On a Mission From God

Spending a week south of the border and below the poverty line, I learned that the only thing worth getting up at five in the morning for were some of the most amazing sunrises I’ve ever seen. I learned that in Mexico it’s 80º by eight-o’ clock. And you can guess how hot by noon. I learned that after traveling 1022 miles to get to Mexico, the last town in the US is called Pharr, TX. And that the Rio Grande isn't grand at all.

While on the job site, where we were building a house for four no larger than your garage, I watched little girls play in the dirt with broken dolls and hand made toys and learned that I really have nothing to complain about. Turning sand and rocks and mortar mix for an hour, I learned what a cement mixer feels like. And that I have never felt so sore. I learned that locals in Mexico have, in their yards, chickens, donkeys and cocks that crow incessantly. And that no one on a church trip finds a joke about Peter denying Jesus very funny. (Luke 22:34)

Walking the town with my good friends Carl and Stephen, I learned that when you ask the local girls if they will take a picture with you, they giggle. But that their father doesn’t. I learned that when a Mexican child stands in front of you and says “Do-ri-tos?” and you shrug saying I’m sorry, I don’t know what Do-ri-tos means, he’ll politely smile and longingly point to the bag of chips in your hand. I learned that when you offer candy to a child, eight more will show up from out of nowhere. And together, they will show you what a piñata feels like. Playing soccer with some boys a few streets from the job site, and getting whipped badly, I learned that the kids in Reynosa don’t need a fancy ball and goal to be happy. And that we all laugh in the same language.



At noon every day, we attended a local Mexican church service, where I learned that for me, harder than speaking Spanish correctly, is singing it. And that the Spanish word for Amen is… Amen. One night, we had a chance to shop on the Mexican side of the border, where I learned that the best way to haggle a price is to stare at the vendor like you don’t understand until the number gets low enough, then smile.

Finally, at the end of the week, our church group delivered 1000 new and used shoes. Three pairs donated were mine. I thought to myself, how cool is it that someone in another country would walk a mile in my shoes. Then, I reflected upon how blessed I was that I had the opportunity to walk a week in theirs.

Nola & I-10

With just a suitcase, a duffle bag and Nola’s backpack, we headed west to Houston. In no time, I learned that between Tallahassee and Destin there’s nothing but pine trees. Nothing. I learned that Nola has the innate ability to know exactly when I need to change lanes and what mirror she has to block to make it as difficult as possible. I learned that letting a dog ride shotgun invariably leads to the car being knocked into neutral. And that when you take a wrong exit, yellow labs make poor navigators.

Staying in Destin for just a night, I learned that I must have the only lab in the world who is dreadfully afraid of water. But that even the most fortified sand castles don’t stand a chance against her. Upon seeing the water the next morning, I remembered why they call it the Emerald Coast. Upon seeing all the rebel flag license plates, I remembered why they also call it the Redneck Riviera.

Heading into New Orleans, hurricane devastated billboards advertised the current condition of much of the city and broken traffic lights told me the rest. I learned that the people in the city refer to Katrina only as “the storm” and that they have had it up to the indelible watermark with the levee councils and corps of engineers. Arriving just in time for dinner, I learned that the best burgers, pool players and dart throwers in the city hang out at a dive called The Swamp Room.

Staying with Matt from Trumpet, I was fortunate enough to have a chance to spend time with old coworkers at a bar called The Bulldog where I learned that a hurricane can wreck everything but friendships. And that the only thing better than having a pint of Abita’s Purple Haze with my boy Jason, is sharing a pitcher of it.



6 am came early Saturday, as I set out to meet the Mexico mission church group in Houston where I learned that Houston and Sprint have had a falling out because I had no service every half a block. Every call I tried to make got dropped. Then my battery died. Walking the streets like a vagabond, I learned that burritos at a Mexican grill called Cabo are served with a fork… picking it up to eat it, I learned why. After the Mexican mess, I basked in the warm glow of 96 degrees atop a balcony bar over looking the city. It was finally time to catch a cab and head to the hotel. But before I did, I watched one of the many Houston citizens standing on the corner sporadically yelling at cars at the top of his lungs like he had turrets. People gawked and stared and snickered. Too tired from wandering aimlessly in the heat to react, I simply shrugged my shoulders and thought… he must have Sprint, too.

What I learned on my business trip to Philadelphia

Fortunate enough to spend a week in the birthplace of America to work, I learned that Philadelphia is an East Coast city with a Mid-West disposition. I learned that the baseball fans here actually root for two teams – the Phillies and whoever is playing the Mets. I learned that there are still neighborhoods that have been untouched since the 70’s and that Broad Street is no place for the narrow-minded. I learned that a real Philly cheese steak from the world famous Pat’s was worth the 33-year wait and the only way to wash it down is with a popular Philadelphia street vendor treat called water ice. I learned that mojitoes and friends are made best at a place called Alma de Cuba.

And that a broadcast producer makes a great dance partner.

With a rental car and an opportunity to head to NYC for Memorial Day weekend, I learned that I never get tired of seeing Lady Liberty and that it only takes a ferry ride, an afternoon of walking lower Manhattan and some ice cream to bridge a 30-year gap between a father and son. I pressed on, picking up my mom, who was vacationing in Greenwich, CT and we went on to visit our old town of New Canaan, where, together we learned that you can’t go home. Or at least, that we don’t want to. Maybe that’ll change when I visit my other hometown in Jersey.

While working at QVC, I learned this is the place where fashion lives and that the chemistry between old ad partners never dies. I learned that here, meetings can breed meetings about upcoming meetings. But some can breed great ideas. I learned that at a network built on selling, it’s the employees who have to buy into it most. I learned that at this network, women out number men like 12 to 1 and almost everyone has a TV on their desk. But only one channel to tune it to.



Walking Philly with my friend Heather and her child, I learned that my new best friend is an 18-month-old named Theo and that his favorite word is apple. And over the course of the day, I learned that the person in this city fighting the hardest isn’t Rocky Balboa, it’s a single mom who is doing a phenomenal job of raising a young man on her own. By the end of the day, I had renamed Philadelphia the city of Motherly love. I hope to be half the parent she is.

And finally, on my business trip to Philadelphia, I learned that this city and its surrounding towns are filled with genuine, down to earth people who make this place a heartland. I know this, because getting on the plane I sensed that I was leaving a little bit of mine behind.