baytownproject

[baytownproject]

“Physically, I was always into stuff. I played football and ran track in school. I later ran marathons and 10Ks. I also was a soccer referee for years. I was in pretty good shape. But about seven years ago, I began losing feeling in my feet and hands. I’d be driving, and I couldn’t tell if my foot was on the gas or brake. I was diagnosed with peripheral neuropathy.

“When my wife was battling lymphoma [Judy passed away in 2023], other than walking around the hospital I didn’t get much exercise. Then I started noticing my right foot would catch at the ball of my foot, and I’d fall. I couldn’t figure out what was going on. It was drop foot. It’s when your nerve and leg don’t communicate to your ankle to come up, and your foot kind of drags.

“While serving in Vietnam, they sprayed a lot of Agent Orange. When the plane dropped it, it carved a path right through the jungle. We just saw it for what it was. It worked great for the purpose. Years later, as veterans started having all kinds of symptoms, that’s when it really hit home. I had diabetes, neuropathy, some vision loss. Finally, the VA agreed it fell under the criteria for Agent Orange.

“About three months ago, I finally made it to 100% disabled. It took me 14 years to work through the system to get there. I now have total access to anything from the VA. They pay for my prescriptions. They cover medical issues. I get a nice check every month. And there are various other benefits.

“When I get up in the morning, my back aches, my legs ache, and I can’t feel my feet. My fingers don’t work the way they used to. Of course, I’m 78, so that plays into it. But I keep going. I walk at Lee College and I go to Fitness Connection mainly for elliptical and bike. I want to get in better shape so I can travel and see more of the country. I love the outdoors. I’d like to enjoy what time I have left.”

— Gary Gill

Gary was a project engineer for Mobay, Miles and Bayer before retiring in 2008. Mobay in New Martinsville, West Virginia, enabled him to complete his degree in industrial engineering by working and then driving 101 miles each day to classes at Ohio University.

[baytownproject]

“I was around 19, taking college classes, when I got mononucleosis. So I dropped out while recovering. And I immediately received a draft notice. I flunked my physical because of the mono, and because one leg was a little shorter than the other. I also had a growth on my throat that they thought might be cancerous. To be honest, I felt relieved. I had no real ambition to go to Vietnam. Then, about six weeks later, I got another notice. It was the result of what they called (Defense Secretary Robert) McNamara’s 100,000. They were desperate for more troops, so I got upgraded from 4-F.

“I was stationed in Pleiku, near the Ho Chi Minh Trail, when there was a mortar and rocket attack. We lost some vehicles, so we had to drive down to Cam Ranh Bay to pick up new ones. Along the way, our convoy was ambushed. I was driving, and the guy next to me was shot in the head and killed. It was awful. Something I’ll never forget.

“When we’d go out on patrol, I always told the other guys that if I ever stepped on a land mine and got my leg blown off, make sure you shoot me. Because I didn’t want to live like that. I was thankful to God when I finally made it back home. But we lost a lot of good men over there.

“PTSD is real. When I first came back, my wife and I had an apartment about a block away from the fire station in this little town in Ohio. Every night at 10 o’clock, they’d sound this siren that was like a curfew for the kids. I’d roll out of that bed and get underneath. It was like my mind was reacting to a mortar or rocket attack. I still have nightmares at times. And if I’m stopped at a railroad track, waiting on the train to pass, I can’t stay in my car. I have to open up the door. It’s like a flashback to that guy getting shot.

“There’s a group of area Vietnam veterans who meet once a week. We get together and talk about anything and everything. It’s just good to know that there are people who went through the same thing you did. Some of them had it a lot worse than me.”

— Gary Gill

[baytownproject]

“I was 23 weeks pregnant when Ari was born. She was a micro preemie, and weighed just 1 pound, 4 ounces. Because her lungs were very premature she couldn’t breathe on her own, so she was intubated. Then they did a trach, and then a G-button for feeding. She was in the hospital for a year and a month. When we were finally able to bring her home, she was on a ventilator 24 hours a day. They taught us how to change her trach and her G-button. They prepared us for emergencies, like if we had to give her CPR. There have been some scary moments. I’ve seen her heart rate go down to 25, where she’s turning purple and blue, her eyes rolling backward because she couldn’t breathe, and you think she’s already gone. She’s been in and out of the hospital, sometimes days, sometimes weeks. But she keeps bouncing back.

“Healthwise, she’s doing really well right now. She’s not on the ventilator. They’re talking about taking out the trach maybe next summer. That would be awesome. That would be a big, big step for her. She still has a long way to go. She just learned how to walk about a year ago. She still doesn’t speak. She still has to learn how to eat orally. She’s actually scared to eat. So she has to go to occupational therapy, physical therapy, eating therapy, speech therapy. She also was diagnosed with autism. She’s not used to big crowds, and loud noises scare her. She gets over-stimulated. So we keep her at home most of the time, especially right now with cold and flu season.

“She mostly watches Ms. Rachel, who does sing-along songs and teaches things like ABCs. It’s her favorite character. Although she just turned 5, her brain development is like a 2-year-old. She still doesn’t really know how to play with toys. She mostly just throws them because she doesn’t understand.

“It’s been a long journey. My mom, my sister, our close friends, they have been there for us throughout everything. And most of all, God has been there for us. There are moments when your faith is put to the test, when there are things you don’t understand. But I was told at a certain hospital that I should go ahead and just disconnect her. Because she was never going to have a normal life. That she was going to be bed-bound. Like, why would I want her to suffer? But we kept our faith. And with everybody just being there for us, that’s what’s kept us going.

“My hope for her? I definitely want her to be able to eat one day. For her to have that experience of sitting down to enjoy an actual meal. And I would love for her to speak. I would love, love to hear her call me mama.”

— Myriam Mejia

[baytownproject]

(2 of 2) “On the kayak tours, whenever I bring people down to Buffalo Bayou, it’s kind of hard to gloss over some of the big issues facing the city, like homelessness or the pollution and trash that’s visible as we paddle around. If we get flooded, like when Hurricane Beryl came through, the bayou is almost overfilled. So the trash is at the top of the water. Then, as the water slowly subsides through the weeks because of a lack of rain, a lot of that trash gets stuck in the trees along the bayou. Right now, things like paper and bags and tarps and other homeless litter is not just floating in the water, but literally all over the embankments.

“I felt it was important to do something, to try to make a difference. So I had this idea to create clean-up events. We send volunteers out on the bayou in kayaks with bags to collect whatever trash they can grab. In the process of starting it up, I met a nonprofit called District 1 Decontamination Unit. It’s a group of individuals who focus on cleaning up litter in their area of Houston. They’re a driving force behind our clean-up efforts. We schedule the events for the first Sunday of every month. We have groups join us, like Boy Scouts or university organizations, but it’s open to anyone.

“I’m 33 this year. I have two young kids. This is something that I can feel proud of, to show how much I care about the city. Instead of just sitting around mad that nothing is getting done, I’m helping out. That’s one of the things I feel most at peace with, something that makes me feel better and other people feel better. Anything I can do to keep that momentum going, not only for me but for others, for the city, that’s what I hope to do.”

— David Urias

[baytownproject]

(1 of 2) “Buffalo Bayou Kayak Tours posted on Facebook that they were looking for guides. They wanted someone who knows stuff about nature and history. And I was like, that’s kind of up my alley. I’ve been an information buff the majority of my life. And I love nature. I love history. So I applied. The only kayak experience I had was one time at a customer’s home. I have a pool business, and they had left a kayak floating. I paddled around for about 10 minutes, and it was a lot of fun.

“I’m now probably close to 400 miles paddled on the bayou. I give tours to a variety of people. Some are born and raised Houstonians who have never seen the bayou from the perspective of the city’s founding fathers. Others are from around the U.S. and the world. I’ve given tours to people from the UK, Saudi Arabia, Australia, and many other countries. Sometimes I’m the first representation of not just our city, but our entire state. That’s probably my favorite part, being able to give an idea to strangers of the kind of people they can expect to run into while they’re visiting, and to help them understand what the city is all about.

“Something I hadn’t picked up on until a few years ago is that talking is really a skill. Just the ability to be efficient and engaging with what you say. I can talk to anyone. It doesn’t really matter who they are or what their background is, I can find some kind of common ground with them. And I can kind of get them where they need to be by the time our conversation ends. I call it my superpower. It’s something that I’ve been trying to use for good, to be productive. It’s my favorite thing about me now.”

— David Urias

David, a 2010 graduate of Baytown Sterling High School, highlights Houston’s history and landmarks during the tours. Buffalo Bayou is 53 miles long, starting in Katy as a small freshwater creek. It snakes its way through Houston, and continues into Galveston Bay and the Gulf of Mexico.

[baytownproject]

“I was kind of embarrassed about liking to draw when I was a teenager. I didn’t want to tell my friends, ‘Hey, when I’m not hanging out with you guys, I’m in my room drawing Disney dogs.’ I figured they’d think I was weird. As I got older and explored more, I gained confidence. I stopped caring what people think and focused on what I enjoy. When I got into painting on canvas, pretty much all I did for two years was people’s pets. They weren’t that great, but it’s how I learned painting techniques. I didn’t want to be typecast as a pet portrait artist, though, so I told people I wasn’t going to do it anymore.

“Now that I’m in my 30s, I’ve gone back to being a kid again and paint what I like. I always loved to draw animals, so I started painting dolphins, whales, frogs, turtles and panda bears. I used to watch old horror movies with my grandparents, so that inspired me to paint Creature from the Black Lagoon, Frankenstein and Bride of Frankenstein. I’ve had good luck selling my originals. They usually fly out the door the day that I post them. And I’m continually amazed and thankful when someone pays $200 of their hard-earned money for something I did. Especially right now, when the economy is terrible and people are struggling. I work, too. I have a full-time job outside of this to help pay bills and put food on our table. Art is a luxury, not a necessity. So anytime someone buys from me, it blows my mind.

“When I was a little kid, my mom plastered brown packaging paper on my bedroom walls. She made it so that I could paint or do whatever I wanted. Even with my brothers and sisters, she ensured we had space to be ourselves, to express ourselves. I feel so fortunate that I found something as a child that I loved, and that I took care of it and nurtured it. Some people find things when they’re kids that they could be passionate about, but they don’t stick with it. I feel lucky that I have art in my life.”

— Jamie James

Follow Jamie James on Facebook, jamiiejames on Instagram, and JamieJamesArt on Etsy.

[baytownproject]

(5 of 5) “Before my stroke, I had discovered a love for gardening. I found solace in plants, a purpose and sense of reward. I started collecting succulents, and I was having a whole lot of fun with it. It was very therapeutic. I was making breakthroughs without having to go to a therapist. I started to sell a few plants here and there through social media. Then I decided that I was going to make it into a little side business. It would allow me to stay flexible with the kids and do something for myself. So I set up a plant page on Instagram (@stopngrowsucculentsnmore). Our family has deep roots in Baytown, and I wanted to find a way to connect with my community. I wanted everyone to love plants and gardening as much as I do. While I was in the hospital, I started focusing on what I’d do when I got out. I had this extensive knowledge from researching and working with these plants. And I’m like, I could teach people all about it. That’s what I’m going to do. Since then, I’ve done a lot. I’ve taught plant classes for little kids at daycares. I was blessed with an opportunity to work with students at an elementary school in La Porte. I’ve done countless classes for adults. I’m a regular at Baytown’s farmers market, and I plan to start going to the one in Mont Belvieu. It’s all about succulents. And I’m having a blast. Hopefully, making a difference in people’s lives.

“Looking back on everything that’s happened in my life, where I’ve been and where I am now, I feel this overwhelming sense of happiness, this sense of magic. Just knowing that I can do whatever I want to do. Overcoming adversity in every possible way. From drug-addicted parents to being a drug addict myself, to having a stroke, and permanently losing some of my vision. To having a husband, kids, and being able to be a loving person despite what I’ve gone through. I’ve never let anything stop me from doing what I want. I’m going to write a book about my life one day. It’s going to be fantastic. Just watch. I can’t wait.”

— Felicia Garcia

[baytownproject]

(4 of 5) “Four years ago, my husband was driving us home from Austin, and I started to feel weird. I was getting a headache, and my vision was getting fuzzy. I didn’t want to overreact. I was going to try to sleep the rest of the way. When we got home, I sluggishly walked into the house and basically passed out on my bed. I woke up the next day, opened my eyes, and there’s this big blind spot in my vision. I still had this splitting headache. And I’m like, what the hell is happening? I spent a lot of time with my grandmother after several strokes. I saw the symptoms present in her, but nothing like this. So I immediately put stroke out of my head.

“I was in the hospital a week, doing every test possible. They didn’t know what was going on. Until I got the CT scans back. Guess what? I had a damn stroke. I was beside myself. Here I was, 26 years old, and I’m like, what the hell? They have to give me medicine to calm me down. Then they do an ultrasound, and they find out that I have a hole in my heart. In rare cases, it can send a blood clot to your brain and cause a stroke. And I’m like, this cannot be happening to me. Haven’t I had enough bullshit in my life? I had been doing everything right around that time. I was hiking with my kids, eating right, drinking plenty of water. I was angry about the whole thing. It seemed so unfair. I’d been through so much already in my life, so I didn’t want anymore. Like, whoever has my voodoo doll, you can stop now. It happened during COVID. So I couldn’t have visitors. I was losing my mind because I’m away from my kids, my babies, who are extremely attached to me. I felt very isolated and stressed out. I had all these breakdowns, but then I started having breakthroughs. I was like, OK, I’m going to come out of here bigger and better. Nothing can stop me. I’m actually a tsunami. And it was because of my love for plants and gardening. I had big ideas that I was determined to make happen.”

— Felicia Garcia

[baytownproject]

(3 of 5) “At 18, I began a relationship with my now husband, Kory. We’d been best friends forever. We had our ups and downs, and when I was 20, I had a miscarriage. I’d told myself if I ever got the chance to be a mom, I’d make sure I had a normal family. So that rocked me really hard. It left me heartbroken. A few months after that, I got pregnant again, and we had our first biological son together. That put everything into perspective. Feeling the love of a child and for a child was groundbreaking. When he was about 9 months old, I learned that I was pregnant again. And I started to feel this dread. What if I can’t love this new child as much as my other one? I thought my love for my first son and my older stepson was enough. Then one day I told myself, this is going to be my mom’s baby. Even though my mom was very tan, my older sister had blue eyes and almost blonde hair, light skin. They told her, whenever you have a second child, it’s probably going to be a boy. She started fantasizing about having this angelic, blue-eyed, almost blonde-haired, light-complected little boy. Then here I come with tan skin, brown eyes, dark hair. Anyway, I told my husband that this was going to be my mom’s baby. I was sure it was going to be a boy with blue eyes. I woke up the next day with this sense of knowing, this peace. And sure enough, he was born exactly how I pictured.

“These kids are awesome. Our oldest will be 14 in February. Our middle son just turned 9 and our youngest is 7. I love all my children, but the youngest definitely holds a special place in my heart. He reminds me so much of my mom. Even though life was extremely difficult when I was young, with my mom on drugs and not always around, I loved her very much. So with my youngest, I’ve always had this sense of familiarity that I felt for my mom. Maybe I just dreamed the whole thing up. But I’ll embrace it. I feel like I deserve every single bit of magic there is.”

— Felicia Garcia

[baytownproject]

(2 of 5) “After I started living with my grandparents, my grandmother had a big stroke. I was helping take care of her. And because of my mom’s death, they all told me that she shouldn’t be under any more stress. So I was never really able to grieve. I had to swallow all that. I was so angry and lonely. It’s no excuse, but it’s kind of what led me down the path of doing drugs to numb those feelings. As a high school freshman, I was falling off badly. I couldn’t see how anything was worth being sober for. I was doing any substance I could get my hands on. I was really addicted to certain prescription pills in my high school years. I wasn’t going to class. I was way behind on my credits. By my senior year, they put me in alternative school. The principal was like, ‘You need to get this under control.’ And I did buckle down and even finished early. You couldn’t tell me a damn thing. I was still on drugs, and I felt like a million bucks. I felt unstoppable.

“I decided to do graduation huge. So I got a hotel room and stayed there for about three months. All my friends were with me. It was always a party. But when the end of summer came, everyone left. My lowest point came while lying on the hotel room bed after taking I don’t even know how many pills. I told myself if I overdosed that night, it wouldn’t even matter. Maybe I’d go where my mom went, and I wouldn’t hurt anymore. I started feeling like my heart was slowing down, and then I kind of faded. I was so accepting of, ‘I’m dying.’ But I woke up the next morning. And the heartbreak that I felt, realizing that I hadn’t died, was unbelievably heavy. I wanted to hang myself. Then I started thinking about when I was a kid, how I told myself that if nobody ever made the happiness, it was up to me. I felt that I’d let myself down because I hadn’t made any happiness for myself in a really long time. That’s when I decided to leave the hotel room, go home to my grandparents, and start making some changes.”

— Felicia Garcia

[baytownproject]

(1 of 5) “Growing up, there was a lot of chaos and turmoil in my home. I had two drug-addicted parents. And when I was 8, my mom started dealing drugs. People were coming and going. There were a lot of unsafe activities. There was alcohol. There was physical and other abuse. It was just an insanely unhealthy situation. But I was determined to have a good life. Whether they were passed out on the couch or whatever, it wasn’t going to affect my day. I kind of had to be the sun, moon and stars for myself. I had to be the author of my own life. I realized that if I didn’t make happiness for myself, then I’d be sitting in my room crying and miserable all the time. I tried my best to self-isolate or disassociate. I was doing a lot of escapism. I loved anything fantasy. I was a really smart kid, and I loved reading books. I loved writing stories. I also rode my bike a lot. Whatever it took to make sure I had a good time, despite what was going on around me. My sister was several years older, but she wasn’t really hands on with me. So I was pretty independent.

“When I was nearly 12, my mom seemed ready to stop doing drugs and turn over a new leaf. That was great. I was happy for her. But then she had herself a last hurrah, and she overdosed. She didn’t make it. I was devastated. Despite everything that had been going on for years, I loved my mom very much. Even though she was not awesome to me, I still thought the world of her. I was the kind of person who tried to make everything seem better than it really was.

“A few days after the funeral, without my knowledge, my father signed over his rights to me to my grandfather. And he left, just took off. I was pretty upset. I thought for sure that my mom’s death was going to be his wake-up call. That we were going to be OK. We were going to try to be normal people now. But that wasn’t the case.”

— Felicia Garcia

[baytownproject]

In the aftermath of Hurricane Beryl, there were many posts about pets gone missing or strays wandering into yards. Not all were of the four-legged variety. Laura Brown Anderson’s 1-year-old parrot, Clark, went on an hours-long adventure after accidentally flying out the family’s front door. “Driving around and putting out bulletins yielded no sign of Clark after three hours, leading me to fear he was gone for good.”

Returning outside after a dinner break, her grandson’s excited shouts alerted Laura to Clark’s presence high in a neighbor’s tree. The bird was making fearful sounds because of a dog below. “It was the first dog he had ever seen.” Despite attempts to coax him down, Clark didn’t budge. “Remembering that he responds to the color white, I grabbed a roll of paper towels, prompting him to fly to another nearby house and away from the dog.”

“With permission, I rolled his cage into their yard and resumed my coaxing efforts. Clark eventually settled in the tree for a nap, adding to the chaos of hurricane recovery as I fretted about losing him in the dark. No one had lights, and spotting him would get harder.”

When Laura stepped into a pile of fire ants and began trying to shake them off her feet, it scared Clark into flying toward home and landing in her neighbor’s tree across the street.

“He could see from his perch that we were rolling his cage home. All of a sudden, he made this loud noise that usually comes right before he lands on my shoulder. This time, he landed on our RV camper. As my husband went to get his fishing net, Clark climbed down to his cage. He put himself in and shut the door. Then he started eating and looked at me like nothing had happened.”

“Thank God he came back before dark. It was a nightmare, but we learned a huge lesson. Now I’m on super alert because I know he has a taste of the outdoors and flying high.”

Clark is quite the chatterbox. Among his phrases are, ‘What are you doing?’, ‘C’mere, baby,’ ‘Thank you,’ ‘Ouch,’ and ‘Kitty Cat,’ while calling the family’s cat, Elvis.

[baytownproject]

“I was in my late 20s, and I was having real bad headaches, muscle problems, stiffness, and some paralysis on my left side. I ended up in the hospital. They didn’t know if it was polio or encephalitis. It was a tough thing to go through. But finally, as I was recuperating, the doctor wanted me to do some physical therapy. He asked what kinds of sports I liked. I named half a dozen things, because I’ve always stayed active. When I mentioned I’d been bowling a few times he said, ‘That’s what I want you to do.’ It was good exercise, using different muscles. So that’s where it started. The first game I ever bowled was a 69, and I said, ‘This will never do. I can do better than this.’ I’m very competitive. So I joined a Tuesday ladies league. That was in 1962, when you could bowl three games for about a dollar and a half. It was a lot of fun. And I’ve been bowling regularly for more than 60 years. I feel like I’ve made some contributions along the way. I really enjoyed the coaching aspect. I taught bantam, junior and senior bowling classes, and I was a bowling instructor at Lee College. I’ve met so many interesting people. Bowling has meant a lot to me: friendship, camaraderie, participation, challenge, competition. It’s been my second home, so to speak. These days, I normally bowl just on Mondays. But I’m also filling in on another night for a lady that had surgery. I used to bowl a lot more often. Except, Saturday was for doing the washing, mopping and catching up on chores at home, and Sunday was for church. You know, everybody’s life follows a stream one way or another. I’m just glad mine went this way. I don’t plan to stop anytime soon. As long as I don’t wake up with a tag on my toe, I’m going to bowl.”

— Dot Sitton, 89

During her career, Dot bowled numerous 200-plus games and 600-plus series. She was president and secretary of Baytown Women’s Bowling Association, and served in other roles on local, state and national levels. Dot received the Hall of Fame Award from Baytown’s combined women’s and men’s bowling association. She also is fondly remembered as the longtime bowling lanes DJ for Rock ’n Bowl and Kikker Bowl nights.

[baytownproject]

“Alicia was my fourth child, my littlest one. She was like a little porcelain doll. We pretty much centered ourselves around her. She was my kids’ pride and joy. She wanted anything, she got it. She was going to turn 2 last July. Then in May, we lost her. She drowned. It didn’t feel real. Like, I had her, then she was gone. We had recently started going to church. We felt like we were fixing our lives. Then this happened. But I felt like we got a sign from God to keep going. Like, her story doesn’t end here. She’s not here physically, but it doesn’t mean she’s not still with us. That’s when I got the idea to make a blessing box. Something we could do for the community, in her memory.

“My husband and I used to work in the refineries, and we made two decent paychecks. But they didn’t last for anything. We struggled buying diapers and formula. So it started with asking people to donate things like that for moms and dads and grandparents taking care of young kids. Now it’s grown to all sorts of food items and necessities. And the response has been great. The community is showing they really care. Whatever goes in the box belongs to whoever grabs it, whoever needs it. A lady across the street says it helps her every single day to feed her kids and have diapers for them. That’s what it’s all about. It’s made an impression on my kids, too. They get excited seeing people drop off stuff, and they have a better appreciation for those needing help.

“There are times when we all just sit down and cry. We really miss our little girl. But through this whole experience, I feel like we’ve gotten so much closer to God. I hope nobody else has to go through what we’ve gone through. I hope I bear all the burden and all the hurt and all the sorrow and all the grief for any other mother. Maybe this is not the testimony that I wanted, but I feel like this is going to help somebody else later on down the road.”

— Roxanna Castillo

The Alicia’s Blessings cabinet is located at 1003 E. James in Baytown. It’s available 24/7 for dropoffs and pickups.

[baytownproject]

“I’m not a fast learner or academically gifted or as talented as other people here at Lee College. But I try very hard. I failed a math course last semester. I tried. I even got help from a professor, but I still failed. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to fail college. People might expect me to drop out or not be in college at all. But I’m going to change that perspective, that expectation, for people like me with autism or any other kind of disability. I’m very thankful for the disabilities department here and my tutor, Ms. Claire. She’s an amazing person. She helps me with my class assignments. She’s always encouraging and supportive. She motivates me when I may be exhausted or discouraged from life as a college student. And she always reminds me how unique I am compared to other students. Being a college student isn’t easy. But it’s worth it if one day, I’ll be on that stage graduating. I’ll be able to say, ‘I made it.’ I want to do it for myself. But I also want to do it for my parents. They always made me feel special, and that I can do anything I put my mind to. I want to make them proud. My dad won’t be here to see it, but I know he’ll be looking down on me when I cross that stage with my diploma. I love sports, and I’d love to become a coach one day. Or maybe a motivational speaker. Inspiring and motivating people is something that I always try to do. To keep that fire burning. I try to share positive quotes with people. I try to encourage them in whatever they’re doing. I think it’s important. Because sometimes, we all need that. Especially nowadays. I think we’re in dark times. We need more people who like to help you up when you’re feeling down. Some people may think that if you’re autistic, you can’t go anywhere, you can’t do anything with your life. I want to prove those people wrong. Being autistic is challenging. But it’s also a gift. It isn’t going to stop me from being the person I want to be, or helping the people I want to help.”

— Roberto (Berto) Nunez Jr.

[baytownproject]

“I was diagnosed with autism when I was 6 years old. My dad didn’t really understand what autism was. I asked, ‘Is there something wrong with me?’ My mom said, ‘No. It just means that you’re special. It means that you’re unique, not like everyone else.’ Because I liked cartoons and stuff, it was explained to me that I was like the Wolverine in X-Men. Like, that’s my super power. Growing up was challenging, just trying to make friends and fitting in. Some people were mean. In junior high, kids would call me weirdo, ugly, all kinds of things. It was hard. But that’s where I met coach (Scott) Griffin. He was a football coach. He’s the man who found me and started helping me. He looked at me as a person, not an autistic person. When I got to high school, things were different. I got a chance to be manager for the Goose Creek Memorial football team. Coach (Bret) Boyd was really supportive, and the players were all good to me. I started making friends. People started liking me for me. And I cared about them. I felt like they were my brothers. They were my family. I was also team manager for basketball and baseball, all four years. It made me feel important. For the first time, it made me feel special. I felt like I had meaning in my life. I had a purpose. It was everything to me. Then when I began taking classes at Lee College, coach (Nick) Wade let me start helping out with the basketball team. It was after COVID, and I was trying to get back on my feet again socially. This was also the time when my dad had a heart attack. One day we got a call from the hospital, and they said we better come. He’s dying. That was awful. It still makes me sad to talk about. But all the coaches and the guys on the basketball team were so supportive. They were worried for me. If they weren’t there for me during that time, I don’t know where I would be. I’m so thankful to coach Wade. He gave me a team to be part of again. He gave me a family again.”

— Roberto (Berto) Nunez Jr.

[baytownproject]

“When I was young, I wanted to be an OBGYN. I wanted to be there when babies were born. There used to be a show on Lifetime called ‘Birth Day.’ I watched it with my mom, on repeat. I learned all the terms they used in the delivery room. I wrote them down in a little journal. Like, I could tell you exactly what Pitocin was, and how it sped up labor.

“When I decided not to go to med school and pursue nursing instead, I found information about becoming a doula. I was so intrigued by what they do, I got certified at 18. Then I was like, ‘Who’s going to hire me? I’m not a mom. I’ve never been in labor.’ But I started sitting with a lot of moms during the labor process while I was in school. Then I learned about postpartum doulas. Someone who comes home with you after you give birth and is there as frequently as you want them to be. They help take care of baby. They teach you all these new things about this little person, and also about your changing body. So I learned about that, and it just took off for me. I absolutely loved it, and I launched my postpartum business fulltime. I aim to serve low-income moms, marginalized communities, teen moms.

“Also, we talk about social determinants of health and how some children might be more prone to abuse. We need to watch these things. If a child is born into a household where there's abuse, where mom's on a fixed income, and they don't have a support system, then this child will most likely have health effects later in life. So let's fix it at the source. Somebody be there with mom and educate her on how to make it through these tough times. Teach her how to parent. Teach her how to build a stable household for her child. That will negate some of these negative effects that may come later on.

“My slogan is, ‘Hold the mother.’ Everybody comes over to the house, and they want to hold the baby. But who holds mom?”

— Carleigh Joseph Olivas