with my mom daily. My aunt and uncle from Philadelphia were in town staying with my grandmother and aunt. The four of them were scheduled to join us for dinner on this Wednesday evening along with my girlfriend Cortney's family. It was the perfect way to kick off the holiday weekend, and the sense of excitement inside me was the first real taste of this year's holiday atmosphere. As I often did, I settled into the passenger seat, reclined it a few notches, and did a routine check for holes in my eye lids. When you live, work, and commute with the same person, you often run out of things to talk about. These two hours a day spent in the truck usually consisted of her on the phone, and me reading or napping.

Wednesday December 23, 2009 approximately 4:45 p.m. Tickfaw, LA
      Many times in my life I have had the dream where I am falling off a cliff with that weird sensation of freedom but ever-increasing nervousness as the ground approaches. Just before the free fall ends, I awaken suddenly, often times sitting up straight in bed and breathing heavily with a sweaty forehead and rapid heartbeat. It usually only takes a few minutes for me to relax after convincing myself it was just a dream, and everything will be OK. As quickly as my anxiety had built up, it seems to subside just as hastily. This descent of emotion seems to put me right back into the same deep sleep I was rudely awoken from moments ago. It can sometimes seem so real, and I wake up genuinely scared. However realistic it seemed, none of that would compare to the rude awakening I was about to be faced with.
      We had only made it a couple miles from work, less than ten. The roads were slick from the light drizzle that seemed to be dampening the entire day. I was dozing in and out of my nap, but deep enough into it to be absolutely shocked by what was about to occur. I felt the brakes lock up and the truck go into a forward slide. Simultaneously I heard the voice of my mother say "Oh shit!" The two alarms made me jerk up instantly just as if I had been awoken from one of those terrible dreams. However, during this nightmare I had no idea what I was free falling into. It was probably only three or so seconds, but felt like minutes. As I lurched forward to see what was going on, I saw the most fearful sight of my life: a Chevy Suburban in our lane bearing down on us at between 45-50 mph. I remember hearing "hold on" followed by a very loud symphony of metal crashing into metal, airbags being deployed, and my own grunt as all the air was squeezed from me when the seatbelt brought me from 50 to 0 mph. Our truck was a beautiful burnt orange color. The hood had been smashed up and was all that could be seen through the windshield. There was a haze of smoke from the airbags being deployed. The smoke combined with the color of the hood caused my mom to say "it's on fire, get out quick!" Without even taking the time to try and decide if she was correct I unbuckled my seatbelt and threw open the door. As I was exiting the truck, I heard the desperation plea from my mom, "the door is jammed, I can't open it." While running around the back of the vehicle I yelled, "I'm coming, I'll get you out." This was going to be one of the adrenaline moments like when a mom lifts a car off of her child. I was going to get that door open and my mom out of the truck. As soon as I reached the door, it swung open. I didn't have to be the hulking hero, she did it herself. Along with a broken back and ribs, my mom had a broken toe. Looking back, we think the cause of it was her kicking open the door. As soon as she slid from the driver's seat onto the road, she collapsed. The pain caused by her broken spine would not allow any pressure on it. I ushered her away from the truck and into the ditch to lay down. Luckily the truck was not on fire because that thought left my mind rather quickly, and we weren't a safe distance away. I knelt next to my mother in the soaked grass of the roadside ditch. All I could say was "it will be OK, you are going to be alright. I know it hurts, but stay calm, we will be OK." I didn't know if we would be OK. I didn't know if she would ever walk again. I didn't know what the hell was going on. All I knew was that she was in agonizing pain and I had to be her rock and keep her calm and thinking positively.
     It was amazing how quickly people showed up to help. A female who was in a vehicle behind us and saw the accident was by my side instantly. Another driver who witnessed the ordeal was a nurse and began checking my mom's sense of feeling in her fingers, toes, and legs. The female driver who was first to the scene ran over to check on the other driver involved in the accident. She walked back over a minute later and said "we got a dead one, she's dead." I don't know why I did this, because I can assure you I have no desire to see death, but I instantly got up and began to walk to the Suburban to have a look for myself. It was then that the adrenaline had subsided enough for me to realize I too was hurt. My left ankle gave me an immense amount of pain along with my left hip and wrist. Nonetheless, I marched over to the Suburban ignoring my mom's attempts to discourage me from seeing it. The women was lifeless in the driver's seat. Her body was slouched over the center console with her long blonde hair draped over her face. If not for the seatbelt holding her up, she would have been laid across to the passenger's seat. I stared, I looked at her, I didn't say anything or do anything. I didn't know what to do, what to think, what to feel.
      The female who was first to arrive on scene was trying to talk to the woman and touched her arm. The driver made some sort of a mumble, and slightly moved her head and body. Relieved that we wouldn't have to deal with death today, I walked away to tend to the person I cared about. Some of you may be saying at this point, "Um, hello! Are you going to call 911?!?!?" I had to re-enter the truck to find my iPhone. It was on the floor by the pedals, with my case in pieces. The horrendous smell of the airbag emission was still hissing from the dashboard. I grabbed the trusty Apple product and it illuminated to life as I dialed 911. I thought I had everything under control, and things were settling down. But as soon as the operator answered, my level of panic went back to square one. I told them what happened, and my mom was badly hurt, probably a broken back, and the driver of the other vehicle was barely conscious. She asked so many damn questions which I was in no mental state to answer, and she even patched in the ambulance operator who asked more. I said "just get here as fast as you can." My mentality was bring the whole army if you have to, we need to get my mom to a hospital. Ask questions later.

Wednesday December 23, 2009 approximately 4:50 p.m. Covington, LA
      Johnny Nugent III was at his home in good ole Lee Road. He had his 18 ounce Miller Lite long neck in hand, ready to take the last pull on it, deposit the empty, and start on the case of bottles that he and his son would inevitably kill tonight as the family started their holiday festivities. The holster on hip began to vibrate and he cursed to himself thinking "if this is the dispatcher ten minutes before 5:00, they can forget about me answering." However, it was his drinking buddy - his son. It wasn't uncommon for LJ to call and say that he and mom were on the way home, but usually there was a reason. Johnny III answered the phone anticipating his son to say "me and mom are on our way home. She's talking to Maw Maw finalizing tonight's plans. We will see you in a bit." But instead he was confronted with an answer he had never heard before. It was indeed the voice of his son, but it possessed a tone that he never dreamt he would have to endure. Johnny IV said,"Dad, we have been in a wreck. Mom's back is hurt, we are getting into an ambulance right now. Call the family and tell them the party is cancelled, and come to the hospital immediately. Everything will be OK." Johnny III quivered. How could everything be OK? You don't call someone and tell them that type of news and simply say everything will be OK. Shakily his voice murmured some sort of question but his son simply said, "Dad, we will be OK. We are getting into the ambulance. Come to the hospital now."

Wednesday December 23, 2009 approximately 4:50 p.m. Tickfaw, LA
      There wasn't much more for me to tell my father. I could tell by his voice that he was distraught, but damn, so was I. We had been in a wreck, we were getting into the ambulance and we were heading to the hospital, it was that simple. The best thing for him to do was inform the rest of the family that the party was cancelled, and get to the hospital. Maybe I wasn't the most sensitive at being the bearer of bad news, but at this point I was trying to take the reins and control the situation. Plain and simple, there wasn't much more to say.

Wednesday December 23, 2009 approximately 4:55-5:00 p.m. Covington, LA
      Cortney was preparing for a pleasant night between her parents and her boyfriend's family. Of course he was the man of her dreams, but it didn't hurt at all that their families got along perfectly. This was going to be a fun-filled night. She knew Johnny and Mrs. Dona would be leaving work around 4:30, getting home a little before 5:30. Because of the commute, the party was scheduled around 6:00; it was flexible. Cortney was preparing things, making sure her parents were ready to depart when notified, then the phone rang. It was Johnny. No big deal. He was about halfway home; he was just calling to tell her so, and give her a confirmation of what she already knew. Instead she was greeted by a panicked voice she hadn't yet heard in her elongated relationship with the person on the other end. Johnny said, "We got in a wreck on our way home. We are in an ambulance headed to the hospital. The party is cancelled. Meet us at the hospital if you want." Cortney's nerves were as cold as steel, almost as if she were born to deal with these tragedies. Without question, she confirmed the message, hung up the phone, and she and her mother were in route to the hospital.

Wednesday December 23, 2009 approximately 5:15-5:30 p.m. Hammond, LA
      It was impossible to maintain any recollection of time through all of this, so that is my best guess. We made it to the hospital. The ambulance ride sucked. I told them I wanted to go get checked out because I had pain, but absolutely did not want to be strapped down onto the stiff board. Apparently that wasn't an option. I did manage an attempt at lightening the situation by asking mom "what kind of vehicle are you going to get now?" I got a bit of a chuckle, but I don't think she was in the mood. That was the extent of our conversation in the ambulance. I don't know how they did it, but I think Cortney and her mom were waiting for me in the emergency room, along with my father. Call it ambulatory incompetency, or call it desperate love for those you care about, but they were there. I was in and out of the hospital fairly quickly. Just a quick check by the doctor and some x-rays; having my cloths stripped off by two cute nurses was the highlight. I was able to tell Cortney, "this is bullshit, I didn't want to be strapped down onto this thing." But after I was unstrapped, I made sure the sexy gown those cute nurses put me in revealed my white ass to everyone in the emergency room.
      Cortney and her mom took me home from the hospital. When we left I had my mom's cell phone and was tasked with calling and notifying everyone of what happened. I got a call from my mom's friend. I don't know how this woman found out so quickly, but it didn't matter. She told me that she hopes me and my mother will be alright, and if there is anything we need, just give her a call because she will drop everything to help us. I was sitting in the back seat of the vehicle physically wounded, but the pain of the metal on metal wreck isn't what made me cry. I began to weep uncontrollably. I was overwhelmed with emotion because of the realization of those who are in my life who will come to the front line when it is a true battle. I was brutally reminded of August 29, 2005 when Katrina generated a tornado that took off our roof and ruined our house. It wasn't the ceilings falling in that made me sad. I clinched my fist and wanted to fight when that happened. It was the neighbors who showed up in the pooring rain to salvage our prized belongings that made me drop to my knees and sob.
      My mom stayed in the hospital for I believe two more days. She had a hellacious six month recovery ahead of her. As for me, I still have wrist pain to remind me of that day over two years ago. I'm sure as I age, it will get worse but the wrist pain is welcomed when compared to the anguish caused by what could have happened that day.

      I know that was pretty long, so if you stuck with me this far, thanks for reading. I hope you enjoyed my story, and my personal reminder of how quickly something can be taken from you.

To use, or not to use the F word.

When I was growing up, there seemed to be a motivation to try to be different. Whoever could be the first to do something different, to set the trend, was just so damn cool. To be quite honest, I was never different. I was not the first to set trends, and I never tried. To some, it came natural, and I respect that. They genuinely were trend setters, that's who they were, and it was pretty cool. But of course others wanted to be cool, so they had to try to be different, they had to try to set trends. For me, it was pretty easy to differentiate the imitators from the innovators. This is something that I have observed for over a decade now, and still see prime examples of the imitators today. What's so comical is the vicious cycle that this creates. The first movers define coolness, the followers follow, it's all done for the sake of being cool, then everybody is the same because they all tried to be different.

Somewhere along the way, being different and setting the trend turned into "I'm different than the main stream crowd, and I don't care what people think about me." As I said, I always felt like I had the ability to tell apart the real from the fake, and those who were really different, the ones who were just being themselves, never found the need to vocally tell people they were different and didn't care. It wasn't just enough anymore to try to be different, now you have to announce it and justify why you're doing it. The justification of course is simply, "I don't give a shit what people think about me." 

Establishing the disparity between innovators and imitators is not what this post is about. All of that was an intro into the main topic. What I am trying to establish here is a progressive timeline. Paragraph 1 was my observations about ten years ago: trying to be different, because different was cool. Over the years it evolved into the observations I explained in Paragraph 2: the need to tell people you are different (therefore obviously cool) and the fact that you don't care what people think about you being different. Well now in Paragraph 3, I explain what I feel this theme has evolved into. It's really just a branch-off from Paragraph 2, but instead of being different and not caring it's more of saying what you feel and not caring. We've heard it oh-so-many times: "I speak my mind, that's just the way I am. Sorry if I offend you, but I'm going to tell like it is." Well first of all, you're not sorry if you offend anyone, so leave out that insincere apologetic disclaimer, and secondly, just because you think your opinion is the way it is doesn't make it so. 

It's something that I absolutely cannot wrap my mind around. Maybe it's the way I was raised, or maybe it's a trait that I was born with, but I have no desire to piss people off. And if I have to bite my tongue to stay on neutral territory, then so be it. I like to make new friends and keep the ones I have, not run any of them off with a loud obnoxious mouth. I do have an opinion on most topics, albeit usually not a strong one, and that opinion often remains with me. When I do have a strong opinion on something, it gives me even more of a reason to keep things to myself. When opinions are involved, no one ever really wins. And how ironic is it that here I am posting my opinion to a public social network where potentially hundreds will read it. The difference is I'm not taking a stance on one side of a topic, explaining why I think it is superior, and telling the half of my readers who disagree to piss off. I am merely discussing the actions of those who do so. Honestly, I do care what each and every one of my readers think. And to prove it, I just inserted "piss" in the place of another four letter word I would have preferred to use two sentences ago. But that's how I live my life. I have a filter and I don't let anything from my brain to my mouth bypass it (brain to fingers in this case). I take into consideration how it will be perceived. I know people out there don't want to hear the F word, so I'll leave it out of here just to be safe. (I think I just found my title)

So does this make me a mealy-mouthed pushover that has no opinion, or at least not one that I will share? Or even worse, does this make me fake because I won't express my opinion due to a genuine regard for other people's feelings? I'm sure there is a large number of proudly brazen people who will answer yes. And for their sake I will concede to the argument that it is not only acceptable, it is healthy to have an opinion. Hell, it's normal, it's natural. It's great to take a stance on something, and have a strong emotional belief in it. What I am condemning is feeling the need to walk around town flaunting it with complete disregard for how others will discern it.We've all heard the old saying, "Opinions are like assholes - everybody has one, and they all stink." Well, it's kind of true. Trust me, I enjoy mooning people for a little giggle every now and then, but I don't run around with my pants down because I understand most people don't have a longing for my sphincter. So opinions are like assholes in another way - we should generally keep them to ourselves most of the time. And it's not about keeping your feelings, opinions, or thoughts bottled up all the time, but rather showing a little consideration to your potential audience before letting it leave your lips. It's all about effort, and making an attempt to respect society, instead of being proud for speaking your mind because it's cool now-a-days to not give a shit.

So, if you don't like what I have written, don't bother commenting because this is my opinion and I don't care what you think. . . . . Just kidding you guys. Please comment, share your thoughts, whether you agree or not. It's an open discussion so sound off. Thanks for reading.

Smart is . . .

Another semester is in the books, and for me another perfect grade point average, and as I spread the news of my academic achievements, another down-pouring of praise. It's been over three years since I have gotten anything less that an A in college. After each semester, I am told how smart I am and upon receiving each compliment I can never agree. I consider myself a modest person, but that is not the source of my disagreement. I truly do not think I am smart simply because I can get all A's in a college semester. Many of the people who give me these accolades have tenfold the knowledge I possess, in my opinion. So, it has me thinking what smart is . . .

For starters, let's address why I am being told that I am smart. I go to college and get straight A's. Period. That's enough for people to think I am a genius. Let me go ahead and clear that up for you - I am not. I have already had to refer to dictionary.com & thesaurus.com over five times in this post and I've barely made it past one paragraph.  Hell, I just had to double check how to spell thesaurus. This kind of leads straight into my main premis of the post . . . some people would say that I am smart for accessing the available resources to ensure my work is properly presented. Others would think that I am smart if I could have recited the entire dictionary and thesaurus rather than referring to it. Is the effort to obtain the information, or already knowing it more important? So, back to the first sentence of this paragraph - am I smart because I can get straight A's in college. I say no. It's easy. They teach me the material, I go home and study it, and I am asked to give it back to them on a test. The only way I will take credit for being smart is the fact that I am at every class, usually 10 minutes early, give full attention to the teacher, and do the recommended work outside of class. I sit in the front, don't play on a laptop or phone, and even go to class the day before Thanksgiving and Spring Break. When I look at the empty desks around me, or see someone sitting in the back playing or chatting, I tend to think I am smarter than them. But I think so because I am putting forth the effort and they are not. It's got nothing to do with our comparable mental capacity. I think I made a smart decision to go to school and give full effort to the task at hand. But what about the guy who sat next to me, every single day. I know he didn't miss a class because I didn't. I know he listened intently because I could see it in his eyes. And after dealing with thousands of college students over the past few years, I got the feeling he was the type to read and do homework outside the classroom. However, every time the tests were handed back, he had a B and I had an A. Still, if asked if I am smarter than this guy, I say hell no. If I had to define a smart person, it's this guy because no matter his GPA, he puts forth the effort, and that's a smart choice. I guess that's what it all boils down to - I judge "smart" based mainly on effort, or a certain willingness to get better. I think people are smart when they have a persistent drive and a motivation to give 110% into whatever they are doing. However, I do concede to the fact that attempts don't always equate to results. Giving maximum effort, although extremely admirable, is simply failure when success is not achieved.So where on the spectrum of achievement do we draw the line between smart and . . . since I don't want to say "dumb" we'll go with . . . not smart.

With all that being said, I cannot blindly ignore mental capacity and the ability to retain information. Some people have it, some don't. Some are born with it, some are not. Some people can sit in a 75 minute accounting class, retain all that is being said, and spit it back out. Some think it sounds foreign, and some would literally rather cut out their eyes and eardrums. What if the previously mentioned guy next to me was a petroleum engineering major and just taking an accounting class for shits and giggles? Do you think I am smarter than him because I got an A in this accounting class and he got a B? What if we flipped the script and put me next to him in one of his classes? Who's smart now? This is the thought that crosses my mind every time I am in the garage with my dad talking about cars, or tools, or any of the other shit he's learned over the past 50+ years. And this is the guy telling me I'm so smart . . . all I know how to do is be a good student. And he's not the only one - my mom, girlfriend, hell, everyone I come into contact with has something to teach me. So who's smarter than who? I am pretty knowledgable in regard to business school; the guy across campus is pretty smart in regard to engineering school; my dad is pretty smart in regard to mechanics and the abundance of other things he's learned through hands-on experience; the people on Jeopardy are really smart in regards to . . . who knows what. I've never met anyone who can't teach me something, no matter how smart or how ignorant society deems them. Back to the guy sitting next to me - I pretty much said we both put in equal effort, I got an A and he got a B. There is a judgmental system, the grading scale, and all else being equal, I performed better than him so I would naturally be deemed smarter, right? I say I did better than him in that class. And as for me vs. a 2.0 student, I would just say I do better than that person in school. But smarter than them? No way to tell.

Now let's be clear - this isn't some "let's all join hands and live happily together because we are all smart" bullshit blog post. This is merely a topic that has been on my mind because I do believe that everyone is smart in their own regard, and there isn't a universal definition for the word (I already told you that I refer to dictionary.com so please don't comment with their definition; I am trying to take this conversation a step further and explore how the definition is applied in society). I hope you can see that my argument contains two points: 1) Do you define "smart" as how much information one's brain can encompass, or the desire to obtain that information and the never-ending drive to get "smarter"; 2) If "smart" is defined by how much you know, which I believe it partially is, look at how many different ways we can apply the word. Nobody can know everything about everything; people are smarter than others in different areas.

By no means was this intended to be boastful. I simply needed an example to refer to and chose myself as that example, and how the word applies to me. This was a tough topic to write about; I feel like my ideas didn't come together as organized as I would have liked. If you have any questions, or any thoughts, please comment. I would be thrilled if you simply said "I think smart is ______ because _____" and of course, thanks for reading.

Justice?

"Beyond a reasonable doubt." "Conclusive evidence." "Substantial proof." - All terms and sayings I've heard before, usually associated with legal jargon, and each of the three having a meaning I thought I was familiar with. However, due to recent events and experiences, I find myself seriously contemplating the true definition and applications of these theories.

I spent over eight hours on Monday April 11, 2011 in the U.S. Federal Courthouse in New Orleans. I was attending the criminal trial of someone I consider a good friend, someone whom I haven't had the pleasure of knowing for years, but would classify as much more than merely an acquaintance. I may or may not mention a few names throughout this post, but if you live in the area or are familiar with the facts of this case, you will have no problem figuring out what I will be discussing.

I am a little emotionally attached to this situation, that is why I am taking the time to write about it, but I will try to leave my personal biases out of this post. However, I apologize in advance if any reader interprets my dialect as one-sided or otherwise biased in any way.

My reasoning for attending the trial was two-fold: I was there with my father showing support for someone we care about, and I have always been intrigued by law and the legal environment so I knew this would be a great learning experience for me. The latter proved to hold true, however, the knowledge and better understanding I gained of this legal arena only opened my eyes to a cruel and dysfunctional system I would have rather not known. In subsequent paragraphs, I will try to describe my observations along with an analysis of the events that unfolded.

The trial lasted eight days, only one of which I attended. I was able to see closing arguments by both sides along with the judge's address to the jury. All other knowledge I have about this case is from following news articles and hearing versions of what occurred from those who had attended daily. I sat in the courtroom, on the left side of the aisle, in the company of supporters for the defendants. Opposite the walkway sat the family of the victim, attending in support of prosecutors for the federal government. The very first thing I learned: a court trial is like a wedding - you sit on the side of the party that you are there supporting. Behind us sat an army of news reporters from printed papers and television, pecking away at their laptops and smartphones, both of which gave the occasional annoying chirp. Now, it's one thing to have your phone accidentally go off in the classroom, church, a wedding, or a funeral, but we are in a federal court of the law with only two signs on the door: the judge's name, and "Please ensure all cell phones are turned off." This is not the place to assume it's on vibrate so needless to say, mine was powered down and pocketed.

Closing arguments were actually just what you would expect, and just like you see on TV. The prosecutors talk to the jury, summarize their most critical evidence, and give a final persuasion of why the jury should see the story their way, do what's right, and serve justice. The defense addresses the jury in a similar fashion, contradicting almost every bit of fact the prosecution claimed to be true just minutes ago. Then the prosecution rebuts, with one final argument of why the defense's case is absurdly wrong and therefore guilty. Then came the interesting part, for me at least. After a ten minute recess, the judge spent almost an hour lecturing the jury on how they should go about processing the facts they absorbed in the previous days. He instructed them to leave emotion out of the decision making process, but use their intuition to decipher the disparate claims of fact. He directed them to use their personal opinion to judge the character and viability of witnesses and testifiers and consequently determine the validity of their testimonies. And time and time again, he reminded them that it is the burden of the prosecution to prove the defendant's guilt beyond a reasonable doubt, and if the prosecution has not done so, the jury is obligated to return a verdict of not guilty. Simply put, he urged them to use their head, not their heart, observe the evidence, in the form of testimonies in this case, and ultimately decide the truthfulness of that evidence.

So what type of evidence would prove the defendants guilty beyond all reasonable doubt? A video clip of the defendants committing the crime sure would be conclusive. That wasn't available. Personal testimonies of eye witnesses who watched the defendants commit the crime would be pretty conclusive. That was available, but that's where things start to get muddy. What if the alleged crime occurred over five years ago, and memories have become a little vague? What if stories told today differ from stories told a few years ago when a previous investigation of the same events was conducted? What if one of the witnesses happened to be escorted onto the stand wearing a jumpsuit with shackles and chains? What if one of the witnesses was questioned about discrepancies in his testimony, and the justification for his changing stories was not only lapse of memory on facts of this case, but a lack of remembrance for what drugs he was using five years ago when the event occurred? Remember what the judge said: observe the evidence, and determine the validity of the testimonies based on judgments of the character giving that testimony. Are these witnesses striking you as reliable? What if the defendants are police officers who patrol the area where these witnesses traffic drugs? Maybe it was just me, but I sensed a motive for these witnesses to sabotage law officers who enforce real justice to true criminals. My emotions are blurring the objective message I am attempting to portray, but the bottom line to me is simple: one of the classes of testimony in this case was given by witnesses who all proved to be an unreliable source of information. My theory only holds true of course if you define unreliable as being previously convicted of crime, giving changing testimonies, and possessing an assumed motive to testify against the defendant (an assumption of my own and I understand very possibly not shared by anyone else).

Second form of testimony in this case: expert witnesses. Contrasted to the first group of witnesses, experts' opinions are backed by scientific proof and credentials to verify their word is legit. If I am going to give credibility to any witness taking the stand, an expert witness it will be.The experts in this case were two doctors, pathologists specifically. One was hired by the prosecutors, the other was hired by the defense. Each testified on behalf of their respective parties, and each gave their medical expert opinion on how the events occurred. One said yes, the other said no. One said it happened, the other said it didn't. One saw white, the other saw black. Conclusive evidence that proves guilt beyond all reasonable doubt? I think not. Remember what the judge said: observe the evidence, and determine the validity of the testimonies based on judgments of the character giving that testimony. So, jurors must analyze the character of  our experts and give weight to each opinion. In an interview after the trial, the jury foreman explicitly admitted that he gave more weight to the doctor testifying on behalf of the prosecution. Also, in the interview, the jury foreman acknowledged the conflicting testimonies from the anything-but-reliable witnesses, but justified the guilty verdict by stating, "something happened there." All of the sudden, a mechanical engineer finds himself as the foreman of a jury deciding the fate of two lives, and the best reasoning for his decision is "something happened there." Not to mention he is suddenly a self-proclaimed medical expert when he gives a statement that completely contradicts the testimony of the doctor hired by the defense. So what made the jury give more weight to the doctor hired by the prosecution? Well he was a nationally recognized and respected pathologist. He possessed every piece of credentials and experience needed to give an accurate testimony. However, in this trial we found ourselves hearing a completely different testimony from this doctor's world renowned and even higher regarded colleague. The doctor testifying on behalf of the defense has been hired for years by the federal government to conduct medical examinations and give testimonies on his findings. He was hired to investigate the assassinations of John F. Kennedy and Martin Luther King. He is known by many as THE leader in his field of study. And this man was totally disrespected by the jury when they disregarded his expert opinion. Not only did the jury lend more weight to the opposing testimony, they actually believed this testimony for the defense did not raise a reasonable doubt?

The third form of witnesses was the medical staff at the hospital. Just like the criminal eye-witnesses, I suspect a lot of motive to ensure the demise of the two defendants. If the defendants were found not guilty, the blame would have been transferred to the medical staff by default. Maybe I was the only person who recognized this, but if I were a juror I would certainly have to consider this underlying motive while grading the validity of these testimonies. Although these expert medical witnesses should be held as valid, the testimonies differed so greatly from other supposed facts, how could a reasonable doubt not be questioned? And just to add to my claim of motive: x-rays taken in the ER show one broken rib, while the autopsy of the victim revealed multiple broken ribs. Perhaps something happened at the hospital? Perhaps the medical staff is partially to blame for the demise of the victim? I'm not accusing, just saying "perhaps". And if perhaps the medical staff is partially responsible, then surely they would have a motive for testifying against the defendants.

As I previously mentioned, I am emotionally vested in the verdict of this case, and severely upset by the outcome that resulted. However, I tried my hardest to follow the judge's instructions and observe the facts objectively. Each form of evidence had a prevalent contradiction that I surely thought would raise a reasonable doubt in the mind of a reasonable person. Clearly I was wrong, as all 12 jurors unanimously submitted a verdict of guilty. My objective here is not to argue whether the defendants did or did not commit the crime, because as far as I am concerned not many people will ever know the truth. My point of argument is that the prosecution did not prove guilt beyond all reasonable doubt. Like it or not, that is how our legal system is set up to operate and that is the mentality that I used to analyze the happenings of this case. I believe there is a multitude of doubt lingering, and I am sickened by the way others interpreted the court proceedings.

Please feel free to comment, whether you agree or not. If you have any questions about this case, or about anything written in this post, please ask. If you find any mistakes or feel the need to question any statements or claims of fact, please bring them to my attention. Thanks for reading, hope you enjoy.