Reflections from the Fire

   A conversation on Sunday caused me to reflect upon my volunteer service hours in my early days of Pre-Med. I was a newly declared Biology major, (or maybe it was Physics or Architecture, as it changed often) that was most excited to tell everyone that I was going to be a doctor. Having never graduated High School, and being insecure of myself, there was an underlying arrogance each time somebody would ask me what I was doing in school.    Planning and preparing to get accepted into medical school starts long before the application. In addition to top notch grades, and excellent community participation, you must also meet a certain number of volunteer service hours. Being interested in helping kids, I made my mind up that I would volunteer at Primary Children's Hospital. I saw myself as a noble knight on a white horse who was going to be a doctor and save kids.    When I inquired about volunteer opportunities, I was directed to the Volun...

WARNING – GRAPHIC CONTENT! This is not suitable for anyone under 18.     Several years ago, I found myself working for a Juvenile Rehabilitation Center. That’s the politically correct way of classifying a place like this. The truth is, it was a last-chance saloon for boys who had exhausted the justice system in their own state and were at their final stop before prison. All of the boys within this facility were from out of state. Most hailed from Philadelphia, some from Nevada, several from Chicago, and a handful from the Dakotas. They ranged in age from 12-21 years old. They varied in size as short as four and half feet tall and about 90 pounds, all the way up to our tallest boy at six foot seven inches tall and maybe 320 pounds.     The facility smelled of sterilizing Lysol masking the underlying odor of pubescent boys. Imagine 100 teenage boys with poor hygiene all cooped up inside one building. The smell of stinky socks and u...