The American Red (double)Cross

If you have ever given blood, then I have some very unsettling information. I recommend that you call a loved one to your side--now, before reading further--so that you will have some emotional support as you read.

The information you are about to read could be very upsetting.

I gave blood a few days ago. I have several reasons for doing this on a regular basis, all of which essentially fall into two categories:

The Minor Reasons: I love the brownies they serve, I love that they just keep putting them in front of me, and I especially love that the more I eat the more pleased they seem to be.

The Major Reasons: I love to help others, especially those that are in such dire need. Giving my time or money is one thing, but giving my actual blood is literally giving of myself; I leave some of me behind for someone else, and it becomes part of them. That's a powerful emotion--and motivation.

Which is why I am so furious with what the American Red Cross actually does with my blood. All this time, I thought that when they said it was going to "people in need," they meant that it was going to America's top athletes in order to boost performance to beyond-peak levels. An extra unit of red blood cells can increase endurance significantly, so I thought this was my way of preserving American dominance in sport.

When I watch the Olympics, for example, I like trying to guess which of America's hopefuls is sprinting along with a little of me in his veins. When they win, I feel like I am there, part of the Olympic moment, part of history, part of something real. We call them "heroes," and when I give blood, they call me a "hero" too.

As it turns out, the American Red Cross doesn't give the blood to sports stars at all. Instead, they give it to sick people--often people who have never even been in a race or on tv. So if you are thinking of giving blood, consider this: Rather than use the blood for something glorious like sports, it only gets used for people who need it to stay alive.

Feeling Alone

My wife and two daughters left a few days ago to visit my wife's sister. They will be gone for two weeks.

I dropped them off at the airport, then went to work. When I got home, I didn't yet feel lonely--diddn't miss them. You may think this is callous, but consider this: I spend the bulk of almost every day away from them, so I am used to it. Occasionally, I will come home from work and they will be out shopping or at the playground, so an empty house doesn't phase me.

But there was something that night that made me feel very alone. What was it?

Was it eating alone? No big deal.

Was it having no one to talk to? Naw.

Was it my daughter's empty room at bedtime? No.

Was it climbing into a bed by myself, no wife by my side? Nope.

Okay, what was it?

It was my toothbrush, sitting all by itself in the family toothbrush cup. Not very sentimental, I know, but it looked like a symbol of me. I couldn't see myself eating alone, I couldn't see myself sleeping alone, but I could see my toothbrush alone, without the other three that typically sit with it. I looked at it and thought to myself, "That's what you are: a fancy blue toothbrush sitting all alone in a big, empty cup."