Today Mom took me out to do my push-ups during our run at the Wetlands that Smell Like a Fart. We see all the bird watchers out there with their fancy tripods and cameras with noses like telescopes, so I thought that Mom was going to get some awesome landscape shots starring me. The water was calm, and Mom said it was that special color you only get right after sunrise. I think she was making stuff up, because when I looked at the water… and the flowers… and the sky, all I saw was grey. This is Mom we’re talking about, and Mom is no artist. Imagine my embarrassment when we ran past a bird guy who had hauled a ladder a mile and a half from his car to take some pictures of seagulls, and she stopped me mid-run and put her phone in the dirt leaning against a trash can, a tree, a bench, a bush… and started ordering me to ‘drop and give her 22.’ Instead of the water with the mountains in the distance, all you can see in Mom’s crappy photography is the sky, and maybe (if you’re lucky) some dirt. She couldn’t even get my face in the frame half the time, and I’m the star of the show!
But this video isn’t all about me. It’s also about veterans who come home from years of facing balloons and rollerbladers, and don’t have the support they need to get used to being safe again. While the “22 suicides a day” number that our push-ups are based on is a little exaggerated (maybe those statisticians went to the Oscar school of math), even one suicide a decade is too many for these heroes. So we give money and we do push-ups so that the people (and dogs!) who help soldiers find their “forever homes” have the resources that they need to help these brave men and women.