MASCULINIDANS-27

5 June 2011

Conversation between Richard Van Camp and Sam McKegney at the home of Richard’s mother, Rosa Wah-shee, in Yellowknife, Northwest Territories.

RICHARD VAN CAMP was raised in Fort Smith, Northwest Territories and is the first published author from the Tlicho Dene. He is a graduate of the En’owkin International School of Writing, the University of Victoria’s BFA program and UBC’s MFA program in Creative Writing. He is the author of a novel, The Lesser Blessed (Douglas and McIntyre, 1996), which is now a movie with First Generation Films. He is the author of multiple short story collections including Angel Wing Splash Pattern (Kegedonce Press, 2002), and The Moon of Letting Go and Godless but Loyal to Heaven (Enfield and Wizenty, 2009 and 2012). He has written books for children, including A Man Called Raven and What’s the Most Beautiful Thing You Know about Horses? (Children’s Book Press, 1997 and 1998), illustrated by Cree artist George Littlechild, and books for newborns, including Welcome Song for Baby (Orca Book Publishers, 2007), Nighty Night (McKellar and Martin, 2011) and Little You (2013). And for the Healthy Aboriginal Network, he has authored two comics: Path of the Warrior (on gang prevention) and Kiss Me Deadly (on sexual health).

RICHARD VAN CAMP: Writing is the greatest therapy; it is the greatest healing. You can fix things in fiction, and you can find things again and you can find yourself again in writing. You can find forgiveness in writing, and I think that for everybody out there who is hurting or grieving or is wounded, I think that there is great medicine in writing. And so I know that I like to write about men a lot. I think I’ve only been ever able to write two stories in a woman’s voice, and I’ve been very lucky, I believe, to have pulled that off, but I have three brothers, and I have two fathers, and I think that that’s why—and my best friends are men and they’re beautiful men, gentle men, hard men, and men who are fathers and brothers themselves—so I think of fellowship, that tribe of man medicine that I’m involved with all the time with the uncles I’ve adopted and me listening at their supper tables or over the phone or through e-mails. I’m really grateful that I have that in my life. Yes. I’m ready to answer any question you have, Sam.

SAM MCKEGNEY: Thank you. Well, first I’d like to start by thinking a bit about stages of life, especially with the new baby book. I’d like to start with writing literature meant to be read by those who aren’t its ultimate target audience. The child is the ultimate audience and the reader is the caregiver conduit. Does that require a different process for you as author?

RVC: Yes, I think so. When my mom’s really happy—you can hear her in the next room—she does this thing, she goes “Hey-ya-hey.” And it’s beautiful. I don’t even think she knows she does it. And so, at that time, my friends Marney and Zoe were carrying and expecting their first baby together. And so I was so near and dear to them that that was really the impetus to writing Welcome Song for Baby, so I knew it would be a song. I knew that it would be an honouring. I knew that it would be a welcome. And I know that we have blended families. I know that we have same-sex parents. I know that we have children being raised in poverty. I know we have children being raised in wonderful situations, and I know we have children that are being raised and welcomed into unthinkable situations. So what happened was this great lullaby came to me in a flash. And it really took me less than two days to write. And it was with that “Hey-ya-hey.” That song and that beat. And I knew that I wanted it to be a wish. I knew I wanted it to be a welcome. And I knew I wanted it to be an honouring. And that’s really how I wrote Welcome Song for Baby.

And then years later, I was in this very room, Sam, and I was playing with my niece and nephew, Vyka and Shaeden. And Shaedon, who’s four now—he’s the little boy on page 4 in Welcome Song for Baby, the little yawning one—he has seven books that you have to read. And watch, tonight I’ll be reading the seven books to him. You know, I was giving my brother a break because he was running the tub. And he said, “Uncle Richard, you get to read the seven books tonight to Shaedon,” and I said, “Alright.” And we were cuddled up right here. Shaedon was really close to me. Vyka was kinda doing her own thing. I don’t think she was walking yet. And I read Shaedon his seven books. And two of them were texture books where you feel the little wool of the lamb and the grass—I’m sure you know all about this—and the first one was “Where’s Elmo’s Blanket?” And then the rest were more about shapes and colours and different little things, and it hit me that none of these were honouring my niece and my nephew. None of them were. And I understand we need to teach texture and I understand we need to teach shape and I understand we need to, “Can you open the door and find the little bird?” I understand all that. But it hit me, there was no grace, there was no welcome.

The protector in me, that uncle in me, went, “We can do better than what’s here. We can do better than ‘Where’s Elmo’s Blanket?’” I got this little beat, and this little song and I said, “Shaedon, can you just wait here for a little second,” and so he ended up going through some of the books himself. I sat down at that table there and I used a paper napkin and I wrote Nighty Night, A Bedtime Song For Babies. And I literally typed it up and I just left it, and then I came back and I ended up spending the night as an uncle, making sure that the kids were a-okay. I finished reading to everybody. And then probably the next day, within the next week, I sent it to Tonya Martin of McKellar and Martin. And then she wrote an e-mail probably three days later, and it was three words: “I. Love. It.” And that’s when I knew, we’ve got something. Like, if Tonya Martin loves it, then we’re good. We’re gold, because she’s tough.

So when we’re crafting stories that are for an individual reading, that’s a whole different kind of medicine. That’s a different kind of carving technique. When I wrote Welcome Song For Baby, I sung it as I was writing it. And Nighty Night, A Bedtime Song For Babies, I sung that, too. They deserved to be sung. So I think what I’ve written are really songs, whereas “Dogrib Midnight Runners” or “Sky Burial,” those are more like hymns, if that makes sense.

SM: It does. And with the other children’s stories, for instance, What’s the Most Beautiful Thing You Know About Horses? I was really interested in that story’s awareness of stereotypes about Indigenous peoples, at the same time that it doesn’t condemn stereotypes.

RVC: Everyone knows “Cowboys and Indians.” We all played it. Some of the Indians didn’t want to be Indians when we were growing up; we wanted to be ninjas, right? And vice versa. And it’s amazing how many cowboys want to be Indians these days. Go to any cowboy bar, right? Or any Indian bar. Go to any rodeo or powwow. But that was really welcoming people with a stereotype. Cowboy or the Indian, even though Indian is not politically correct ’cause we’re Dene, we’re Tlicho, we’re Dogrib, right? But we can get into the magic of what it is to be Dene and Dogrib by saying, “My grandfather used to sneak into wolf dens to get their wolf cubs so he could breed them with dogs. This way his wolfpack would be deadly.” So being able to say, you know, “This is ‘Cowboys and Indians,’ but keep reading and I’ll tell you stories about how an eagle has three shadows or how frogs are the keepers of rain. There’s magic here if you’re willing to look past the stereotypes.”

SM: The comic books from the Aboriginal Healing Network seek out a really important audience, particularly with relation to questions that this project is working on—finding models for healthy masculinity, healthy self-image, all of those things. Is that a difficult audience to write for and to reach?

RVC: Path of the Warrior was inspired by a shooting. It was inspired by the shooting of a young baby named Asia Saddleback in Hobbema reserve. And the story goes that when Asia was little, she was sleeping in her crib and she was shot in the heart, or near her heart, by a stray bullet. It was inspired by a gang member and it was inspired by a stray bullet that found her. And what that did, that shooting, was it mobilized Hobbema to bring back their traditional banishment laws. And the community realized that if a sleeping baby in her crib isn’t safe, nobody’s safe, so what do we have left to lose? And they started bringing the heavy equipment in to mow down the crack houses and they started banishing gang members and drug dealers, so they started getting rid of a lot of dangerous people. And they came up with this awareness that if you don’t know where your parents are and if you don’t know where your kids are then you’re contributing to the problem. And it’s time for elders to be elders and for parents to be parents and for teachers to be teachers. And it was a time of incredible reclaiming. So I was horrified when I saw the documentary about the shooting of Asia Saddleback. At that time I was living in Vancouver, where, yes, there are gangs, but I wasn’t aware of how high Indian-on-Indian violence was, especially on reserves. I had heard about it, but Asia Saddleback brought it to me and that’s because I’m an uncle and I just couldn’t imagine the horror of having my niece or nephew shot in their homes in their cribs.

The welcome into a gang is prestige and power and respect and “The Life.” But what is the underside of all that? The worst thing with gang violence is there’s something called “blood in, blood out.” And so when you’re welcomed into a gang, you are beaten half to death by your gang members and then you’re welcomed. It’s a brutal initiation. It’s a blood offering. And then, Heaven forbid, you ever want to leave. Well, then you’re basically left for dead when they’re done with you. And they burn everything. They burn your ride and take all your jewellery and your money and they burn your house down and everything else under the sun. So you’re basically just left naked on the side of a road. And then after that, you’re at their mercy if they want to hunt you even more.

IT’S TIME FOR ELDERS TO BE ELDERS AND FOR PARENTS TO BE PARENTS AND FOR TEACHERS TO BE TEACHERS. AND IT WAS A TIME OF INCREDIBLE RECLAIMING.

What I really love about Path of the Warrior is that it is a call to being a protector for your community and for all those little ones who can’t defend themselves. And so they say the most precious things in this life are defenceless. So you think of childhood, you think of innocence, you think of trust, you know. You cheat on your wife and then you go home and she doesn’t know you cheated but you do. Her love, her faith in you is completely defenceless. Or when a child is molested, that child is completely defenceless. Or when a pet is harmed, you know, when an animal is harmed. Completely defenceless. Friendship is defenceless. There’s no defence against what a friend can do to you. So Path of the Warrior is Cullen’s path back to his destiny, and that’s why I love that story so much and that’s why I’m really happy when I get an e-mail from a mom who says, “I read my son’s comic book and wept.”

SM: There’s a fine line in terms of maintaining the integrity of the story and passing on a message, like you were saying, because children are so adept at realizing when they’re being spoken down to, so adept at realizing that, well, this is didactic, this is someone telling me what the moral is.

RVC: With Path of the Warrior, I think it’s a violent, horrible, bloody story, and that’s why that image of blood on those babies’ moccasins is really jarring and it’s something that we haven’t seen before. It’s something that I don’t think any of us ever want to see and that’s on, I believe, the second page. And I think that’s our hook. As someone who reads voraciously and watches tons of movies, I love that sensation of, “Are they gonna do this? Are you really gonna take me here and how on earth are you gonna absolve yourself of any responsibility from this in forty-eight pages with six frames on the page? Are you really gonna take me to this deep dark place?” and the answer is, “Yes, we are.” I think that’s the hook and I think that working with artists like Cree artist Steve Sanderson, who can convey emotion in face, emotion in gesture, I think that also was our trump card with Path of the Warrior.

SO MANY OF US, I BELIEVE, HAVE LOST OUR RITES OF PASSAGE AND I THINK THAT’S WHY SO MANY PEOPLE HUNGER TO GET TATTOOED, THEY HUNGER TO BE MARKED, SO THEY’RE WELCOMED INTO MANHOOD.

SM: With relation to gang violence, what are the features of gang violence that become attractive to some male youth, in your analysis?

RVC: Well, I’ve never been in an Indian gang but I sure know about brotherhood and packing up with a team of friends. It’s that sense of belonging and being heard and being welcomed into what I call the “Tribe of Man.” And if you’re not getting that welcome at home, you’re going to be looking for it somewhere else, you know? So many of us, I believe, have lost our rites of passage and I think that’s why so many people hunger to get tattooed, they hunger to be marked, so they’re welcomed into manhood. One of the questions that I love to ask people is, “When did you know that you were a man? When did you feel that body wake up inside your blood? When were you welcomed into your inheritance as a man in a good way?”

SM: I’ve been talking with a lot of people about initiation rites and about ways in which ceremony can be brought back to celebrate the maturation process so people don’t become shamed by their changing bodies but rather recognize their movement into different stages of their own life paths, which brings me to the issue of sexual health in Kiss Me Deadly: how did you conceive of the creative method to approach the topic of sexual health in comic book form?

RVC: When we were growing up, Fort Smith was the STI capital of Canada. My little hometown. And so the entire pitch just came to me in a flash, like: they fooled around, you know, typical small town, they fooled around—either with each other’s best friends or cousins—and had unprotected sex because of drinking and lifestyle choices or “Baby baby, just the tip. Just the tip!” and then got back together. What interests me is, what does a couple need to do to make sure they don’t give each other the dose? So many people don’t go to get tested for STIs, because they just aren’t aware of the test. They think someone’s gonna get a big Q-tip and put a swab up my pee hole and a red-headed woman with huge cleavage is going to stick her finger up my bum, you know what I mean? Like you just get all these, I don’t know if they’re fantasies or what, but you get these misconceptions, and it’s easier to say, “Deny ’til I die.” Right? “I have an open wound, I have a chancre on the left side of my scrotum—it’ll just, I’m just gonna go swimming for twelve days and hope the chlorine sterilizes this gaping wound.” Do you know what I mean?

THESE WERE REALLY DEMEANING, HUMILIATING, GRUESOME SITES, AND THE TRUTH IS, I THINK, THAT IS HOW MANY OF OUR MALE YOUTH ARE LEARNING ABOUT SEX NOW.

SM: Sure.

RVC: What I wanted to do was address every man’s worst fear, which is you may have contracted something and you’re giving it to somebody you love. Or, somebody you love has contracted something from your cousin and is about to give it you, right? And then at the same time I thought, so many of our youth—this happened to a friend of mine—his fourteen-year-old son would come and spend time with him because they were co-parenting, and his computer kept crashing. And so he kept taking it to the same rental place that would repair computers. And finally about the fourth time my friend snapped, “Look, I keep paying you guys eighty bucks, and my computer keeps getting these viruses over and over.” And the computer technician bit his head off and said, “Look, I didn’t want to say this, sir, but some of the sites that you’ve been trolling are probably illegal in about fifty states.” So my friend realized that his stepson had not received the talk but had in fact been trolling the Internet, and that was how he was learning about sex. And so my friend realized that, after he saw some of the sites that his stepson was looking at, that these were really demeaning, humiliating, gruesome sites, and the truth is, I think, that is how many of our male youth are learning about sex now. That it has to be something that’s punishing or it has to be power over someone or it has to be humiliating or women are meant to be objectified.

Another thing that I probably am going to receive a lot of flak over is that I have never been able to believe fully in the Medicine Wheel, because I believe it’s a flawed system. And I know, I might as well slap a nun on the way home tonight because of what I’ve just said, but we talk about the physical and the emotional and the mental and the spiritual aspects of human beings, but where’s the sexual? And people say, “Well, you know it’s an amalgamation of all those,” and I’m like, “You know what, if we’re not talking about it, it’s killing us and it’s wounding us and it’s harming us.” You know, when we have eight times the national average of STIs here, lives are being demolished forever, you know? And yes, there are things out there that a prescription can take away, but there are a lot of things out there that they can’t. And so, again, all the stories in the world aren’t gonna make up for the perforating chancre on the tip of your knob. You know what I mean? And that’s a direct quote from The Dene-Hawk-Richard-Van-Camp!

SM: Just thinking through the way you were discussing the shame and the stigma around sexuality, and beyond that, the way in which sex has been overtaken by objectification as opposed to being honoured as a relational reciprocal system—in a lot of your work, it seems to me that there’s a movement toward awakening in men alternative ways of understanding sexual relationships. I think, for instance, of your story “Let’s Beat the Shit Out of Herman Rosco” as asking men to question what they believe a normal and natural sexual relationship to be, right? And to think of themselves as givers and not just recipients of sexual/sensual pleasure.

RVC: And someone who cherishes, right? Somebody, again, who welcomes and honours, like a protector of that trust, yeah, protector of that gift of sexuality.

SM: And one thing I wanted to ask you about is that even as there are elements of the sacred in the sexual, you’re an artist who is willing to talk about the fun of sex, that it’s not simply transcendent, that it has its awkwardness, its humour, its sounds, and its smells…

RVC: I love planting those seeds. They say, once you’ve seen colour, you never go back to black and white. A long time ago, the Dene people traditionally would never put water on the floor in a cup. Ever. Ever. Because you’re showing disrespect to that spirit that’s in the cup. All water is life. All tea is life. There’s a spirit in the coffee. So we always keep our water high. The traditionalists keep our water high. And if we’re in a prayer and we’re studying in a gym and we all have to stand, you’ll see people, they’ll look around, and they’ll put like a little piece of paper underneath it to cradle that water for a little while ’cause you’re showing respect, and when I pass that on, once you know it, how could you ever put that glass of water in your hands on the floor ever again knowing that, whether or not you believe in it, you are showing disrespect, in somebody’s eyes, you’re showing disrespect to that spirit of life that nourishes you. And that’s what great stories do, is that once it’s in your brain, once it’s bouncing around in your cranium, how could you not respect, or at least wonder, or be curious about it, for the rest of your life?

SM: I’ve taught The Lesser Blessed three times in totally different curricular contexts, and in every case, students really relate with Larry as a protagonist. How much of Larry’s relatability or his experiences speak to the anguish of going through the process of being a teenager and therefore are almost universal concerns? And how much of his story is a Dogrib-specific or Indigenous-specific story?

RVC: I don’t know if I’ve ever told you this story, Sam, but after The Lesser Blessed came out, it was brand new, I was in Fort Smith at my dad’s house and we had a few Dogrib elders over for breakfast one day and they were in town for a gathering. So my dad is a great cook and his breakfast Sunday brunches are not to be missed. He knows the ins and outs of harnessing the power of bacon grease to get everything going. I mean, your hair’ll be shiny for a month, but trust me: it’s worth it.

But what happened was, there was a little old lady, she was Dogrib, and she was showing us some of the purses she made, and she had some moccasins for sale and some earrings, and I didn’t have a lot of money at the time, and I said, “Oh you know, I’d like to get these earrings for my mom. I’ll trade you for my book,” and she goes, “Oh yeah, you’re the author, the Dogrib author that grew up in Smith, eh?” And I say, “Oh yes, yes, I am,” and I was still getting used to that title, you know? It felt good, but I wasn’t sure if I could wear it. And she said, “I’m not much of a reader, but I’ll trade you these earrings. I’ll get it for my girl,” she said. So I said, “Okay,” so I went racing down to the room and grabbed the little box I had and fished one out and I came back. I dusted it off, I was so proud. And she said, “I’m probably not gonna read it, but if you could sign it for my girl, that’d be great, but can you tell me what it’s about?” And I said, “Yeah,” I said, “It’s a coming-of-age story of a sixteen-year-old Dogrib Dene named Larry Sole,” and she went, “Larry.” And I said, “Yeah.” And she goes, “Like your cousin?” And you know, I had a spiritual epiphany unlike any other. And I saw in a heartbeat the magnificent plan the Creator had for me while writing that book.

When I was in high school in Fort Smith, our cousin Larry came to stay with us for a while from Fort Rae, and he was gorgeous. He was a prince of light; he could speak Dogrib; he could sing in Dogrib; he could play guitar; he was so physically gorgeous. And the second he got off that plane, the phone started ringing off the hook. Married women, women who were engaged, women who were expecting: it didn’t matter. They loved him. And I’ve seen that in a couple men, where they have that gift where women just fall in love with them, women become powerless. It’s nobody’s fault, but that’s the medicine they have. And Larry had that. And what happened was, after a couple weeks of this, he was invited to a party, and I was just getting to know him and I really admired him and looked up to him. You know, I’ll never forget his voice. He had the most calming voice. So he went to this party, getting ready to have a good time but there were no women there. It was all the men. And they beat him. They beat him horribly. And my parents had to go get him. And they wouldn’t let us go downstairs to go and look at him because his face was so torn apart, you know? It was horrible. And we could hear him crying in the vents. And my mom prepared a yarrow compress for his face to help with the healing and swelling and everything. And it was really sad. And he moved back to Fort Rae shortly after. His heart was broken and then, within several months, he took his own life.

AND FORT SMITH IS FAMOUS FOR MANY THINGS AND ONE OF THEM IS FIGHTING. AND THERE HAVE BEEN THREE TIMES WHEN OUR LITTLE TOWN HAS STOPPED FIGHTING LONG ENOUGH TO WEEP TOGETHER. AND THAT WAS ONE OF THEM.

In the Dogrib tradition, we’re not to speak of people who have taken their own lives. I think that is in the Catholic way, myself. I don’t think that that is truly our way. And so, I realized when she said that, “Like your cousin,” that I had written The Lesser Blessed out of a wish for how I hoped Larry’s life could’ve been, but I didn’t realize it at the time. And that’s why “Dogrib Midnight Runners” is so important because we lost a friend to suicide who loved to streak in Fort Smith and he was a genius; he was the pride of our town for years. But he had a lot of problems and he chose to take his own life, and he left behind a little girl and a woman who loved him very much. I’m sure there are several women who loved him very much. He was a son, he was a brother, and he’s gone. And Fort Smith is famous for many things and one of them is fighting. And there have been three times when our little town has stopped fighting long enough to weep together. And that was one of them. And the reason I wrote “Dogrib Midnight Runners” was I was shocked when I returned to Fort Smith after Paul took his life and I saw people who never knew him but knew his mother weeping, weeping, weeping for his daughter and weeping for his mother. And I saw what a great thief suicide is and it always has been and it always will be because his name will forever be spoken in hushed tones, and think about what his daughter or son is going to have to grow up with in that shadow. And the reason I wrote “Dogrib Midnight Runners” was to reclaim that life and to honour that life rather than inherit and welcome that spirit of blackness and never being able to move on. And so the main character remembers in “Dogrib Midnight Runners” that the gentleman in the story, “Justin,” who took his life, loved to streak, and so out of honour of his memory, the narrator, “Grant,” decides to streak.

SM: That story says many things also about the communion of male friendship, about kinship among the men and their departed brother. And then, also, a sense of welcoming oneself back into the body. There’s a lot of ways in which we are alienated from our bodies and taught to think of the body as something to be ashamed of. “Dogrib Midnight Runners” creates a space in which those men can imagine themselves differently through running naked, through being vulnerable in front of one another, right? Is that an important thing for young men?

RVC: I think so. Although, I mean, we were told by our grandfather to never go into a sweat because that’s not our way. And I’ve been a doorman at a couple of sweats now, and I’ve been a helper, and I know that in some sweats people go in naked together and in some sweats people are clothed in bathing suits. Sometimes it’s in towels. But I think that you’re on to something there that it is important that in the natural world, you’ve nothing to be ashamed of with your body. You are who you are. This is your temple, right? Many of us are overfed and undernourished, you know? And if this who you are, this is who you are right now. It doesn’t mean that that’s who you are inside. This is who you are right now.

SM: In “The Night Charles Bukowski Died,” there’s a scenario of horrific bullying, of transgressions that require redress. But by the end of the story, as a reader you’re unsure of whether violence can actually make things better, as the younger friend is cowering, weeping…

RVC: Mikey, yeah.

SM: And, then, the narrator gives the roar. Is that a roar declaring that this revenge had to happen or is that roar about the futility of what’s available to us?

RVC: Again, it goes back to the most precious things are defenceless. That’s the heartbreak that I like to play with: how far are you gonna twist the defenceless and how far are you gonna take somebody into those dark places when they’re completely innocent, you know? Or sometimes, even when they’re not so innocent but they’ve made their peace with what they’re doing. And Torchy [from “Mermaids”] is a joy to work with because he has a code. Flinch [from “I Count Myself Among Them”] has made his way in the world on this really gentle red road, but deep down inside, he says, “I’m an attack dog. Don’t make me do what they want me to do to you.” He’s trying really hard to be a good person. And that’s what I like. Torchy’s line: “I’m not a bad man. I just leave for a while and let the bad man in.” What a terrifying thing to put out there: do you really want to see what the bad man can do?

SM: What would you desire young male readers—or any readers—to glean from your work about what a positive idea of warriorhood might be?

RVC: I think a protector and a nurturer and a giver. In my new collection of short stories, Godless but Loyal to Heaven, we see Torchy become a protector not only for his dearly departed brother, Sfen, but we see him become a protector for the family of his heart, Snowbird and Stephanie; on top of this he becomes a protector for a young man who he bullied; he also becomes a protector for the town and “settlers” who could potentially be moving into a new subdivision that is infected with uranium. In “Love Song” we see Grant from “Let’s Beat the Shit out of Herman Rosko” try and become a protector for a Chinese mail-order bride; my new gladiator, “Bear,” is a protector in “The Fleshing” and in “The Contract.”

You know, my friend Gary Gottfriedson said, “Richard, you don’t know what love is until you become a grandfather. You don’t know what love is until you hold your first grandchild. You think you know what love is, you think you know what love is with your own children and the love of your life, but when you hold your first grandchild, it all makes sense. Every tear you’ve ever cried, every friend you’ve ever lost along the way, every horror you’ve ever faced, it all had to happen for that moment. And anything after grandchildren is gold.” Gary’s just become a grandfather again and I just see this joy in his life. And that’s my wish for everybody is that peace and that joy, to have a safe home, to have a safe bed. To be able to realize the power of now. Not to wait to say you’re sorry, not to wait to ask for forgiveness, not to wait to help.

They say you know you’re rich when you’re rich. And this has nothing to do with money. It has to do with family; it has to do with health; it has to do with the opportunities we wake to every day. My wish is that we celebrate everything that we have right now and to help others on their way. That is my wish. Mahsi cho!