The First Dance.

Sweet!

Scott Southworth is a true Hero.

Capt. Scott Southworth knew he'd face violence, political strife and blistering heat when he was deployed to one of Baghdad's most dangerous areas. But he didn't expect Ala'a Eddeen. Ala'a was 9 years old, strong of will but weak of body — he suffered from cerebral palsy and weighed just 55 pounds. He lived among about 20 kids with physical or mental disabilities at the Mother Teresa orphanage, under the care of nuns who preserved this small oasis in a dangerous place.

On Sept. 6, 2003, halfway through his 13-month deployment, Southworth and his military police unit paid a visit to the orphanage. They played and chatted with the children; Southworth was talking with one little girl when Ala'a dragged his body to the soldier's side.

Black haired and brown eyed, Ala'a spoke to the 31-year-old American in the limited English he had learned from the sisters. He recalled the bombs that struck government buildings across the Tigris River.

"Bomb-Bing! Bomb-Bing!" Ala'a said, raising and lowering his fist.

"I'm here now. You're fine," the captain said.

Over the next 10 months, the unit returned to the orphanage again and again. The soldiers would race kids in their wheelchairs, sit them in Humvees and help the sisters feed them.

To Southworth, Ala'a was like a little brother. But Ala'a — who had longed for a soldier to rescue him — secretly began referring to Southworth as "Baba," Arabic for "Daddy."

Then, around Christmas, a sister told Southworth that Ala'a was getting too big. He would have to move to a government-run facility within a year.

"Best case scenario was that he would stare at a blank wall for the rest of his life," Southworth said.

To this day, he recalls the moment when he resolved that that would not happen.

"I'll adopt him," he said.

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Before Southworth left for Iraq, he was chief of staff for a state representative. He was single, worked long days and squeezed in his service as a national guardsman — military service was a family tradition. His great-great-greatgrandfather served in the Civil War, his grandfather in World War II, his father in Vietnam.

The family had lived in the tiny central Wisconsin city of New Lisbon for 150 years. Scott was raised as an evangelical Christian; he attended law school with a goal of public service, running unsuccessfully for state Assembly at the age of 25.

There were so many reasons why he couldn't bring a handicapped Iraqi boy into his world.

He had no wife or home; he knew nothing of raising a disabled child; he had little money and planned to run for district attorney in his home county.

Just as important, Iraqi law prohibits foreigners from adopting Iraqi children.

Southworth prayed and talked with family and friends.

His mother, who had cared for many disabled children, explained the difficulty. She also told him to take one step at a time and let God work.

Southworth's decision was cemented in spring 2004, while he and his comrades watched Mel Gibson's film, "The Passion of the Christ." Jesus Christ's sacrifice moved him. He imagined meeting Christ and Ala'a in heaven, where Ala'a asked: "Baba, why didn't you ever come back to get me?"

"Everything that I came up with as a response I felt ashamed. I wouldn't want to stand in the presence of Jesus and Ala'a and say those things to him."

And so, in his last weeks in Iraq, Southworth got approval from Iraq's Minister of Labor to take Ala'a to the United States for medical care.

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His parents had filed signatures so he wouldn't miss the cutoff to run for district attorney. He knocked on doors, telling people he wanted to be tough on criminals who committed injustices against children.

He never mentioned his intention to adopt Ala'a.

He won office — securing a job and an income.

Everything seemed to be in place. But when Southworth contacted an immigration attorney, he was told it would be nearly impossible to bring Ala'a to the United States.

Undaunted, Southworth and the attorney started the paperwork to bring Ala'a over on humanitarian parole, used for urgent reasons or significant public benefit.

A local doctor, a cerebral palsy expert, a Minneapolis hospital, all said they would provide Ala'a free care. Other letters of support came from a minister, the school district, the lieutenant governor, a congressman, chaplain, a sister at the orphanage and an Iraqi doctor.

"We crossed political boundaries. We crossed religious boundaries. There was just a massive effort — all on behalf of this little boy who desperately needed people to actually take some action and not just feel sorry for him," Southworth says.

He mailed the packet on Dec. 16, 2004, to the Department of Homeland Security.

On New Year's Eve, his cell phone rang. It was Ala'a.

"What are you doing?" Scott asked him.

"I was praying,'" Ala'a responded.

"Well, what were you praying for?"

"I prayed that you would come to take me to America," Ala'a said.

Southworth almost dropped the phone. Ala'a knew nothing of his efforts, and he couldn't tell him yet for fear that the boy might inadvertently tell the wrong person, upending the delicate process.

By mid-January, Homeland Security called Southworth's attorney to say it had approved humanitarian parole. Within three hours, Southworth had plane tickets.

He hardly slept as he worked the phones to make arrangements, calling the American embassy, hotels and the orphanage. His Iraqi translator agreed to risk his life to get Ala'a to the embassy to obtain documentation. Like a dream, all the pieces fell into place.

Southworth returned to Iraq for the first time since a deployment that left him emotionally, physically and spiritually exhausted.

His unit had trained Iraqi police from sunup to sundown; he saw the devastation wrought by two car bombings, and counted dead bodies. Mortar and rocket attacks were routine. Some 20 in his unit were wounded, and one died. He knew that nothing could be taken for granted in Baghdad.

So when he saw Ala'a in the airport for the first time since leaving Iraq, he was relieved.

"He was in my custody then. I could hug him. I could hold him. I could protect him.

"And forever started."

They made it to Wisconsin late Jan. 20, 2005. The next morning, Ala'a awoke to his first sight of snow.

He closed his eyes and grimaced.

"Baba! Baba! The water is getting all over me!"

"It's not water, it's snooooow," Southworth told him.

___

Police found Ala'a abandoned on a Baghdad street at around 3 years old. No one knows where he came from.

In all his life in Iraq, Ala'a saw a doctor 10 times. He surpassed that in his first six months in the United States.

Ala'a's cerebral palsy causes low muscle tone, spastic muscles in the legs, arms and face. It hinders him when he tries to crawl, walk or grasping objects. He needs a wheelchair to get around, often rests his head on his shoulder and can't easily sit up.

Physical therapy has helped him control his head and other muscles. He can now maneuver his way out of his van seat and stabilize his legs on the ground.

"I'm not the same guy I used to be," he says.

He clearly has thrived. At 13, he's doubled his weight to 111 pounds.

Ala'a's condition doesn't affect his mind, although he's still childlike — he wants to be a Spiderman when he grows up.

Ala'a's English has improved and he loves music and school, math and reading especially. He gets mad when snow keeps him home, even though it's his second favorite thing, after his father.

At first, he didn't want to talk about Iraq; he would grow angry when someone tried to talk to him in Arabic. But in the fall of 2006, Scott showed Ala'a's classmates an Arabic version of "Sesame Street" and boasted how Ala'a knew two languages and could teach them.

Soon he was teaching his aide and his grandmother, LaVone.

LaVone is a fixture in Ala'a's life, supporting her son as he juggles his career and fatherhood. One day, she asked Ala'a if he missed his friends in Iraq.

Would he like to visit them?

Big tears filled his eyes.

"Well, honey, what's the matter?" asked LaVone.

"Oh, no, Grandma. No. Baba says that I can come to live with him forever," he pleaded.

"Oh, no, no," the grandmother said, crying as well. "We would never take you back and leave you there forever. We want you to be Baba's boy forever."

___

Southworth knew once he got Ala'a out of Iraq, the hardest part would be over. Iraq had bigger problems to deal with than the whereabouts of a single orphan.

On June 4, Ala'a officially became Southworth's son. Though he was born in the spring of 1994, they decided to celebrate his birthday as the day they met — Sept. 6.

Life has settled into a routine. Father and son have moved into a new house with an intercom system, a chair lift to the basement and toilet handles. Southworth showers him, brushes his teeth and washes his hands. He has traded in his Chrysler Concorde for a minivan — it was too hard to lift his son out of the car.

In October, the Wisconsin's deputy adjunct general gave Southworth, now a major, permission to change units because of Ala'a. His former unit was going to Guantanamo Bay for a one-year deployment, and he didn't want to leave his son behind, at least for now.

He hopes one day to marry to his longtime girlfriend and have more children. He may run for Congress or governor someday — he's already won re-election once, and plans to run again next fall.

Not everything is perfect. Ala'a never encountered thunderstorms in Baghdad, and the flash-boom reminds him of bombs. He is starting to get over it, although he still weeps during violent storms.

But Ala'a — who picked out his own name, which means to be near God — knows he's where he belongs. Southworth always says Ala'a picked him, not the other way around. They were brought together, Southworth believes, by a "web of miracles."

Ala'a likes to sing Sarah McLachlan's song, "Ordinary Miracle," from "Charlotte's Web," one of his favorite movies. His head and body lean to one side as he sings off-key.

"It's just another ordinary miracle today. Life is like a gift they say. Wrapped up for you everyday."

Bravo! Scott. You're a man among men.
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Thank You, America.

The following letter and photograph was sent to Michael Yon from LTC Jim Crider, the commander of the 1-4 CAV soldiers based at FOB Falcon, Iraq.

Some time ago, I ran into an old high school friend who asked me if I was still in the Army. After I said yes, he slowly shook his head and asked me how much longer I had to go before I could get out. I am sure that in his mind it is like I am serving a prison sentence counting the days before my release. The truth is that I do not want sympathy. I not only enjoy Army life, I count it a privilege to serve. I frequently receive heart-felt thanks from people I do not even know for serving in the Armed Forces and I appreciate it. Cards, letters, emails and even a standing ovation as I traversed through the Dallas airport going home on leave from Iraq recently. However, I have been feeling lately like I should thank the American people for the honor of fighting for and representing the United States of America.

In the early summer of 2007, an IED detonated on the main street of a neighborhood in our area. A very small food store was the only thing open in the empty streets so I went inside to see if the owner was alright and if perhaps he had seen anything. The owner appeared utterly hopeless and almost in tears as he stood next to his wife. He did not know anything. Months later, the effects of the surge and our counterinsurgency strategy had taken hold. The streets were full of people and that same owner had used a micro-grant to fix up and expand his once lonely store. His grand kids were at his feet as I introduced him to a reporter accompanying me on a walk through the revitalized neighborhood. I had never heard him speak English but this day he looked at me and said, “I tell you , Sir, I love you with all of my heart!”

Right outside of our outpost in southern Baghdad is a dirt poor family of seven with children ranging in age from eighteen months to eleven years. Americans from all walks of life sent us toys and other small items to share with the Iraqi people over the holidays. We thought this would be the perfect family to share some of them with. We stopped by and the kids ran to the trucks. I asked the oldest boy if his parents were home and he said his mom was but that his dad was out picking through the trash. We later learned that he collected soda cans and sold them to make a living.

The children’s mother walked up and was very grateful and in classic Arab tradition insisted that we come into her tiny home for tea. I told her that we could not stay but saw immediately that she was disappointed. She told me that the soldiers never accepted her invitation. I promised her I would return the next day and did so the following afternoon. We arrived and to learn that she had been waiting since early in the morning and made her husband stay home so he could be there. We went inside and sat on the floor but not before she placed blankets under us!

While the mother went to make the tea, her little girl came in and sat down. We asked her how old she was and she did not know. She ran to her mother to ask and came back telling us she was six years old with a big smile. Her father came in shortly after and was thrilled beyond belief that we were in his home to have tea. We shared the only two tea glasses they had. After our visit we took a family photo for them and delivered it framed on Christmas Day.

The experience of war changes people. For some it is a negative change but most manage to absorb the experience and use it to make themselves stronger. I have said goodbye to a mortally wounded soldier in the hospital, spoken to grieving family members of our casualties, and tried to comfort soldiers who just lost their best friend in a single violent moment. I have been under fire, looked insurgents in the eye, and seen corruption up close. I have also seen people emerge from oppression and live with hope for the first time in years. I have seen children reach up and grasp the hands of American soldiers just because they trust them. I have felt the desire to help and then been given the resources to do it. Finally, I have felt the close knit camaraderie that develops when you serve with a group of people fighting for a cause larger than self. Yes, this experience has changed me. I am stronger, more driven, and humbled all at the same time.

Thank you, America.

H/T: Michael Yon Online

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Please help...

Merry Christmas!

Don't forget that today is a celebration of the birth of Jesus, not of buying people a bunch of presents.

Best Job In The World.

Without a doubt!

Probably the best job in the world...

Next to being a Blue Angel that is...

Guess I'll have to work on it...

65%

I'm not very good, I guess...

17

Or maybe I'm just too nice...

A funny for Friday...

The Assumption Song
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RIP...

Sacramento Co. Sheriff's Deputy (Detective) Vu Nguyen, 37, was killed in the line of duty today in Sacramento, California. He was a 10 year veteran of the department.

Det. Nguyen and his partner contacted some known gang-members to identify an unknown Asian male that was with the group, outside a known gang location. The unknown male ran and both gang detectives followed the suspect over fences. Det. Nguyen's partner heard two shots and found his partner shot in the neck. Det. Nguyen later died at the hospital.

Local law enforcement set up a perimeter and are actively searching for the suspect.


RIP Vu...


UPDATE: Dep. Nguyen's murderer has been arrested. He's a 16 yr-old gang-member.

It's about Gratitude...

HatTip: BlackFive

Another murder in a "Gun-Free" zone...

Well, not exactly a "Gun-Free" zone like VA Tech, but most people don't take a gun to Church (I do) so it's effectively a "Gun-Free" zone.

This lady, Jeanne Assam, is a true hero and a total STUD! She did an awesome job of being a sheepdog and putting that POS down for eternity. WELL DONE Jeanne!

Vet lauds female guard who felled gunman
By Kieran Nicholson
The Denver Post
Article Last Updated: 12/10/2007 04:32:06 PM MST

Authorities say 18-year-old Stephanie Works and 16-year-old Rachael Works died from their injuries after a gunman opened fire outside New Life Church on Sunday. Larry Bourbonnais, a combat-tested Vietnam veteran, said it was the bravest thing he's ever seen.

Bourbonnais, who was among those shot by a gunman Sunday at New Life Church, watched as a security guard, a woman later identified as Jeanne Assam, calmly returned fire and killed the shooter.

"She just started walking toward the gunman firing the whole way," said Bourbonnais, who was shot in the arm. "She was just yelling 'Surrender,' walking and shooting the whole time."

Bourbonnais, 59, had just finished up a hamburger in the cafeteria on the sprawling church campus when he heard gunfire, he recalled.

He headed in the direction of the shots as frightened people ran past him looking to escape to safety.

"Where's the shooter? Where's the shooter?" Bourbonnais kept yelling, he recalled.

Near an entryway in the church, Bourbonnais came upon the gunman and an armed male church security guard who was there with his gun drawn but not firing, he said.

Bourbonnais said he pleaded with the armed guard to give him his weapon.

"Give me your handgun. I've been in combat, and I'm going to take this guy out," Bourbonnais recalled telling the guard. "He kept yelling, 'Get behind me! Get behind me!' He wouldn't hand me his weapon, but he wouldn't do anything."

There was an additional armed security guard there, another man, who also didn't fire, Bourbonnais said.

Bourbonnais yelled at the gunman to draw his attention, he said.

"First, I called him 'Coward' then I called him 'S---head' " Bourbonnais said. "I probably shouldn't have been saying that in church."

That's when the shooter pointed one of his guns at Bourbonnais and fired, he said.

Bourbonnais ducked behind a hollow, decorative pillar and was hit in the arm by a bullet and fragments of the pillar.

At about that moment, Assam, 42, turned a corner with a drawn handgun, walked toward the gunman and yelled "Surrender!" Bourbonnais said.

The gunman pointed a handgun at Assam and fired three shots, Bourbonnais said. She returned fire and just kept walking toward the gunman pressing off round after round.

After the gunman went down, Bourbonnais asked the Assam, a volunteer security guard with the church, how she remained so calm and focused.

Bourbonnais said she replied:

"I was asking the Holy Spirit to guide me the entire time."

God's hand was surely guiding Jeanne's last Sabbath.





Update: Apparently Jeanne is a former Cop. Thank God she was there.

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HOOYAH!!

These guys put some time into this. I'm glad folks like these are on that wall.

Well Done!




And they get to wear cool black flightsuits too...
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This is why...

America is the greatest country on Earth!

Wife Takes Up Husband's Army Enlistment

More than a year after Spc. Alejandro Albarran lost part of his right leg in an explosion in Iraq, he still hasn't decided whether he'll stay in the Army.

"Right now, I'm leaning against it," said the 20-year-old infantryman, looking ahead with distaste to a possible desk job.

Whatever he decides, he won't be leaving Army life behind - because his wife has enlisted to take his place in uniform.

"After everything he's gone through - and he loves the Army - he kind of inspired me," said Janay Albarran. "I made him a promise that I would finish what he started."

While he underwent five-day-a-week rehabilitation to recover his balance and strength on a prosthetic leg at an Army rehabilitation facility in San Antonio, she was in boot camp at Fort Jackson, S.C., learning to shoot a rifle and stand in formation.

Janay Albarran graduated from basic training on Friday, gaining the rank of private. The couple's 2-year-old daughter is staying with a grandmother in Arizona.

Roughly 24,000 of the Army's soldiers, about 9 percent of the force, are married to other soldiers. The Army doesn't have any statistics on how many join after a spouse or family member is badly wounded in combat, but a spokeswoman, Maj. Anne Edgecomb, said she's heard of people joining after the injury or death of a sibling and at least one woman who joined after her husband was killed in combat.

"The courage of our soldiers and their families is remarkable," she said.

Janay Albarran, 19, wasn't always thrilled with the prospect of Army life. She met her husband at a high school football game in Yuma, Ariz., near where they grew up, and learned later from his online profile that he had already signed up for the Army.

"I was like 'Well, I met somebody and he's about to leave.' I was a little upset," said Janay Albarran. "I knew he was joining the Army and we're at war."

The couple married in February 2006, and he was sent to Iraq six months later.

In November 2006, Alejandro Albarran was in a Humvee escorting a unit to the scene of a detonated bomb when a second bomb exploded. After that, he remembers only flashes: a medic over him, the helicopter.

Janay Albarran met him at Walter Reed Army Medical Center in Washington several days later, and they went to Brooke Army Medical Center in San Antonio, where some of the most severely wounded are treated.

Efforts to save Alejandro Albarran's lower right leg were unsuccessful. When the pain became too great, he told his wife to let the doctors amputate.

At first, Janay Albarran had to help her husband dress and get out his wheelchair.

"She had to be my memory. My short term memory is bad," said Alejandro, who also suffered a head injury in the blast.

As he regained more mobility, the teen wife who had been afraid of guns decided to take her husband's place in the ranks.

Strictly speaking, Janay Albarran will not be replacing her husband. He was an infantryman, a position not open to women, although he notes with chagrin that she outscored him on her basic training rifle test.

She expects to get a human resources assignment, one less likely to lead to deployment in Iraq.

"It's just another job," Alejandro Albarran said, taking a break between weight lifting sets at the large amputee rehab facility here.

However, a safe assignment isn't guaranteed, and Janay Albarran said she worries about possible deployment when she thinks about their daughter, Iliana.

"That's the only thing that scares me. He's already been hurt," she said. "If I do get deployed, I'm going to miss him so much. But it's nothing I can't handle."

Justice...

Fla. officer who sued family over injuries is fired

By Rene Stutzman
The Orlando Sentinel
Related: Fla. officer injured during rescue sues

CASSELBERRY, Fla. — Two months ago, after hundreds of people from across the country voiced their outrage, Casselberry police Sgt. Andrea Eichhorn dropped her lawsuit against the family of tiny, brain-damaged Joey Cosmillo.

It wasn't enough to save her job.

On Tuesday, the Casselberry Police Department fired her.

Her suit, filed Oct. 1 and abandoned Oct. 12, brought public ridicule to the agency, according to a memo from police Chief John Pavlis. It damaged the city's image and made people question whether they, too, might get sued by officers responding to 911 calls.

Eichhorn got what she deserved, said Richard Cosmillo, the boy's grandfather and guardian.

If she hadn't filed suit, he said Tuesday evening, "she wouldn't have been fired, would she?"

Police spokesman Lt. Dennis Stewart would not comment.

Eichhorn, 36, of Chuluota, a 12-year department veteran, was not available for comment.

Joey Cosmillo fell into his backyard pool Jan. 9. When his mother found the 1-year-old a few minutes later, he was unconscious and not breathing. She hauled him out, carried him inside and called 911. She told the 911 operator she thought her son was dead.

Eichhorn was the third rescuer at the house. She slipped and fell in a puddle of water in the hallway, near where officers were performing CPR.

She didn't see the water, she told police Lt. Ralph Mellon, who conducted an internal police investigation into the matter. She only realized the floor was wet, she told him, because when she fell and wound up on the seat of her pants, they got wet.

Later that day, she had a co-worker drive her to an emergency outpatient clinic. Doctors concluded she had broken a kneecap.

The city or its insurer covered all her medical bills, and although she missed two months of work, she didn't lose a single day's pay, according to the internal investigation.

Eichhorn sued because she was afraid she might wind up disabled, the city's insurer might reject her claims or that she would become a burden to her family, she told the department.

She and her attorney, David Heil, had tried for months to get money from the Cosmillos, but the family had ignored her claim, so on Oct. 1 she filed suit in state circuit court in Sanford, accusing the family of negligence.

The Orlando Sentinel published an article Oct. 10, and the outcry was immediate. The police department and city offices were inundated during the next several days with calls and e-mail from people outraged by the suit.

Judi Romboli, executive assistant to Casselberry's city manager, told Mellon that in her 14 years on the job, she had never had to deal with anything like it.

"No, nothing. This was the worst," she said.

Eichhorn was in tears and went home sick the day the article appeared, according to the investigative report. She stayed home the next day.

That same day, Pavlis placed her on a paid leave of absence and called for the internal investigation. Mellon completed it three weeks ago, concluding Eichhorn had violated several department policies, including damaging the department's image and filing suit without giving the police chief advance written notice.

On Nov. 19, Pavlis took away her badge and weapon, telling her he intended to fire her. She asked for a review and got it, but it did no good. On Tuesday, Pavlis fired her.

Eichhorn has 10 days to appeal.

Joey Cosmillo, now 2, suffered severe brain damage that day in the pool. He now lives in a home for profoundly handicapped children, unable to breathe or swallow on his own. His grandfather is hoping for a miracle.

"I don't want my Joey to live the way he's living for the rest of his life," he said. "I need my Joey to live and breathe the way other kids do."

Copyright 2007 Orlando Sentinel

This chick was a sorry-ass excuse for a cop. She made everyone with a badge look like a POS. F*ck her. Good riddance!
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