Imagine being the only person alive who can say this
buzz aldrin and neil armstrong liked to do a thing where they’d tell unfunny jokes at parties about being on the moon and when people were confused they’d go “guess you had to have been there”
My stage career began when I was a little under two months old, when I took the spotlight as Baby Jesus in a Christmas pageant. I’m told that I did a wonderful job and slept calmly through the whole thing, which can only speak to my talents as an actress, because I was 1. the wrong gender 2. a colicky screaming demon of a baby and 3. about as far from divine as it’s possible for an allegedly-human child to be.
I continued to be actively involved in theater as a kid (and frequently played roles of various small animals, because I was tiny for my age). Around the age of ten, I was cast as the lead character in a musical about cowboys that I no longer remember the name of. It was my first real lead role, and I took it very, very seriously. And because I am myself, that means I maaaaybe went…a little overboard.
My character’s introduction was early in the play, accompanied by the crack of a bullwhip. This was more-or-less pre internet (or, at least, our director was not tech-savvy enough to find sound effects online) and we didn’t have a sound effect track for that noise. There were plans to acquire the appropriate sound effect before opening night, but I rapidly tired of making my entrance during rehearsals to the sound of someone yelling “BULLWHIP NOISE!”
This, I thought to myself, is a problem I can solve.
I learned early in life that it’s good to be friends with people who have skills; they always come in handy eventually. After rehearsals one day, I put on my cowboy boots and biked a couple miles over to my friend Grace’s house. I went down to their basement and knocked on her older brother’s door.
“Hello,” I said. “I need to learn how to use a bullwhip.”
“….Okay,” he said. It did not seem to occur to him that he might ask further questions about why I, a tiny horrible munchkin composed exclusively of rage and pointy elbows, needed to be weaponized any further. Clearly, I had come to the right person.
My friend’s older brother would have been an SCA nerd, if SCA was a thing where we were. Instead, he was one of those unsupervised 4H kids with weird hobbies, largely oriented around ancient forms of combat. He was somewhere in his late teens at this time, and he liked to make stuff. It was an urge I, even at age ten, could sympathize with. His name was Aron.
Aron got out his bullwhip (which I had noticed hanging on his wall on a prior visit, and had filed away mentally under a for future use tab) and we went to the backyard.
“Step one of using a bullwhip,” Aron began, “Swinging the bullwhip.”
We rapidly discovered that since I was god’s tiniest, angriest creation, a full-size bullwhip was way too long for me to use. Aron’s shins suffered for my attempt.
“…Step one of using a bullwhip,” Aron said, “Making a bullwhip.”
So we went back inside, found a tanned cowhide (that he just…had? I don’t remember if there was a reason for this.) and some razor blades, and I learned how to cut and braid a bullwhip. It took a few tries, and I wound up coming back for a while, because I kept getting frustrated with the bullwhip-braiding process and Aron kept distracting me with bait like: “Hey kid, wanna learn to make some chainmail?” and “Hey kid, wanna fletch some arrows?” and “Hey kid, wanna try doing horseback archery?”
Obviously the answer to these questions was “BOY, WOULD I EVER!” Some delays are necessary to the artistic process.
(At one point my mom asked me “Hellen, what are you doing over at Grace’s house all the time?” And I, perfectly innocent, said, “Making weapons!” and my mother, who never understood why I was like this, but accepted that a girl has needs and those needs occasionally involve stocking a personal armory, said “Okay! Have fun!”)
Soon, the bullwhip, size extra small, was finished. The lessons on actual bullwhip use commenced.
It should be noted that Aron was self-taught, and really had no idea what to do, so this was mostly an exercise in the two of us standing twenty feet apart and flailing wildly with our respective whips until snapping noises happened. And then we figured out what we’d done to make the snapping noises. And then we kept doing that. Extremely vigorously. So vigorously that at one point one of the bullwhips launched into the air and caught on a tree branch and we hand to drag the trampoline over so Aron could bounce me high enough to grab it. But we persisted!
Eventually we reached a point where we could line up pop cans on a fence rail and hit them off three times out of five.
Feeling extremely accomplished and like I finally understood method acting, I packed my bullwhip into my backpack for the next play rehearsal. Soon enough, it was time for me to make my entrance.
I leaped on stage in my cowboy boots and cracked the bullwhip as hard as I could, immediately launching into the song despite the fact that the sound of five feet of braided leather breaking sound barrier had startled the accompanist so badly she’d keysmashed on the piano.
The director shouted something she probably shouldn’t have shouted in a room full of small children, and then demanded, “WHERE DID YOU GET THAT!”
“I made it!” I declared proudly. “I’m a cowgirl! I can make my own bullwhip noise!”
“You…made it?”
“Yes! Because we needed a bullwhip sound effect. And bullwhips are where bullwhip sound effects come from!”
This was, of course, impeccable logic.
It is apparently difficult to argue with a gleeful ten year old who happens to be armed with a bullwhip longer than she is tall. After some negotiation, the director agreed that I could use my bullwhip for my opening song, provided that I didn’t pop it while anyone was anywhere near me on stage and I didn’t let anyone else play with it. These terms were acceptable to me.
Somehow, no one was injured and the play went off without a hitch. We can only chalk up these things to the magic of the theatre.
Nearly a decade later, an unsuspecting college classmate asked me, “Hellen, wanna take a class on bullwhip combat with me?”
These dudes are fucking legit. Â They donât just show up one day in court, either, they actually make friends with the kids and let them know they have a support system and that there are people in the world who care about them and will always have their back. Â And less important, but also cool, is that the few times a couple of them have come into my cafe, theyâve been super friendly and polite and when I told one of the guys that I noticed his Bikers Against Child Abuse patch and wanted him to know how awesome I thought he was because of it, he got kind of shy and blushed and said, âThe kids are the awesome ones, we just let them know theyâre allowed to be brave.â
The source is long, but so, so good. These men and women are available in 36 states, 24 hours a day to stand guard at home, in court, at school, even if the child has a nightmare. Many of them are survivors of childhood abuse as well, and know what itâs like to feel scared and alone.
In court that day, the judge asked the boy, âAre you afraid?â No, the boy said.
Pipes says the judge seemed surprised, and asked, âWhy not?â
The boy glanced at Pipes and the other bikers sitting in the front row, two more standing on each side of the courtroom door, and told the judge, âBecause my friends are scarier than he is.â
Actual tears.. hnngh
Show me more of people like this, world. I give up on humans too easily.
where do i sign up for this,i want to be in this gang
This is fucking amazing. It may be out of character for me to say this but rock on
Bikers Against Child Abuse was founded in 1995 by a Native American child psychologist whose ride name is Chief, when he came across a young boy who had been subjected to extreme abuse and was too afraid to leave his house. He called the boy to reach out to him, but the only thing that seemed to interest the child was Chiefâs bike. Soon, some 20 bikers went to the boyâs neighborhood and were able to draw him out of his house for the first time in weeks.
Chiefâs thesis was that a child who has been abused by an adult can benefit psychologically from the presence of even more intimidating adults that they know are on their side. âWhen we tell a child they donât have to be afraid, they believe us,â Arizona biker Pipes told azcentral.com. âWhen we tell them we will be there for them, they believe us.â ( Article)
My parents are a part of this organization and they are metal af
They go on runs to protect the child if they feel even the slightest threatened no matter where. If the child needs them to go on vacation with them, they do. Bikers come from across the nation to watch over and take shifts for these kids. And the best part is once youâre adopted into this family as a BACA kid, youâre always one. Even when youâre 40 and the perp gets released from jail, theyâll come meet with you and find your best options for avoiding the person and maintaining the life youâve built for yourself. Once a BACA child, always a BACA child. In Florida, thereâs 100% rate for identifying the perp based on the childâs testimony. Why? Because BACA stands with the child and supports the child so they feel comfortable enough to point out their attacker.
Whatâs better than a badass biker gang being on your side???
NATIVE AMERICAN CHILD PSYCHOLOGIST WHO IS A BIKER AND NAMED HIMSELF CHIEF HELL YES IâM HERE FOR THAT AND BIKERS BEING BAD ASS TO PROTECT KIDS. HELL YEAH.
itâs back! I will always reblog BACA
Damn good people.
I know they wouldnât consider themselves such, but these people are freaking heroes and the world is a better place because of them.Â
Hey folks, it talks about this in the article but its not mentioned in this post, BACA is a 501 Š (3) charity that depends in part on donations to help pay for stuff like gas for their bikes. If you want to help, consider donating.Â
@copperbadge You like posting about heroes, Sam. Seems like this would be up your alley.
I love these folks! Iâve reblogged them before but itâs wonderful to see the donation information has been added.Â
Always reblog. Keep doing what youâre doing y'all.
Guys? This post changed my life. I saw this post. Forever ago. And thought it was only in america⌠and wished desperately that they could help me. But then I saw it again, during a bad episode, and checked their site. They arenât just in the USA
Theyâre in Canada as well and probably other countries. I met and talked with a native guy who runs the place near me. His name is Shaman. I got in, and Iâm considered a BACA child now. Despite being 17, turning 18 when I talked to them. They spent time with me when my abuser was over, they gave me therapy resources. They give you something called a âlevel 1Ⲡwhere they go to your house with as many bikers as they can, i shit you not a solid 20-40 bikers came from even out of province, and met me. I got to choose my biker name and I got a vest with patches on it and my name on it. They all hugged a Teddybear before giving it to me, and told me if I ever felt the BACA bear was running out of love, to give them a call and theyâd refill it for me, and then I got a ride on one of their bikes. Just a day or so ago I went to an annual party with them and they we ate food one of them cooked and had a lot of laughs.Â
Iâve never felt as loved as I did being a part of the BACA family. They also gave me dog tags with the names, and phone numbers of my 2 workers. So I can call them whenever I feel scared.Â
BACA is an absolutely wonderful group that will do everything in itâs power to help any child whos been abused.Â
And it doesnât end when youâre 18 either. As long as you get in contact/get your level 1 before youâre 18? youâre ALWAYS a BACA kid. Iâm 18 now and they still invite me to parties, ask me if Iâm okay, and are there for me. Theyâre still trying to find me resources for therapy.Â
BACA has changed my fucking life.Â
I hope you all can read this, and reblog it knowing from someone who fucking been with them, that they are absolutely amazing.Â
If I ever donât reblog this, itâs because I am physically being restrained against my will.
Supporting your local heroâs.
FUCKEN AMAZING what these Bikers do!!!! This is why I donât give up on humanityâŚ
B.A.C.Aâs Byline:Â âKeepers of the Children.â
B.A.C.A.âs Motto:Â âNo child deserves to live in fear.â
Not all heroes wear capes, some wear biker vests.
Had seen this before, but never realised that this is on an international level - thereâs even a contact address close to where I live (in Germany), very cool (though hoping the only use Iâll ever have to make of it is for donations) â¤
i canât decide if this is the single coolest girl in the world for making danger her middle name or the silliest for not seeing the raw power of âmillipede dangerâ which is the greatest name i have ever heard
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