Post III

My family has a lot of Irish Heritage - I’m the second generation here in America. My dad was the first generation here, with his parents originally from Ireland. My grandparents come over to the United States because of a very bad economy. As most people know, the Great Potato Famine in Ireland caused a huge burst if immigration to America in the late 1800s. Before that time, my Irish relatives lived in Ireland. The furthest family member that I am able to remember Great (x6) Grand Father - he was the king of Ireland in the 1400s.

The Irish-side of my family is currently spread out; however, they all came from New York. A lot of them still reside in New York, but there are some family members in Florida too. Ever since the Potato Famine, the McMahon family hasn’t really moved much at all from America to anywhere else.

Now we’ve all heard those stereotypical Irish based comments: “Ah, they’re all drinkers!” or the red head/pale white skin type. When I’m in a group of people and we’re talking about our heritage and origins and I say that I’m Irish, someone usually asks if my parents drink or have something to do with drinking. Now that pisses me off a lot of the time because, even though there were a lot of pubs in Ireland, that doesn’t mean that all Irish folk drink liquor. Albeit, my parents do own a Liquor and Wine store, but it’s very formal and business-like, unlike ABC Liquor or other mass chain liquor stores. Back to the point - my Irish parents don’t drink, and I’m sure there are lot of other Irish people that don’t drink too.

Still, I’m glad that I have such a strong Irish heritage and hope to pass this on to my children, and hopefully they’ll pass it on to their children.

Post II

I was born in New Orleans, Louisiana in 1994.  Our family moved to Florida when I was 6 months old.  Ever since then, we have lived in Gainesville, never moving and rarely traveling outside of Florida.

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I never was a picky eater.  I didn't, and still don't, care about what appears on my plate - I eat it, and then move on.  I don't make a fuss of what I'm eating (unless there are green beans... holy cow).  It's like this little attitude I have that if you're given food, eat it.  My dad would always remind me about the tribes and communities in Africa that were starving all the time... I'm sure this helped shape who I am now.

Now, I am a very, I think, well rounded person.  We live not far from Gainesville, but far enough where we are able to have 5 acres of land.  I love nature and the animals that come with it - just sitting outside before the sun sets is a beautiful thing.  You hear the birds, the crickets, a few owls, the wind against the tall flimsy pine trees - all while a ginormous celestial body disappears behind Earth's horizon ever so quietly.  The atmosphere turns purple and pink and orange, highlighting the existing clouds in the blue sky.  I'm sure it's not hard to see why I love nature so much.

And then there's the city.  Gainesville is a relatively small city, but it's the only thing I have to compare with, let's say, New York City for example.  The lovely air polluted mess that encompasses you as you walk down the sidewalk, hearing all of the cars with radios screaming, mufflers, well... muffling, and horns honking - it is a very unforgettable image.

Nobody can forget those hobos standing on the side of the exit ramp of the interstate with their gleaming cardboard signs: "Need Food", "Will Clean For Money", "Housebroken" - those are only a few that I have seen.  I always wonder where they get their bags, bikes, markers... Those poor people need money to buy food!  But hey, it's not my decision; I'm just taking in the surroundings.

If I had to say what type of person I am, I would most definitely go with an "in-between-er".  I can have fun in the city, on the river, in a cave, on a mountain (oh wait, we're in Florida), and anywhere else that you decide to place me.  Because of my chill personality, the people in each different environment don't bother me either - except, of course, for the butt-holes that scream at you for no reason - which I think reinforces my open mind and heart.  Having an open outlook on life can lead to great opportunities, so why not get one now and be happy?  Or, you can get one later on in life when it's too late to experience the true fun and values of each environment.

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Being an "in-between-er" with an open mind is rather fun.  I meet many new friends with different tastes and views, but I don't look at each person differently.

We're all here together for the long run, so why not get along now.

Post I

Ah.  It was a beautiful day outside.  The sky was clear and blue, the air was cool, and the sun was bright.  Nothing could go wrong, right?  WRONG.  Obviously.

We were driving back home from school on this beautiful day.  Driving down 39th avenue, we noticed that someone was approaching us very quickly.  Doing 55 in a 45, my dad was surprised about this.  He didn't expect someone to be speeding faster than him, being from New York and all.  As soon as he could, the driver passed us.  He had his windows down, music blaring, all from his small car - I can't recall what type it was.  He continued driving at incredibly fast speeds, and then it happened.

The driver started loosing control of his car.  Anyone could tell he was losing control by the way the car was swerving back and forth - at least that's what I think happens when a driver loses control of a vehicle.

As he went down the hill, he started loosing control.  Another car was approaching from on top of the hill, driving like any other person on this fine wonderful day.  The crazy man's car (we'll call him Bob for easy reference) went into the left hand lane and clipped the innocent driver's car.  And then it happened.

Bob's car skidded across the blacktop road and then immediately flipped at least three times into the ditch to the right of the road.  The other car merely did a 180 degree spin on a horizontal axis, barely any damage being done.  Bob's car stopped flipping and landed right side up in the ditch, a few windows broken and a bumper in the grass.  The car was wrecked to no end - I had never seen such a thing in my life.  The other car pulled off the other side of the road and a man got out, with only a slight limp.  The truck in front of us pulled off to the right side of the road.  A couple exited that truck and called 911.  The limping man went as fast as he could over to Bob's wrecked car, only to immediately turn around and call 911, like the couple.

We pulled over next to the limping man's car (we'll call him Dave.)  My dad told me to stay in the car and to not look at anything.  He left the vehicle and crossed the road to the limping man, and I, being a normal teenager, looked at the damage and to see if Bob was alright.  He wasn't.

As I looked under the bright sun, I saw Bob's car in the ditch on the opposite side of the road.  A few windows were cracked and one was gone.  The front bumper had been torn off completely.  And there was blood all over the windshield.  At first I couldn't believe what I saw - I only saw this stuff in hardcore action movies.  There was something poking through the windshield of Bob's car... I couldn't quite tell what it was.  A foot, perhaps?  I looked a bit more, and than it dawned upon me: it was Bob's head.

Bob must've not been wearing a seatbelt as he cruised at 80 miles per hour, for his head was through the windshield.  The glass gashed at his neck, causing blood to spread all on the outside of the car's windshield.  I could hear sirens from a distance now.  Oddly enough, I stared at Bob's car... I just couldn't take in what had just happened.  He was dead, obviously, but I had never even fathomed that this was possible - that this could happen.

But hey, life has surprises, so you better buckle down and be hanging on tight because you don't know where this ride is going.

Dave and Morgan (my father) were talking now.  The couple walked over to the group, and started to talk.  A police cruiser came, along with a tow-truck, firetruck, and an ambulance.  The cop pulled over to the side of the road that Bob's car was on and kept his lights on to alert oncoming traffic.  The ambulance and firetruck drove into the ditch (it wasn't that steep) and turned off their lights.  Paramedics jumped out of the ambulance with a stretcher, ready to go.  They brought the stretcher over to the car, but quickly ran back to the firetruck.

The firemen were just getting out as the paramedics caught them.  As I watched in complete curiosity and fascination, the firemen brought out what I assumed to be the jaws of life.  The paramedics and firemen were now working at a slow pace - maybe they knew that Bob was dead?  The firemen ripped off the door and windshield from the main frame of the car, and the paramedics dislodged Bob's head from the windshield.  They placed him on the stretcher and immediately covered him with a black bag as he was placed into the ambulance.

Two big guys got out of the tow-truck and picked up Bob's car, still bloodied.  They were white gloves, given to them by the paramedics, as they hooked the car up to the truck.  The police cruiser left, and the tow-truck followed.

The ambulance, with Bob inside, sat still for awhile.  Morgan went over and told the paramedics of Dave's leg.  One doctor came out of the vehicle with a large case and went over to Dave.  There were only minor injuries, so the paramedic simply taped Dave's leg and placed some ice on his left thigh - the leg closest to the door and steering wheel.

Lastly, the paramedics left with the body of Bob inside, following the firetruck.  The bumper in the grass had been collected by the tow-truck.  Dave went back into his car and drove off.  The couple went back into their truck and drove away.  My dad came back into our truck and told me to not worry about what happened.

As we left, I glimpsed at the roadway and the hill: everything seemed in place and at peace.  The sky was clear and blue, the air was cool and breezy, and the sun was bright.

It was a beautiful day.