“I was around 19, taking college classes, when I got mononucleosis. So I dropped out while recovering. And I immediately received a draft notice. I flunked my physical because of the mono, and because one leg was a little shorter than the other. I also had a growth on my throat that they thought might be cancerous. To be honest, I felt relieved. I had no real ambition to go to Vietnam.

“Then, about six weeks later, I got another notice. It was the result of what they called (Defense Secretary Robert) McNamara’s 100,000. They were desperate for more troops, so I got upgraded from 4-F.

“I was stationed in Pleiku, near the Ho Chi Minh Trail, when there was a mortar and rocket attack. We lost some vehicles, so we had to drive down to Cam Ranh Bay to pick up new ones. Along the way, our convoy was ambushed. I was driving, and the guy next to me was shot in the head and killed. It was awful. Something I’ll never forget.

“When we’d go out on patrol, I always told the other guys that if I ever stepped on a land mine and got my leg blown off, make sure you shoot me. Because I didn’t want to live like that.

“I was thankful to God when I finally made it back home. But we lost a lot of good men over there.

“PTSD is real. When I first came back, my wife and I had an apartment about a block away from the fire station in this little town in Ohio. Every night at 10 o’clock, they’d sound this siren that was like a curfew for the kids. I’d roll out of that bed and get underneath. It was like my mind was reacting to a mortar or rocket attack.

“I still have nightmares at times. And if I’m stopped at a railroad track, waiting on the train to pass, I can’t stay in my car. I have to open up the door. It’s like a flashback to that guy getting shot.

“There’s a group of area Vietnam veterans who meet once a week. We get together and talk about anything and everything. It’s just good to know that there are people who went through the same thing you did. Some of them had it a lot worse than me.

Agent Orange strikes

“Physically, I was always into stuff. I played football and ran track in school. I later ran marathons and 10Ks. I also was a soccer referee for years. I was in pretty good shape. But about seven years ago, I began losing feeling in my feet and hands. I’d be driving, and I couldn’t tell if my foot was on the gas or brake. I was diagnosed with peripheral neuropathy.

“When my wife was battling lymphoma [Judy passed away in 2023], other than walking around the hospital I didn’t get much exercise. Then I started noticing my right foot would catch at the ball of my foot, and I’d fall. I couldn’t figure out what was going on. It was drop foot. It’s when your nerve and leg don’t communicate to your ankle to come up, and your foot kind of drags.

“While serving in Vietnam, they sprayed a lot of Agent Orange. When the plane dropped it, it carved a path right through the jungle. We just saw it for what it was. It worked great for the purpose. Years later, as veterans started having all kinds of symptoms, that’s when it really hit home. I had diabetes, neuropathy, some vision loss. Finally, the VA agreed it fell under the criteria for Agent Orange.

“About three months ago, I finally made it to 100% disabled. It took me 14 years to work through the system to get there. I now have total access to anything from the VA. They pay for my prescriptions. They cover medical issues. I get a nice check every month. And there are various other benefits.

“When I get up in the morning, my back aches, my legs ache, and I can’t feel my feet. My fingers don’t work the way they used to. Of course, I’m 78, so that plays into it. But I keep going. I walk at Lee College and I go to Fitness Connection mainly for elliptical and bike. I want to get in better shape so I can travel and see more of the country. I love the outdoors. I’d like to enjoy what time I have left.”

— Gary Gill

Gary was a project engineer for Mobay, Miles and Bayer before retiring in 2008. Mobay in New Martinsville, West Virginia, enabled him to complete his degree in industrial engineering by working and then driving 101 miles each day to classes at Ohio University.

The post Veteran still deals with impacts of Vietnam War appeared first on The Baytown Project.

“Growing up, there was a lot of chaos and turmoil in my home. I had two drug-addicted parents. And when I was 8, my mom started dealing drugs. People were coming and going. There were a lot of unsafe activities. There was alcohol. There was physical and other abuse. It was just an insanely unhealthy situation.

“But I was determined to have a good life. Whether they were passed out on the couch or whatever, it wasn’t going to affect my day. I kind of had to be the sun, moon and stars for myself. I had to be the author of my own life. I realized that if I didn’t make happiness for myself, then I’d be sitting in my room crying and miserable all the time.

“I tried my best to self-isolate or disassociate. I was doing a lot of escapism. I loved anything fantasy. I was a really smart kid, and I loved reading books. I loved writing stories. I also rode my bike a lot. Whatever it took to make sure I had a good time, despite what was going on around me. My sister was several years older, but she wasn’t really hands on with me. So I was pretty independent.

“When I was nearly 12, my mom seemed ready to stop doing drugs and turn over a new leaf. That was great. I was happy for her. But then she had herself a last hurrah, and she overdosed. She didn’t make it. I was devastated. Despite everything that had been going on for years, I loved my mom very much. Even though she was not awesome to me, I still thought the world of her. I was the kind of person who tried to make everything seem better than it really was.

“A few days after the funeral, without my knowledge, my father signed over his rights to me to my grandfather. And he left, just took off. I was pretty upset. I thought for sure that my mom’s death was going to be his wake-up call. That we were going to be OK. We were going to try to be normal people now. But that wasn’t the case.

Turning to drugs

“After I started living with my grandparents, my grandmother had a big stroke. I was helping take care of her. And because of my mom’s death, they all told me that she shouldn’t be under any more stress. So I was never really able to grieve. I had to swallow all that. I was so angry and lonely. It’s no excuse, but it’s kind of what led me down the path of doing drugs to numb those feelings

“As a high school freshman, I was falling off badly. I couldn’t see how anything was worth being sober for. I was doing any substance I could get my hands on. I was really addicted to certain prescription pills in my high school years. I wasn’t going to class. I was way behind on my credits. By my senior year, they put me in alternative school. The principal was like, ‘You need to get this under control.’ And I did buckle down and even finished early. You couldn’t tell me a damn thing. I was still on drugs, and I felt like a million bucks. I felt unstoppable

“I decided to do graduation huge. So I got a hotel room and stayed there for about three months. All my friends were with me. It was always a party. But when the end of summer came, everyone left.

“My lowest point came while lying on the hotel room bed after taking I don’t even know how many pills. I told myself if I overdosed that night, it wouldn’t even matter. Maybe I’d go where my mom went, and I wouldn’t hurt anymore. I started feeling like my heart was slowing down, and then I kind of faded. I was so accepting of, ‘I’m dying.’ But I woke up the next morning. And the heartbreak that I felt, realizing that I hadn’t died, was unbelievably heavy. I wanted to hang myself.

“Then I started thinking about when I was a kid, how I told myself that if nobody ever made the happiness, it was up to me. I felt that I’d let myself down because I hadn’t made any happiness for myself in a really long time. That’s when I decided to leave the hotel room, go home to my grandparents, and start making some changes.

‘These kids are awesome’

“At 18, I began a relationship with my now husband, Kory. We’d been best friends forever. We had our ups and downs, and when I was 20, I had a miscarriage. I’d told myself if I ever got the chance to be a mom, I’d make sure I had a normal family. So that rocked me really hard. It left me heartbroken.

“A few months after that, I got pregnant again, and we had our first biological son together. That put everything into perspective. Feeling the love of a child and for a child was groundbreaking. When he was about 9 months old, I learned that I was pregnant again. And I started to feel this dread. What if I can’t love this new child as much as my other one? I thought my love for my first son and my older stepson was enough.

“Then one day I told myself, this is going to be my mom’s baby. Even though my mom was very tan, my older sister had blue eyes and almost blonde hair, light skin. They told her, whenever you have a second child, it’s probably going to be a boy. She started fantasizing about having this angelic, blue-eyed, almost blonde-haired, light-complected little boy. Then here I come with tan skin, brown eyes, dark hair. Anyway, I told my husband that this was going to be my mom’s baby. I was sure it was going to be a boy with blue eyes. I woke up the next day with this sense of knowing, this peace. And sure enough, he was born exactly how I pictured.

“These kids are awesome. Our oldest will be 14 in February. Our middle son just turned 9 and our youngest is 7. I love all my children, but the youngest definitely holds a special place in my heart. He reminds me so much of my mom.

“Even though life was extremely difficult when I was young, with my mom on drugs and not always around, I loved her very much. So with my youngest, I’ve always had this sense of familiarity that I felt for my mom. Maybe I just dreamed the whole thing up. But I’ll embrace it. I feel like I deserve every single bit of magic there is.

Unwelcome health scares

“Four years ago, my husband was driving us home from Austin, and I started to feel weird. I was getting a headache, and my vision was getting fuzzy. I didn’t want to overreact. I was going to try to sleep the rest of the way.

“When we got home, I sluggishly walked into the house and basically passed out on my bed. I woke up the next day, opened my eyes, and there’s this big blind spot in my vision. I still had this splitting headache. And I’m like, what the hell is happening? I spent a lot of time with my grandmother after several strokes. I saw the symptoms present in her, but nothing like this. So I immediately put stroke out of my head.

“I was in the hospital a week, doing every test possible. They didn’t know what was going on. Until I got the CT scans back. Guess what? I had a damn stroke. I was beside myself. Here I was, 26 years old, and I’m like, what the hell? They have to give me medicine to calm me down.

“Then they do an ultrasound, and they find out that I have a hole in my heart. In rare cases, it can send a blood clot to your brain and cause a stroke. And I’m like, this cannot be happening to me. Haven’t I had enough bullshit in my life?

“I had been doing everything right around that time. I was hiking with my kids, eating right, drinking plenty of water. I was angry about the whole thing. It seemed so unfair. I’d been through so much already in my life, so I didn’t want anymore. Like, whoever has my voodoo doll, you can stop now.

“It happened during COVID. So I couldn’t have visitors. I was losing my mind because I’m away from my kids, my babies, who are extremely attached to me. I felt very isolated and stressed out. I had all these breakdowns, but then I started having breakthroughs. I was like, OK, I’m going to come out of here bigger and better. Nothing can stop me. I’m actually a tsunami. And it was because of my love for plants and gardening. I had big ideas that I was determined to make happen.

Gardening therapy

“Before my stroke, I had discovered a love for gardening. I found solace in plants, a purpose and sense of reward. I started collecting succulents, and I was having a whole lot of fun with it. It was very therapeutic. I was making breakthroughs without having to go to a therapist.

“I started to sell a few plants here and there through social media. Then I decided that I was going to make it into a little side business. It would allow me to stay flexible with the kids and do something for myself. So I set up a plant page on Instagram.

“Our family has deep roots in Baytown, and I wanted to find a way to connect with my community. I wanted everyone to love plants and gardening as much as I do. While I was in the hospital, I started focusing on what I’d do when I got out. I had this extensive knowledge from researching and working with these plants. And I’m like, I could teach people all about it. That’s what I’m going to do.

“Since then, I’ve done a lot. I’ve taught plant classes for little kids at daycares. I was blessed with an opportunity to work with students at an elementary school in La Porte. I’ve done countless classes for adults. I’m a regular at Baytown’s farmers market, and I plan to start going to the one in Mont Belvieu. It’s all about succulents. And I’m having a blast. Hopefully, making a difference in people’s lives.

“Looking back on everything that’s happened in my life, where I’ve been and where I am now, I feel this overwhelming sense of happiness, this sense of magic. Just knowing that I can do whatever I want to do. Overcoming adversity in every possible way. From drug-addicted parents to being a drug addict myself, to having a stroke, and permanently losing some of my vision. To having a husband, kids, and being able to be a loving person despite what I’ve gone through. I’ve never let anything stop me from doing what I want.

“I’m going to write a book about my life one day. It’s going to be fantastic. Just watch. I can’t wait.”

— Felicia Garcia

The post Magical life blooms after challenging start appeared first on The Baytown Project.

“Grief doesn’t just bring tears. It enters your heart, your bones, your spirit, every movement and breath you take. Losing our daughter Cynthia Dawn’s fiancé, Daniel Blanchard, in 2019 to mesothelioma brought such agony to his parents, Edward and Maria Blanchard, and their family, as well as heartbreak to ours. The Blanchards suffered a loss no parent wants to experience, and Dawn faced the loss of the love of her life.

“Dawn had reconnected with Daniel in the fall of 2018. When she was a freshman at Baytown Lee High School, she had a crush on Daniel, but never told him. Ironically, a mutual hairstylist, Raphael Melendez, shared the story of Dawn’s crush with Daniel. Daniel called Dawn, and that phone call turned into a powerful love story.

“Both Cynthia Dawn and Daniel were living their own survival stories filled with incredible pain and medical obstacles. They understood what it was like to greet every morning with questions, doctors, hospitals, fear, hope and setbacks.

“Daniel had been diagnosed in 2013 with mesothelioma. Dawn was diagnosed with lupus in 1995 at the age of 20. Her original diagnosis would change, become a question mark, but ultimately would fall into the catch-all autoimmune disease, until it was finally labeled granulomatosis with polyangiitis. In 2008 she was diagnosed with kidney cancer, which resulted in the loss of her left kidney.

“With all they had suffered, were suffering, none of it diminished the light and love they shared. They literally lit up a room with their smiles and joy.

“Then on Jan. 26, 2022, the unthinkable agony of grief hit again with our family and the Blanchards. Our Cynthia Dawn, our Wonder Woman, who had lived 27 years with devastating disease, gave her last breath as one of her favorite songs played, ‘Magic,’ by Olivia Newton-John. Our families were again joined by the grief of losing a child.

“In the days following Dawn’s death, my husband, Charlie, our youngest daughter, Carrie, and I barely functioned. All we could do was put one foot in front of the other. All we could ask one another was, ‘What do we do now?’

“In an attempt to do something other than cry, Charlie and I started making earrings. It was something we had done prior to the COVID pandemic. We even attended events where we sold them. Creating became therapeutic. It was as if wire and beads became a guide to help us move forward.

“One day Carrie said, ‘You have so many of them now. Why don’t you give them away, because the act of giving is healing.’ That is how our project we’ve titled ‘4 Cynthia Dawn’ began.

“We knew Dawn and Daniel wouldn’t want to be remembered for their illnesses. They were two people filled with so much life and accomplishment. That is the story they would want told. It is an inspiring story of moving forward when life is doing everything it can to stop you. So we give away the earrings we make with hope whomever receives them will share the story, be encouraged when they wear them, or perhaps pass the gift on to someone else who needs encouragement.

“Dawn and Daniel’s story is one of love, passion to move forward, to not give up or give in to despair. Our families, the Blanchards and the Clevengers, want others to know what it was like to be Dawn Wonder Woman and Daniel Strong. So here’s a little about what each accomplished while battling illness.

“Dawn attended University of Houston, where she was co-president of Pi Sigma Alpha, the National Political Science Honor Society at UH. She interned for Houston City Council, as well as Galveston-Houston Association of Smog Prevention. In 2007 Dawn was selected by Senator Rodney Ellis to serve as a Texas state legislative aide. In December 2007, she graduated magna cum laude with double bachelor of arts degrees in political science and communications-journalism. She later went to work for the Texas Commission on Environmental Quality, where she oversaw the Back the Bay Program. She worked with TV and radio as well as developed PSA posters aimed at improving the environmental quality of Galveston Bay by increasing the public’s awareness of the bay’s value. The campaign was later revamped, and Dawn promoted the slogan, ‘What Happens in Houston, Ends Up in Galveston Bay.’ She loved to travel. Twice she journeyed to London and once to Australia alone, to explore both destinations. Dawn wasn’t concerned about traveling without friends or family. She knew wherever she went, there were strangers waiting to become friends.

“After his devastating diagnosis of mesothelioma, Daniel created his motto for life, ‘Live Life Forward,’ and he did that with passion. He did it knowing his disease was terminal. He did it while taking chemotherapy. He skydived, traveled to Italy, and in 2016 became a marathon runner. He ran 15 full and half-marathons, which included the Houston-Galveston area, Austin, San Antonio as well as Big Sur in California. His chemotherapy sessions at MD Anderson Cancer Center connected him with strangers who all had a story to tell, and a need for encouragement. Daniel would listen to them, learn a bit about them, and even on the days when he wasn’t getting his own chemotherapy, he would return with gifts, give encouragement, and sit with those who were facing the biggest struggle of their lives. Daniel didn’t just speak about love, he lived it.”

— Susie Clevenger

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“I think that I did it to myself. I played rhythm guitar in a church band. We had our amplifiers sitting right beside us. We wanted to be heard, so they were turned up real loud. All the years of playing in the band, and playing music real loud, certainly contributed to me being hard of hearing.

“Even though I hear some things, I don’t always understand them. Anything that comes over a loudspeaker, or voices at a higher frequency, I have problems understanding.

“One ear is worse than the other, but I wear two hearing aids, mostly when I’m working in the classroom. I’m a substitute teacher. With most of the young girls who have softer, higher voices, it’s hard for me to understand. Sometimes I’m afraid that I’m going to give them permission to do something I’m not supposed to. Because they’ll ask you anything.

“I have struggles, but I can still hear. So it’s not like the struggles that a deaf person has. Everyday conversations with me, one on one, I usually do pretty well. Sometimes I have to ask people to repeat.

“When I’m teaching, I’ll introduce myself to every class using sign language. Most of the students are very accepting. Sometimes they’ll want to go through the alphabet. But there are some who make fun. Sometimes it’s at schools that have deaf ed. I’m surprised they’re not very accepting there, because they have deaf students in some of their classes.

“I’m satisfied with the way I am. It doesn’t bother me that I don’t hear everything. I think there’s a general idea that if you can’t do everything, then you’re not a whole person. I can’t walk like everybody else does, but I can still walk. It doesn’t make me half a person. It just makes me a person who can’t walk real well. Same with my hearing. I can’t always hear real well, but I’m still a person. I should be treated like one.

Creating awareness

“There needs to be greater awareness in the community of those who are deaf or hard of hearing. It’s more about hearing people understanding and being able to communicate with us.

“Hearing people don’t try to be rude. They’ve just never been taught what to do. If I walk into a restaurant and sign, the staff will usually just stand there and stare or start talking. If I was completely deaf, I would have no idea what they’re saying.

“There are ways to communicate with a deaf person, even if you don’t sign. You can grab a pencil and paper, and write quick notes. You can hand them a menu, and they can point to what they want. Another way is an app on my phone called Live Transcribe. It takes spoken words and transcribes them into written English.

“Many deaf people do speak. Some have been deaf all their lives, and never heard their voice. So it may sound weird to you, but don’t let that affect you.

“After my wife passed away, I no longer have anyone at home to practice signing with. So I enjoy going to deaf coffee chats. We gather as a group and we sign. We talk about the news and things going on in our lives. It makes me feel like I’m part of a group of people who understand me, and I understand them.

“We’re trying to make my church, Baytown Revival Center, deaf friendly. Next year, we want to have an ASL musical. There would be music for hearing people. And those on stage would also be signing, so deaf people could enjoy. I’m also hoping to start a Bible study for the deaf.

“This is an ongoing project for me, for people to be aware that there are various ways to communicate with the deaf and hard-of-hearing. It’s something that I’m passionate about.”

— Dennis Voris

For more information on the deaf coffee chats, check the Facebook pages, Deaf Coffee Chat Baytown and Deaf Coffee Chat Mont Belvieu.

The post Opening lines of communication with deaf, hard-of-hearing appeared first on The Baytown Project.

“My youngest daughter married in October 2016. In 2017, our church offered a Dave Ramsey study on saving and investing for retirement, and how to stay out of debt. I signed the newlyweds up for it. I signed up for it, too, to give them moral support.

“During the video, Dave Ramsey talked about the importance of having a current will. It got me thinking. My husband and I had wills, but they were drawn up when our kids were babies. My husband’s brother was the executor of the estate. Our kids were now out of college. My husband’s brother was dead.

“I went home and told my husband that I thought we needed to update our wills. He agreed. Our CPA directed us to talk to an attorney she liked in Houston. He sat us down in a room together. We were asked to discuss, ‘Do you want to be buried or cremated? How far do you want the doctors to go with your care if you are hospitalized?’ These were topics we never discussed. We were too busy talking about colleges, boyfriends and weddings. After we talked, the attorney drew up new wills, directives to physicians, and powers of attorney. My husband transferred this onto a thumb drive for easy access.

“That was taken care of. I returned to being in charge. I owned my own veterinary practice. I was the one my employees came to when they were having teenager problems or when they were going through a divorce. I held clients’ hands when I had to tell them that the dog or cat they had for over 10 years had a terminal disease. Everyone depended on me.

Morning to remember

“My life changed forever on July 12, 2019. It was a Friday. It was my day off. Usually on Friday mornings, I would get up early, drive out to my barn, feed and clean, then drive to Conroe 1 1/2 hours away, where I had a horse in training. I would spend the morning riding, then groom my horse before driving back to Baytown to fix dinner.

“But this morning my husband said that I woke him up at 4. I told him that I did not feel well and needed to go to the hospital. He sat up in bed, looked at me, then turned to call 911. The 911 operator dispatched an ambulance and a fire truck to our house.

“As my husband was still on the phone with the dispatcher, he looked back to see me collapse across the bed. ‘I think my wife just died!’ he said. He didn’t know it at the time, but the dispatcher knew me. She used to come into my office with her father when she was a child, with their dog to be treated. She grew very stern with my husband.

“She told him to lay the phone down on the bed, do not hang it up. Walk out to the front yard and wave at the fire truck driver so that he would not pass up our house. My husband did exactly as he was told, then came back inside.

“Within seconds, two paramedics charged into our house. They plunged a long needle into my chest, into my heart, and pumped it with epinephrine, and did CPR until one of them declared, ‘I have a heart beat. Let’s transport.’ They told my husband that they were transporting me to the large local hospital in Baytown. They loaded me into a waiting ambulance and drove away.

“The last thing that my husband did before leaving our house was put the thumb drive — with the legal documentation that the attorney had prepared for us the year before — into his pocket.

Professionals take charge

“At the hospital at 5 that morning was a blessing in disguise. A Baytown cardiologist just happened to be in the emergency room when the ambulance arrived with me. At the time, the ER doctor and paramedics thought that I had suffered a heart attack.

“The cardiologist looked at the preliminary lab work that the ER doctor had run. ‘This does not look like a heart attack,’ he said. ‘I would look at her brain.’ The ER doctor scanned my brain, and that’s when he found it. I had a ruptured brain aneurysm.

“My chance of survival was less than 10%. The ER doctor got permission from my husband to Life Flight me to a large major medical facility in Houston for neurosurgery.

“A neurosurgeon successfully coiled my bleeding aneurysm. Over the next week, the chief neurosurgeon joined him as they battled brain swelling and hydrocephalus. No one knew for sure if I would have permanent brain injuries, or if I would even live. They battled on.

The journey back

“My two daughters joined my husband as he waited daily in the neurosurgical unit. My oldest daughter became the comforter. My youngest daughter took charge of communicating with the doctors and nurses as the family spokesperson. Several of their work colleagues and friends arranged for meals to be brought up to the hospital for them.

“A hospital attendant asked my husband if he had legal power of attorney, and did I have a directive to physicians. BOOM! He handed her the thumb drive.

“I spent the next three months in several different medical facilities, learning how to walk, talk, and feed myself again. My youngest daughter bought a communication board for me so that I could communicate with my family. I had been placed on a ventilator and could not talk. I kept that board to remind me of my progress.

“I finally came home mid-October 2019.

Fog begins to lift

“My first memories of my ordeal didn’t occur for almost six weeks after my aneurysm rupture in the third facility that I was in, the TIRR unit at Memorial Hermann Hospital in Houston.

“I remember a sign in my room that said this was the room that Gabby Giffords, former member of the U.S. House of Representatives, occupied after an assassination attempt that left her with a severe brain injury.

“I remember that they brought in a therapy dog to help in my recovery. My family took a picture of the dog lying in bed with me. I remember the day that I was transferred to a transitional rehabilitation facility in a nearby town. TIRR said that I had to leave that day because they already had a patient needing my room. My husband drove me to the next facility during the onslaught of Tropical Storm Imelda. I remember thinking that it was nighttime because it was so dark outside.

“I prayed that God would help us arrive safely in the storm. I also thanked God that this is the man that I married. He continued to fight for me and take care of me. I felt totally helpless to be able to help my husband should we have a problem. I think now that this must be how an animal feels riding in the car, totally at the mercy of its owner.

Simple existence

“When my husband took me to the transitional rehabilitation facility, I was just like an animal. I just accepted everything. I didn’t ask any questions. I never asked about my children, my sisters, my other family, my clinic, my horses or my pets. I simply was there.

“The first day at the center, a patient came up to me. He was from the Virgin Islands. I remember he said, ‘Look at me. Look at me. When I got here, I couldn’t walk. I couldn’t talk. But look at me now. It has been five years since I was able to walk. Do what they tell you, and work hard. You will get better, too. You’ll see.’

“We met with a psychologist once or twice a week. I remember one of my first sessions with him, he said, ‘I don’t think anyone ever told you what happened to you.’ He tossed my medical file to me to read. It was the first time that I began to understand what had happened to me.

“The first few days, the staff had me stay in a wheelchair until they could assess my condition. I had suffered some paralysis on the right side of my body. The doctors had placed a gastrostomy tube to feed me while I was still at the first hospital in Houston because I was having trouble swallowing. I had lost almost 20 pounds.

“I was totally dependent on my caregivers. It was my ‘road to Damascus’ moment. The Lord granted me another chance at life. We are all here to live for Him.

True friend

“A year after I got out of the hospital for the ruptured aneurysm, I was hospitalized again because I was having trouble walking. I was taken by ambulance from our local hospital in Baytown to the large major medical center in Houston where my neurosurgery was done. They kept me for four days. They ran a battery of lab tests on me, X-rays, CAT scans, checked my ventriculoperitoneal shunt, and did viral testing on me. They finally decided that all I had was low blood pressure.

“My bill for four days was over $600,000. My insurance company decided that they were no longer going to pay my hospital bills because they had already paid over $1 million toward my care. Because I’d had their policy for 40 years, I was grandfathered in. They claimed I was exempt from the Affordable Care Act that prohibits lifetime or annual limits on health care coverage. They were no longer responsible. I no longer had insurance. It would be a year before Medicare coverage would kick in. My husband and younger daughter talked to the hospital, and they reduced my bill to $400,000.

“My husband sent the hospital a small payment until our CPA could figure out the best way to pay the bill. A few weeks later, the check was returned with a statement that my balance had been resolved.

“I called my friend J.R., who I had taught Sunday school with for years. J.R. buried several of my old horses that I had to put down. He and his wife came to see me when I was at the transitional rehabilitation facility. I taught one of their children in Sunday school. Later, their son performed my daughter’s wedding ceremony after he became a minister.

“‘J.R.,’ I said, ‘I don’t understand this. They say my balance has been resolved.’ ‘Don’t worry about it,’ he said. ‘You’ve paid them enough already!’

Today’s reality

“I can no longer perform surgeries, ride a horse, or drive busy roads. I still own my veterinary practice. All my employees stayed that first year. My relief veterinarian quit her other job to run my office. My previous relief veterinarian from nine years ago came and worked during the time my current relief vet was giving her notice to her other employer. Even my sister and my niece, both veterinarians, worked during those first two weeks. Everyone took care of me.

“Almost every day now I walk five miles and do 1 1/2 hours of brain exercises. I am also doing online continuing education for veterinary medicine to maintain my license to practice.

“My life has been changed forever. It has given me a new perspective about what is important. I try to show more compassion and understanding for others. I thank God for the many blessings that I have. Each day and each person matters, and should not be taken for granted.”

Cindy wants people to know that a brain aneurysm is an inheritable condition that can be addressed before it ruptures. The rupture causes bleeding in the brain, sometimes known as a hemorrhagic stroke. She stresses that anyone closely related to a person who had a ruptured aneurysm or hemorrhagic stroke, or who died suddenly of unknown causes, should be evaluated by a medical professional.

The post The day ‘my life changed forever’ appeared first on The Baytown Project.

“In the early ‘90s, Central Heights was the type of neighborhood where you would get off the school bus, do your homework, and come to the park to play ball until the street lights came on. It was a tough neighborhood, with rivalries and occasional fights. Not the gun violence you see today. You would fight, take your licks, and get up to play again.

“You built mental toughness out here. It’s where I learned everything. There was a church next door. So those are probably the two biggest foundations for my life: church and the playground.

“There were elements of drug dealing and violence. But overall, this was a good place to grow up: good foundation, good principles, people helping each other.

“I was fortunate to have mentors. My dad exposed me to certain things, like opportunities to play sports. I had coaches and principals who looked out for me. They saw something in me, and gave me an extra push to help me out.

“But as I got into education, I began noticing things that were missing the mark. Things we weren’t teaching students. Like, no one ever sat me down and talked about finances: credit, the difference between rent and mortgage, ownership versus working for someone. No one ever showed me how a job application works. No one taught us etiquette, like how to open doors for someone. Everything I learned about dating was from my fellas, or watching my parents or other relationships. But there were no lessons or classes for it.

“One of my best friends from this neighborhood — talented athlete, smart, funny, good looking — died at a young age. I feel like the big thing missing for some of my friends who died or went to jail were the opportunities, the exposure.

“There are young people today with million dollar minds, but they have a small town mentality. They think they can’t do anything else. But you can. You can travel. You can come back and give back. There are so many opportunities available. But until you know, you don’t know. So I decided to do something about it.”

Heron launched the TIE program — Thomas Institute of Excellence — in 2018 as a way to mentor young men.

Showing them the way

“Everything we do in the TIE program is built on excellence, and a model of service before self. A big component is exposing these young men to all the opportunities available to them. We let them meet business owners, and give them the blueprint for what they can aspire to do with their lives.

“What I try to teach the kids that I didn’t get as a young child is the power of relationships. Everywhere we visit has either a tie to myself or the hometown community. Putting them in front of successful people who ran the same streets, hung out at the same parks, went to the same schools, shows them that, hey, you can do this, too. There’s nothing stopping you.

“We take trips. We do community service. We expose them to all types of experiences, like fine dining. We’ve had dinners at places like Del Frisco, Steak 48 and Taste Bar.

“And then just giving them opportunities to look good. A lot of these kids have never worn a nice shirt and tie. The effect they see when they dress up and walk into a place, the attention that turns on them, is awesome.

“They love pulling up to restaurants and seeing the nice vehicles, and enjoying nice meals. Not saying you have to live that type of lifestyle. I’m good eating off a food truck, but I do like a nice steak sometimes. But I know that if they aspire to be like that, we have to teach them now what it takes. You can’t wait until they’re 25 and struggling and say, you should have done this and that. We have to give them the ‘how’ and ‘why’ at an early age.

“Hopefully, the program will grow, and we’ll be able to be a blessing to more students. That’s really my goal: to be a positive influence for as many kids as possible. That’s all I really care about, giving kids an opportunity. When you know better, you do better.

“I just pray God continues to bless me, so I can continue to bless my community. This is home. This is where the seeds were planted. I consider everyone who comes from here just another branch on that family tree that I can help.”

Taking time to listen

Heron also is principal of the Eagle Positive Intervention Center in Barbers Hill ISD. The student-centered program focuses on academics, discipline and structure. Its mission is to provide an environment where students will recognize they have the ability to learn, add value and have worth.

“I feel like I have the best job on the planet. I just love it. I’m able to reach kids that a lot of people can’t reach. It’s always been my forte. I’m kind of like a child whisperer.

“It’s just being vulnerable and open to provide students an opportunity to be heard. Sometimes as adults, we want to force things on students without ever actually giving them the opportunity to speak. You have to see where they’re coming from. You have to be relatable. And they have to know that you care.

“My biggest thing is, I show up. When my kids need me, I’m there. I don’t care if it’s a sporting event or dance recital. Or it can be difficult situations with parents. I’m just going to show up.

“That’s the most important thing. Kids have to know that you care about them. Once they know I’ll show up in that way, they’ll do anything for you.”

The post TIE program sets positive course for young men appeared first on The Baytown Project.

“One of my duties at work was to create ID badges for all the employees. They had to be renewed on everyone’s birthday. When Juan came to see me, I made his ID and we flirted a little bit.

“Afterward, I jokingly said to my assistant, ‘Oh, my gosh. Tell him that I would rock his world.’ It was a ‘90s thing back then. I was really just joking. But she went and told him, and came back with his phone number.

“He and I talked five or six hours that night. We went out that Friday. Then after three weeks of going out, spending all that time together, he proposed. We made plans really quick. We got married three months later.

“It was pretty much a fairy tale marriage. Everybody would comment on how he’d walk into a room, and his face would light up to see me. They were like, ‘You could be a stranger in the room and know that you were his mate.’

“My husband was a total gentleman, too. I took care of the household. He did a lot of the outdoor stuff. He didn’t want me to do any yard work. I’d be like, ‘Let me help you with the weeds, then we can be finished sooner.’ And he’d say, ‘No, I don’t want you sweating. You go inside and sit pretty.’ People used to laugh about it. But that’s just the type of relationship we had for 20 years.”

Difficult decision

“My first pregnancy, I was having twins. At seven months, I got sick and had to go into the hospital. I spent about five days in labor. They were trying to stop it, but they couldn’t. So I had an emergency C-section. The boys were born premie. One was 3.4 pounds. The other was 4.6 pounds.

“The first born, Aaron, got sick a week later. His intestines weren’t fully developed. They were kind of perforated and causing problems. So they did surgery and took out a third of his colon, I guess with the hope of him having a normal life. It didn’t work.

“A week later, we had to make the decision to take him off life support. But the thing is, he continued to live another week after that. And that was brutal. When they asked us to make the decision, they didn’t expect him to live long. So during that week after, we questioned ourselves so much. Did we make the right choice?

“I revisit his grave from time to time. I went on Mother’s Day to clean his headstone.

“The other twin, Abel, will be 26 in July. You know how they say that twins have a special connection? Definitely, when he was younger, he would cry a lot. Even though he never really got to meet his brother, he would say that he missed him. Because it was this missing piece for him.

“He’s high-functioning autistic. He has Asperger’s. So he’s fully functional to a certain extent. I look at Abel daily, and can’t help but wonder what Aaron would have been like. What would he be interested in? What would his personality be like? It’s tough for me, no matter how much time passes.”

Another son, Chris, will be 22 in September.

No ordinary day

“Juan was a service technician for gas stations in the Houston area. He fixed the gas pumps, the price signs, the cash registers. Basically, all the electronics that needed attention.

“Our normal routine was to text each other around 10 a.m. Every couple hours, we would communicate. He would check on me, and see how my day was going. At noon, during my lunch hour, we’d have a phone conversation.

“Well, on this particular day, his speech started slurring. He said, ‘Something’s wrong.’ I could tell in his voice. Then he said, ‘I can’t see. I’m getting dizzy. I have ringing in my ears. I’m having trouble breathing. I don’t think I can drive.’ Just all these things.

“I told him to pull over and call 911. After a few minutes, I called him back. He hadn’t called 911. He was struggling to drive, and his speech had gotten worse. I couldn’t understand a word.

“So I called 911. I work in La Porte, and my call got routed to Deer Park Police. We were on a three-way, trying to figure out where he was so they could send help. They pinged his phone and got a general area. They dispatched police, fire, ambulance and even tow trucks to look for him. They circled for about an hour.

“Imagine your loved one dying, and you’re on the other end of the phone listening to him struggle. You’re desperately praying and reassuring him that they would find him.

“I finally thought about calling his supervisor. I forgot they used a tracker on their trucks, to see who’s closest for service calls. A few minutes after that, they found him.

“A police officer was the first to arrive. He grabbed his phone and said, ‘It appears your husband had a stroke. I’ll call you back after EMS gets here and assesses him.’

“When I learned what hospital they were taking him to, I told my boss, ‘I have to go. It looks like Juan had a stroke.’ While I was leaving, I called my church. I asked for prayers.”

Juan had a major hemorrhage in his brain stem. After many ups and downs in his recovery, he passed away about six weeks later on April 12, 2015, at age 44. It was two weeks before his oldest son’s high school graduation.

Family still grieving

“I don’t like it when people say, ‘God doesn’t give you more than what you can handle.’ I’m like, OK, I guess I’m Wonder Woman then. I must be so powerful. It hasn’t been easy. I have good days. I have bad days.

“I try to make light of things every day. I laugh. After Juan passed away, I used a lot of widow humor. Some people didn’t like that. I guess it was just my way of coping.

“It’s been really hard with my kids. They lost their best friend, too. He was that dad who was there for them the whole time. To watch them struggle throughout that experience was very difficult.

“They were 18 and 14 when he died. I had to work a lot of hours, so they spent a lot of time alone. They missed out on a lot. But I didn’t have a choice. I had to work.

“We all needed each other’s comfort. Everyone goes through grieving at different times and in different ways. One can go through the anger phase, while the other may just want to hide away and not deal with anything. Seven years later, we’re still dealing with it.

“I was doing pretty well at five years out. But then my best friend of 40 years was a victim of domestic violence. She and her daughter were killed. That set me back again.

“About 10 months after Juan died, his brother told me something. While he was sick, Juan told him to make sure that I moved on. I kind of felt like he gave me his blessing. Not that I was looking for it at that time. But at least I knew it was a possibility, and that he was thinking ahead for me.

“I make fun of my singleness, my singlehood, just because people will say, ‘You’re a real good catch.’ That doesn’t mean anything. That doesn’t mean you’re going to find your soulmate again. Not saying that I won’t. I’ve dated. But I’ve learned that you never know what the future holds.

“My boys are great. They tell me, ‘Mom, we just want you to be happy. We don’t want another dad. We just want another best friend.’”

— Brenda Medina

The post She’s suffered her share of tragic losses appeared first on The Baytown Project.

“We were going into Houston for dinner with some good friends. Because we expected to have a drink or two, we asked our daughter to be our Uber driver. She was a college student. She was home. She needed the money. So we had her drop us off, and we were going to call her when we were ready to be picked up.

“After dinner, we took a different Uber to this new bar we wanted to check out. We drank some. We danced. And it was around 12:30 when our daughter came to get us. After dropping off our friends at their house in Crosby, we headed home.

“John was in the front passenger seat, and I was on the bench seat in back. I remember telling them that I was going to lie down, and that Whataburger sounded good. The next thing I remember was waking up in the hospital, and telling my mother, ‘I can’t feel my legs.’

“I learned that we had been hit by a woman in a Hummer. She was driving drunk and texting. Thank God that John and my daughter were OK. He said that I didn’t have my seat belt on. I could not believe that I had taken it off. Because if you know me, I was always the seat belt police.”

She ended up with her head resting on the floor board, and her feet over the back of the seat. Her arm was stuck between the edge of the seat and the door, which had caved in on her shoulder.

“I broke my sternum and the ribs around it. And my spinal cord was injured. I had two surgeries.

“I don’t recall when they told me that I was paralyzed. Maybe I just knew. I would try to move my legs, and nothing happened. I thought, ‘Am I ever going to walk again?’

“I was in the hospital 43 days. It was a roller coaster of emotions. One day I would be OK, and the next I would curse everybody. I didn’t want to go to therapy. I started having major anxiety attacks because I couldn’t move. I was getting claustrophobic. And I was just mad. Mad at the world. Mad at God. Mad at the lady who put me in a wheelchair.

Husband her biggest advocate

“When I found out that I was never going to walk again, I just cried. And I asked God, ‘Why? Why me?’ To be honest, I wanted to die. I hate saying that, because I was the lucky one. There are mothers who would give anything to have their child in a wheelchair, instead of having to bury them.

“But when I finally got home from the hospital, we were all scared. I’m paralyzed from the chest down. I have severe nerve pain that never goes away. How were we going to adapt to this new life? It was tough. Especially that first year, when I was in a hospital bed in what’s supposed to be our dining room.

“But I’ve gradually made progress. Every day I don’t go, ‘Oh my gosh, I’m never going to walk again.’ I continue telling my brain, ‘Pick up your leg and take a step. Now it’s the other leg’s turn.’ I still believe in miracles. I want to believe that I may eventually walk one day. If not, I’m finally adapting to life in a wheelchair.

“For the first 2 1/2 years after the wreck, though, I pretty much stayed home. I didn’t want to go anywhere. Then John began nudging me and said, ‘It’s time. You can’t stay inside all day. You’re going to wind up even more depressed.’ So we’d go to a restaurant. We went to the museum. My son played college football, so we traveled to his games.

“And I’m trying to be that cheerful person I used to be: saying hello, meeting new people. I do that at church, where I feel really comfortable. A little bit more of the old me is coming out. And I don’t feel as trapped inside my body.

“But I could not do this without the support of family and friends. My mother and sister-in-law take care of me during the day. When John gets off work, his other job is to come home and help me. He’s never wavered. We’ll be married 27 years in May. And I feel like our relationship is stronger than ever.

“That part of our marriage vows, in sickness and in health, really means a lot. When I got out of the Shock Trauma Intensive Care Unit, he held my hand and said, ‘We’re going to get through this. I’m here for you. I’ll be here for you forever, until the day I die.’

‘It doesn’t seem fair’

“It wasn’t until several weeks after the accident that they arrested the woman who hit us. The wreck happened in 2018. In 2019, she was finally sentenced to five years.

“We were there for the sentencing. Passing her in the hallway with her standing up and me in a wheelchair, I really wanted to lunge at her. I could feel the rage inside me. She looked at me and then looked away, like no big deal.

“In my impact statement, I said, ‘Look at me. Look what you’ve done to me. I’m not supposed to be in this chair. Because of your actions, I can no longer be a nurse. I can no longer sit and work an eight-hour day.’ I also said, ‘What you did to me, you can do to your own family. You could kill your husband, your children, your grandchild, your mother. Then how are you going to feel?’ I said, ‘If I can save one person by putting you away, then I’m good with that.’ But still, no remorse. She couldn’t even look at me and just say, ‘I’m sorry.’ She never took responsibility for driving drunk.

“She’s up for parole in May. And I’ve been asking family and friends if they’d be willing to write a protest letter to the parole board on my behalf. I mean, she’s only served 2 1/2 years of her five-year sentence, while I have to serve a life sentence with my injuries in a wheelchair. It makes my blood boil.

“I hope she’s learned something from the whole experience. But from what we’ve seen online, her family is just ready for her to get out so they can have a big party. It doesn’t seem fair at all.”

— Patti Pequeno Farris

The post Drunk driver forever changes her life appeared first on The Baytown Project.

A childhood accident took her hearing. A determined son and daughter helped return it.

Using sign language, Yolanda Willey says she was about 5 years old when she fell at home. Her memory of the incident is a bit fuzzy — it happened more than 50 years ago — but she recalls blood in her ear and a trip to the hospital.

Through her teenage years, Yolanda was unable to hear or speak. Her challenges only increased as an adult. 

Raising two children with a husband who also was deaf wasn’t easy. Neither was battling breast cancer or seeing her family struggle financially.

But a fighting spirit displayed by Yolanda, her husband, John Sr., daughter, Kathy, and son, John, prevailed.

Today, 57-year-old Yolanda knows what it’s like to hear again: her children’s voices, her dog’s barking, visitors knocking on her door.

The family’s story is one of hard work, determination and love, as well as a lifelong desire to feel normal in a world that often stigmatizes the deaf.

In the beginning

After losing her hearing, Yolanda — an only child — struggled to communicate with her parents, who often spoke Spanish in their Corpus Christi home.

When people talked to her, Yolanda wanted them to slow down so she could try to read their lips and understand what they were saying.

She used hearing aids without much luck. In those days, the clunky devices offered little benefit. So around age 12, it was decided that Yolanda would attend Texas School for the Deaf in Austin.

“She didn’t want to go, and her mom wanted her to stay. It was her stepfather who forced her to go,” says her son, John.

Yolanda stayed at the school until she was 18. The experience allowed her to gain an education in a supportive environment with other boys and girls like her.

When she moved back home, she was armed with a proficiency in sign language.

Dating, then marriage

When she was about 24, Yolanda met the man who would become her husband. 

John Willey Sr. was born deaf. He used hearing aids and learned to speak while growing up among family and friends in Port Aransas.

Yolanda and John were attending a church service when they first interacted. Later at a friend’s home, they enjoyed pizza and visited using sign language.

“My dad kept scooting over to sit by my mom, and everybody was looking,” her son says.

After several years of dating, the couple married in 1989.

Kathy was born in 1990 and John followed two years later. Their parents were relieved when they realized both children could hear. 

But communication in the Willey home was far from simple, even after John Sr. had Cochlear implant surgery in 1995 to improve his hearing.

“When my sister and I were very young, we would hit the ground to get our parents’ attention. Or we would be on the couch and throw our hands up. We just figured out ways to communicate with them,” John says.

Before learning to speak, the siblings were taught sign language by their parents. The main words were mama, dad, hungry and milk. 

After moving from Corpus Christi to Anahuac in the late 1990s, the kids’ speech started to take off as they were around more relatives and began going to school.

As John got older, school presented its own set of challenges.

“There were bullies in junior high and high school. If I remember correctly, I got into 13 fights. The majority of them were because someone was making fun of my parents. My mom was a custodian for Anahuac ISD, and kids would imitate her,” he says.

“Eventually, I learned some self-discipline. I realized that if I continued hitting people I got mad at, it had consequences that could affect my future.”

Down and out

As Yolanda and her husband struggled to find and keep jobs, they were dealt a blow in 2009 when she was diagnosed with breast cancer. 

“It was so scary because with something like cancer, we didn’t know which way things would go,” John says.

Kathy and John took turns driving with their mom and dad back and forth to Baytown for chemotherapy and other appointments. After several years of treatments, Yolanda had survived the disease.

“During that time, my dad couldn’t find a job. Then everything at home seemed to go out: the fridge, the dryer, the AC in the living room,” John says. “When you talk about living in poverty, we went way beyond it. That was the hardest time in our lives.”

Realizing they needed to step up to help the family, John and Kathy got grocery store jobs while attending high school.

After Kathy graduated, John continued working at the store, trying to save money to attend college. His dream was to become a firefighter. 

John got the bug when he was about 16, and he was proud to be a junior member of the Anahuac Volunteer Fire Department. After high school, he decided to attend the Firefighter Training Academy at San Jacinto College.

There were some financial roadblocks along the way. But John kept working and his sister helped out when she could. Also, he received a student aid grant that helped him complete the program.

“When I finished and got my certifications, it was the biggest accomplishment of my life,” John says. 

After serving with Anahuac EMS and Cloverleaf Fire Department, John joined Galena Park Fire Department. He recently was promoted to captain.

Financial stability

Having a steady job and salary was important to John, especially as he reflected on his family’s hard times.

“It showed me that anything can happen. You can lose everything. I didn’t want to get back to that rock bottom place ever again,” he says.

To give himself a solid foundation, John purchased a small house. It’s just down the street from his parents’ home, on the same block the family has lived since they moved to Anahuac.

With his own house and other necessities of life in place — plus, his father was set working two custodial jobs at hospitals in Houston — John addressed the one thing that continued to bother him.

“I remember sitting down with my mom one day. I was tearing up. I felt so bad for her. She couldn’t hear anything, and I always had that memory of my sister and I having to beat on the ground to get her attention. I was like, when will we ever be able to holler and she will turn to look at us?” John says.

“Kathy and I talked about how we needed to get mom some hearing aids. She had already been through cancer. We didn’t want her to go the rest of her life without being able to hear us talk.”

The first hearing center they went to didn’t offer much hope. Getting a Cochlear implant was probably out of the question because of Yolanda’s health issues. And the expensive hearing aids the center suggested held no guarantee of helping. 

They applied for a grant to help offset the cost, but the request was denied.

One last hope

Despite a growing sense of defeat, John decided to take his mom to one more hearing center. That’s where they met Ray Covey, a hearing health care practitioner who was born with a severe hearing loss.

“I told him that she’s not just hard of hearing, she’s completely deaf,” John recalls of their 2017 visit to New Sound Hearing Centers in Baytown. “I really didn’t think he could help her. But he said, ‘Miracles can happen.’”

In John’s mind, that’s exactly what occurred.

“He put her in the booth to test her, and once he adjusted everything he said, ‘OK, can you hear me?’ And she had this big smile on her face as she looked right at me. I about cried,” John says.

Ray, who has benefited from wearing hearing aids his entire life, says that while Yolanda is legally deaf, ‘With the hearing aids, I was able to get her some loudness and some understanding.”

When John was presented with the option of purchasing one hearing aid then and the other later, when it might be more affordable, he decided to go all in.

“I was just about to pay off my home, so I wasn’t really prepared to buy everything right then and there. But when I looked at my mom and thought about all that she has gone through, I decided to go for it. I think we bought the baddest, top-of-the-line hearing aids you can find,” John says.

And the results have been life-changing.

After they returned to see Ray to have the hearing aids fitted, John needed to stop by the bank on the way home. To his surprise, after engaging his truck’s turn signal to use the ATM, his mom communicated that she could hear the ticking sound.

“That really surprised me. Because a long time ago when she had some old hearing aids, they really didn’t do anything for her. It was like a big old megaphone, and the sounds would hurt her ears. She could never hear little things like this.”

Yolanda is thrilled not only to hear when family members call out to her, but also the simple things in life.

“In the past when you’d knock on her door, she wouldn’t answer. You’d have to beat on the door or stomp on the porch to make vibrations that she could feel. Now she can hear it,” John says.

“Now she can hear the dog bark. She can hear cars drive by. She can hear kids yelling and playing. She can hear people talking. She can hear everyday sounds. It’s amazing. She’s really happy, which makes all of us happy.”

Related:

• He was destined to help other people hear better
• Social distancing can be heart-breaking

The post She gains her freedom from the sounds of silence appeared first on The Baytown Project.

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He was raised by a strong, loving mother who worked three jobs. She tried to make sure that he did the right things, and she disciplined him when he didn’t.

But as he got older, Allen drifted into waters that eventually led to a stint in jail and completion of a rehabilitation program for drug addiction.

It was during his time in rehab that the idea came to him. He wanted to do something with his life that would positively influence young men in the community.

“I came to the realization that I needed to change my life. My goal was to help others so that they didn’t make some of the same mistakes I made and didn’t have to go through some of the things that I went through,” Allen said.

That’s how YBS Mentoring was born. 

“YBS stands for young, blessed and saved. I was given another chance at life, and serving as a positive male role model for these young kids is the thing that drives me,” said Allen, who turns 31 in September.

Leading by example

He has been walking the talk the past four years as the non-profit organization’s leader.

Classes held two Saturdays a month in Baytown cover topics ranging from the basics of how to shave and tie a necktie, to taking a personal life inventory and the importance of respect.

Sessions also have touched on the dangers of drugs.

“You’d be surprised at how many young people in our area are smoking meth, doing cocaine and openly talking about it,” Allen said. “Some of these kids may have older siblings who think it’s cool. So we try to show them why it’s really not cool and why it’s important to make smarter decisions.”

While more than 60 boys have filled out applications and attended classes, YBS has a core group of about 20 active regulars. They meet at 2401 N. Alexander in a facility provided by Baytown Housing Authority.

With the help of parents and other interested individuals, and support from local businesses, YBS holds charity events throughout the year. Activities have included serving hot meals to homeless people, and collecting and delivering gifts to needy families for Christmas.

Proud moments

Allen is thrilled to watch kids grow from their YBS experiences. Topping his list is 17-year-old Chris Cerino, who now serves in a junior mentor role.

“I continue going to the classes to learn, but I also enjoy being a positive role model and someone the other kids can turn to for help,” said Chris, a Goose Creek Memorial High School student who is involved in more than a dozen clubs and organizations.

“One of the biggest lessons I’ve learned from YBS is the importance of staying humble, presenting yourself well, and being a respectable member of the community. When I hear people tell me, ‘You’re such a nice young man, I wish more young people were like you,’ it’s really a compliment to Mr. Allen for all the things he’s taught us.”

Allen emphasizes that his relationship with the young men in YBS is a two-way street.

“As a person, as a man, I still have my struggles. I still go through things in life every day, like everyone else. So these guys are really my therapy,” he said. “Some of these kids think I help them a lot. But honestly, they’re really helping me, inspiring me, at the same time.”

When Allen was growing up, he had what he calls a “weekend dad.” 

“Some weekends he was there and some he wasn’t. Sometimes I’d be sitting on the curb waiting for him to pick me up, like in the movies, but dad would never show up,” he said. 

“So my number one rule with YBS is that I will never leave your child’s life. I will stay involved. I won’t do what my dad did to me.”

Anyone interested in becoming involved with YBS Mentoring can contact Allen Guy through the organization’s Facebook page.

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