Who will?

I think life is always going to be this way. Tougher than I thought. It's as if the first 25 years or so were seemingly carefree, but as soon as I was introduced to suffering, my heart is drawn to it, and I refuse to let anyone else feel pain. Friends, family, strangers, it doesn't matter. If I sense suffering, most common sense leaves the building and a combination of drama and heart take over. This, while being called a "good quality" by some, has driven others (coughMIKEcough) crazy.

Example: While enjoying a vacation in Hawaii last month, it was hard to not notice the YOUNG prostitutes hitting on my husband right in front of my eyes. Upon research in my hotel we found that often these girls, marked by their clear high-heeled shoes, are young students trying to make ends meet. The vulturous pimps will watch for them in front of designer stores in malls and look for pretty girls who look like they wish they could afford said items. They will hit on these girls and become their "boyfriends", getting them used to a high-dollar lifestyle. Later, the girl is raped by said boyfriend. The pimp throws a wad of cash at the abused and says, "You just did your first trick. Welcome to your new job." And just like that, they're trapped. And the cops let it happen as long as they stay in their part of town and don't cause major trouble. So, welcome to Hawaii! Have a nice time!

These girls looked the age of the youth group girls I work with. And they picked up their man (usually 3 times their age, 3 times their weight) in the front of our hotel and walked him down the side, then reappeared 20 minutes later to gather seconds, then thirds, all while reporting for duty to some scuz bucket on a cel-phone past 3am (that's when I stopped watching).

Most people would say, "Gosh that's sad, but there's nothing we can really do about it in 7 days, so let's enjoy our romantic, once in a lifetime vacation."

Not me. I was on the balcony at 3am, figuring out an escape plan. I figured with our savings I could get a cheap charter bus, or at least an Airporter and that could hold at least 20. I'd just pull up right there in front of the Denny's with my megaphone and say, "Lot's of hot guys in here girls! You'll DEFINITELY want to come with me!" (wink, wink) They'd pour in, I'd slam the doors shut and yell, "Drive, Miguel, DRIVE!" I would call Mike, Miguel if we were ever on a get-away mission, to protect his identity. Then while Mike drove, I would give the girls sweatshirts, jeans and Crocs (ugly as sin, but SO much more comfortable than those high heels they're forced to wear all night on pavement). I would start to tell them that there is a much better plan for there life and that I can help them get out of the life they are in if they choose it.

Twenty years later I would get letters from them... with pictures of their children... and the veterinarian practice they just opened up... called Darbaria. (This is the part where my brother said to me "You're in a bus, on an island...the furthest you could take them was 20 miles away. Did you think about that?") And instantly, my Oprah moment is over.

But I truly did feel like I COULD CHANGE THE HOOKERS in Waikiki. And I feel like I WILL HAVE THE PERFECT THING TO SAY to take my brother's addiction away. And I feel like I NEED TO KEEP ADOPTING until all of the babies are saved. And I feel like I NEED TO MAKE MY FRIENDS FEEL BETTER while their baby has cancer. And I feel like I NEED TO HELP MY OTHER FRIEND take charge of her brain cancer. And I feel like I NEED TO BE THE PERFECT MOM. And I feel like I...I....I....because if I don't, who will?