Ronald McDonald House Story

I wrote another story for the club, covering the day we spent at the Ronald McDonald House. However, I am anything but concise when it comes to story-telling. My rules are that I will tell a story in as many words as it needs to be told. That said - it was obviously too long of a story for the club news paper - my long story "Eddie's Okay" for the Veterans Home was my one shot at being a page-hog. (I've since offered a much shorter piece on the RMDH for use in the mailing). But I did want everyone to have a chance to see this. For lack of a better method, I'm simply going to cut-n-paste the story right into this thread. Should you want a PDF copy sent to you for any reason, just PM me and I'll shoot one over to you.
Thanks to those who attended...and hope to see more of you on the next visit.
Story below.
Enjoy.
-Dean
PS - it looks like the format copied a little funny. IE: there are no italicized words...so use your imagination for emphasis where appropriate.



“What They Wore”
Northwest Ferrari Owners Club Day at The Ronald McDonald House, Seattle

By Dean Burke


I am one who takes note of contrasts. It’s just a built in function of my being. Seemingly, even when I am unable to immediately speak on the topic, my mind, heart and soul seem to be ever collecting morsels of that which surrounds me. From time to time my internal filter overflows and I am able to sit down and gather these moments into a complete portrait. My travels with the Ferrari group have proven to evoke these emotions into a sort of tipping point, or a point of discovery…

This month of September 2008 has been one of meteorological bliss. The skies over the Pacific Northwest have been kissed with radiant sunrises and sunsets and a calming pure blue ceiling hovering at 70 degrees for the hours in between. Like a child in school, I find myself staring out the window of my office and suddenly realize I’ve been checked out for way too long. These little moments are just that in the grand perspective - little. So I don’t harbor too much anxiety over the intervals of these habits. The northwest is after all, one of the most beautiful places I’ve been in my many travels around the world and its effects are a natural calming agent that only adds value to life.

But as I am all too keenly aware, contrast lurks in all places, sometimes haunting this writer. And as I found myself last Friday evening standing in the front yard watching a sunset painted of copper, gold and violet, my heart worried about the hurricane that was bearing down on the homes of my parents on the Texas Gulf Coast. Just a phone call, yet thousands of miles away, they were braced behind boarded windows and triple-checking their reserves of food and water while I was standing bare-foot in the yard among perfectly balanced ambient weather throwing a Frisbee with my sons. In the following 24 hours my parents shared in a polarizing juxtaposition as their home was surrounded 360 degrees in devastation while they themselves surrendered nothing. Sometimes life mimics the function of a toggle-switch: it’s all or nothing.

So too, I stood in a like manner as I prepared to see the children and families at the Ronald McDonald House in Seattle with the Northwest Ferrari Owners Club. I watched my own sons and could only be thankful for the glow of their own light in love and good health. And I thought of how the good fortune of others can shine brightly and give hope when others are in despair. This is the objective of these Ferrari owners bringing their cars to these kids - to share some good fortune in a way that spreads happiness in a place where doubt can linger in the shadows.

I spoke with my 10 year old on the eve of the club visit, trying to explain to him what and why the Ferrari Club members were doing on this day. It did not take him long to understand. He said, “Dad, I think it’s cool that people can take their Ferrari’s and let the kids see them. I bet they don’t even think about being sick when they are getting to sit in those cars. Dad- did you know that being happy can make you feel better?”

He gets it.

And so did 10 other local F-car owners as they brought their cars out on this early fall like day blanketed in the ever popular Seattle drizzle, our first wet day in over a month. But it would take more than a little rain to stop these guys from showing up. If not for them, the kids at the Ronald McDonald House may have had just another ordinary day inside.

On this new season’s first cool and damp morning, I found myself looking in the closet for clothes that have been tucked away for the last few months. Maybe a long sleeve t-shirt. Perhaps some comfortable merino socks and my trusty Levi’s. Club photographer Michael Von Ditter gifted me a new Ferrari Club Owners jacket this week. I took it along too – it’s the first time I’ve worn a jacket since last spring. I went in search of a warm cup of black tea to get me rolling and finally headed out the door to catch up with small group who met in Tacoma’s historic North End to make the drive north where other car club members from Seattle, Redmond and Bellevue joined in.

Upon our arrival at the Ronald McDonald House, volunteers and staff met us enthusiastically at the front door. Once the cars got situated, we went inside to start greeting the kids. It’s a wonderful facility with an array of amenities. Our hostess Kate Van Dyke, a calm but authoritative lady who wore a navy blue sweat shirt and blue jeans, gave us an impressive tour of the building. Kate is a selfless working volunteer whose own daughter was a childhood resident at the House for 4 years. Upon her recovery, her daughter went into medicine and is now a pediatric doctor. Kate then came aboard as a volunteer and is now one of the few full time paid staff. It was evident that she knew what was happening at all times in the building. She carried 3 different pagers and seemed to know where the last can of soup was in each storage room. Her passion and enthusiasm was tireless. She wore the hidden scars of a mother’s sleepless nights from her own daughter’s tenure here and carried the weight of serving others without thinking twice. And she wore the pride of an Army General as she carried a sense of ownership ensuring that every last person was taken care of. The amazing thing is that Kate is not alone. The entire staff carried this same flag. Serve others first. Make a difference. Embrace the gift of humanity.

The Ronald McDonald House is not a nursing home. There is no pre-set campus schedule. Families will come and go as the medical schedule of their child dictates. So families came at odd intervals to pay a visit to the cars. It was a moment of refuge for both parents and children alike. Each child had an opportunity to have their photo taken with as many of the cars as they liked, and prints were available instantly for them to take as souvenirs.

The children came in all shapes and sizes, with varying conditions. I saw little boys whose baseball hats fit loosely on their little bald heads, hair gone as a result of chemotherapy. And little girls with hand made beanies in flowery colors keeping the innocence of a little girl’s dignity in order.

Soon a young girl who just turned 4 made a diminutive appearance, peeking cautiously out from behind her mother’s leg. Her tiny body was riddled with a form of lymph-cancer and she already had surgery to remove a large tumor from her stomach. Her tiny bald head wore a woven purple beanie. A small white tube ran from her right nostril across her cheek and disappeared beneath the collar behind her ear. She wore a pink sweater and little foam Croc’s shoes. Her face already wore the lines of someone much older than 4. Yet despite her set backs at such an age, she had an exuberant amount of energy, wandering about the cars and having her picture taken with each one. She and her mother would go on to spend the entire day just walking about the facility. Stopping to play games, watch a video or have a snack. Today there was a break from the norm with no medical treatment for her and with the cool rain, it was a good day to spend in inside. In a month she is expected to have a stem-cell surgery and will be moved into a new housing unit. The room she and her mother share now is essentially a hotel room size suite. With her coming surgery comes the risk of infection from something as simple as a stranger’s cough or sneeze, so they will be isolated in an area relatively free from outside germs. Her father and brothers wait patiently at home 2 hours away while she stays here with her mother. She has to stay here for the daily treatments and if she were to gain a fever, she has to be in the hospital within 15 minutes. Her temperature is recorded constantly. Though in lieu of her illness, she wears a certain childlike charm that reminds me of the power of youth.

Her mother wore blue jeans and a hooded sweat shirt, which seemed to be a popular choice today. Cool enough to need cover, but nothing too complex and here, comfort clothes are the best. Like most of the other mothers I saw today, she did not wear make-up. No time for such luxuries now. There is but one singular mission for a parent who is living here with their child: to be well as soon as possible. All energy, time and money is dedicated in full to this one objective.

Another little girl appeared with her family in tow. 3 1/2 years old. She had a beautiful head covered in blond fuzz. Perhaps the early signs of hair trying to make a come-back. She wore little tights with animal prints and a little hooded jacket with bright sequins all over. She was proud of her dazzling colors and did not seem to pay notice the hair. Her grandmother was there with the family and held her often. With well kept wavy silver hair, she wore blue jeans and a light jacket. But her face wore many expressions. There was enthusiasm and hope. And there were shades of fear and angst. Her grandmother’s eyes moved about, but always managed to stay connected to the grand-daughter at the same time. She may never know the relaxation of a lazy summer day with this young child so long as sickness lingers in her. For now though, it is apparent that she is giving that child everything she has. Together, they all wore hope.

Soon a father approaches. His daughter has a bright glow about her as she twists back and forth in her yellow summer dress. This might be the last day of the year to wear such an outfit. She seems un-phased by the cool drizzle and as she moves about the cars her wide eyes indicate that she is fond of Italian Red.

Her father says “I saw you guys here last year - but were at the hospital the year before that and missed you.”

What?

After a brief introduction we learned that he and his family have lived here for 4 years. The large wound on the side of his daughter’s neck indicates where a port had been used for repetitive treatment. She walks with a slight limp. He tells us that she is finally in remission, but that for now she cannot be more than a few miles from the hospital due to her condition. She looks happy and innocent. Almost like a normal little 8 year old girl should. Her face beams with excitement as the photo printer spits out pictures of her posing next to a red F430. This photo will no doubt be a prized possession.

Her father wore sweat pants, worn athletic shoes and a faded t-shirt. There are lines in his face that look premature. And a sense that the gravity holding him down is pulling harder than it does for most. It’s easy to sense that he feels blessed to have this place and the overwhelming support of volunteers and their love - but his eyes tell the of his hope as he yearns for a new home, far away from disease and hospitals.

While touring the facility, I see a room door that a family has decorated. The door is covered with pictures of an infant. She looks like she is less than 2 months old and bears a scar that runs from the center of her collar-bone and disappears beneath her tiny diaper. Every tube and hose imaginable is taped and plugged into this fragile little body. This door is a shrine of sorts with images of the family surrounding her. So much hope and energy is being poured into preserving this precious existence. There is a stark silence as our group passes.

Our tour guide, Kate tells us that right now the facility is at maximum capacity with 80 families. Of the three buildings, one is for kids who have had bone-marrow transplants, and because of the risk of illness, those families are rarely seen. They live for weeks and months and sometimes years in semi-isolation, only leaving to retrieve food or necessities or trips to the hospital.

The kids that come to see the cars wore a certain cloak of youthful happiness. Despite their various illnesses, the root of their being remains in tact; they remain children. They wore little sandals and sweat pants or jeans. Cartoon characters, super heroes or princesses adorn their shirts. And the hoods on their little jackets bounce when they run. We only see a few of the 80 that are here and our host reminds us that often the House will only see the parents stay, as the child may remain in the hospital the entire time. It’s a somber reminder of where we are.

Each child that visited got to add a Ferrari hat to their attire as Christie Von Ditter handed out the hats that Ferrari of Seattle donated. The kids took their time as they inspected each style, imagining which one would look best on them. The boys were the pickiest, asking their parents “which hat is for the fastest car?” They wanted to be associated with speed and freedom. They wanted to get in one of those cars and drive away from this place as fast as they could, to chase the horizon down an empty two lane road without a doctor in sight.

When I arrived I wore jeans, t-shirt and jacket and my favorite shoes with way too many miles on the soles. I also wore a sense of fear and anxiety. I wore worry and empathy. But I walked out wearing something different. I walked away wearing hope and peace and a sense of restoration in the efforts of men. I saw a place where every effort to maintain a quality of life in the throws of suffering was guarded with honor. And I saw a group of automobile enthusiasts who valued the smile of a child and their families ahead of themselves.

A friend of mine recently spoke to me of the “contrasts of white on white.” She said; “I have seen the stark and subtle differences of those around me lately. Not the drastic black/ white, good/evil differences – but the ones more easily missed. No one notices the contrast of white on white. The good on good. There are deeds that are equal in their results, but cast shadows of contrast by their motives. One is pure deriving its brightness from unfiltered compassion and grace. The other projects goodness yet is dimmed by the dingy dust of obligation or self-fulfillment.”

I want to acknowledge that the untainted generosity of everyone involved at the Ronald McDonald House is indeed a contrast of white on white. The staff, the volunteers and the people like the Ferrari Club who give without limits to improve the lives of others.

This day was about hope and peace - That these brilliant exotic cars and their owners would provide a moments reprise for those who saw them. Fathers would listen to the roaring motors and were happy to engage in a discussion that did not include words like “treatment” or “test results.” Mothers were happy to see their children so enthralled to see these living “hot wheels” set on display just for them. And all who engaged were given a few hours time to push their worries aside and relish in a wonderful distraction that would give their families time to see each other smile once again.

We all wore similar clothes today. Yet the rest of what we wore varied greatly. It was another defining moment of contrast not just for me, but for all of us who attended. A day of contrast and a time to reflect on the goodness that surrounds us.
A day to change what we wore.

 

Thanks Dean, for being there, and for painting a fantastic picture with words that really defines why we love to participate in this event.

 

Another amazing job of describing a somwhat tough, yet so satisfying event to attend. Thanks for participating and thanks for sharing!!

 

What was wrong with the "Eddie" story? Long yes, but that is what helps other members see and find the meaning and worth of attending seemingly mundane outings.

Don't change a thing.

 

Thanks for the vote....I agree on all, and thus, will write as many words as it takes! But this time, the editors (while they did like the story) said that space was an issue. Rather than risk the RMDH visit get no press at all, I offered something shorter (and far more boring). Which is fine. I have access to the internet-machine and will happily spread my words about in a more underground fashion as need be! FYI- The Pracing Horse is running a (half length) version of "Eddie's Okay" in issue #170. So we can call this a small victory toward the power of good work at the club level.
Spread the word and this stuff will appear in more places (I hope!)

-DB

 

I remember how pleased our past editor was a few years ago when we published a couple of record breaking issues of great content. I thought this was what our newsletter was for, to expound in detail and description of the various events to encourage and entertain the membership. Are we subject to manpower and/or budgetary constraints?

Maybe I'm reading this thread wrong.

 

Totally agreed. We should make him an honorary club member and official scribe. Any seconds on that? Will?

 

Our local newsletter printed the entire "Eddie's Story" - it was the quarterly National mag that asked for the "edited version"

 

This is correct.
The local news ran the full length "Eddie."
Prancing Horse had me give it a partial labotomy. But it's not too bad. (for coming issues #170)

For the latest story (above) - the current word is that its too long for the local news.
(and can guarantee that its too logn for the P. Horse)

But I've directed some folks to see this thread...that perhaps they will reconsider the length and let the long stories be just what they are.
Might get lucky just yet. I'll keep you posted.

Thanks for the good feedback.

 

Thanks for the clarification everyone.
If and when I ever retire I will be more inclined to provide some more of my own meager observations. I enjoyed writing various articles when I was Activities Director in 2005 but my schedule these days make it impossible.

Keep it up Dean. Your enthusiasm is contagious.

I'll be at Festa Italiana on Sunday. Please come by and introduce yourself.

 

Great job Dean you are very talented. I enjoyed meeting/talking with you at the event see you next time. Ryan

 

Wonderfully written Dean. Without being there, I felt as if I was. Your eloquent selection of words painted for me a scene with every sentence.

Brian