Riker.

Whatever Normal Is.

 A normal day, every weekday.  Before the sun has crested over the horizon, a quiet house sits nestled before the corner of Lansing Avenue and Territorial Road. The structure slowly comes to life.

At 5:45 a.m. at the flick of a switch, the kitchen fills with an odd green cast of the overhead light, spilling over to the dining room, filtering through the opening of the living room.

Rives Junction resident Sue Riker works on waking her son 15-year-old son, Cory, up. He'll need to be getting ready for school, out the door by 6:35 a.m. She yells up the staircase a couple of times while packing his lunch.



A pot of coffee starts a slow drip at 7 a.m., waking Ron, her husband of 42 years, to get the other kids out of bed. Both Sue and Ron quietly slip into Bryan’s room. The 16-year-old will take more coaxing than Cory. The light is turned on. Bryan's bed, tucked in the corner, is decorated with cut-out pictures of basketballs and footballs. They'll need to hurry to get him dressed, fed and to his 8 a.m. bus ride to school.

This morning, he's squirming. Ron and Sue take off the covers and change Bryan's clothes. He needs to get up. A sound from the other room alerts them that their three-year-old Nathan is up. Ron heads off to comfort Nathan while Sue continues to stir Bryan.



The TV fills the living room with flashes of blue. The top headlines stream across the daily news channel until Nathan hops in front of the screen. The channel changes to Nickelodeon.

Ron returns to Bryan's room. He still doesn’t want to get out of bed. Fully dressed, but they still need to get him food and brush his teeth. Ron picks Bryan up and sets him in his chair. Positioning the padding and adjusting Bryan's legs, they hook him up to a feeding tube and Sue takes care of the daily hygiene.



Bryan has Cerebral palsy, a physical disability that directly affects motor control centers of the brain. His joints and muscle tone are tight. He's stiff with Scoliosis. Confined to a wheelchair, he can hardly even hold his head up. It falls to one side. His posture looks, feels uncomfortable. He doesn't want to get up because he didn't sleep well. Yet another symptom.

As Sue connects Bryan to his feeding tube and brushes his teeth, Nathan scoots around the floor, pushing himself along with his left hand. His other arm is tightly held to his chest. A funny sight, perhaps, but as soon as Bryan is finished feeding, Nathan will be next.



He has Cerebral palsy as well. His is different though. While with Bryan, the Riker's know his condition and his limits, but with Nathan they're unsure. He's still growing. The shunt leading to the missing part of his left brain is not. It can shut down. Something can go wrong. According to Sue, it's something that is always at the back of their minds.

And they still have to think about Cory, too.



His Cerebral palsy is less severe. His mobility is limited in the right hand and leg. He doesn't have the same flexibility or range of motion he has in his left.

"We just always try to tell them it didn't matter. You're in our family. You're our son or daughter, brother or sister," Ron said. "We're family. We're all together."

When 8 a.m. comes, Ron wheels Bryan out to the bus that will take him to school, the Lyle Torrent Center. Nathan is feeding, and his clothes are changed. Finally, Ron and Sue can take a moment to themselves. Their phones light up. Their 23-year-old, Tammy, has sent her daily text message with an inspirational quote or a bible verse.



"He's taught our family a lot. We just take for granted the things we can do, just a simple thing like holding your head up, Bryan can't do totally. Our kids have learned, through Bryan, to appreciate the things we can do, and don't take anything for granted," Sue said. "He's been a real blessing. It is a challenge, but when he smiles or says something, it's all worth it."

Ron added, "I wouldn't change anything.”

"Oh, I wouldn't either," Sue responded.

Chris.

Some photos of Chris Simpson, a former white supremacist.

End.

Wrapped things up at the Cit Pat. I'll post some story work later, probably. This is from my almost last assignment. And the wordtern on our last day.

Prom.

Saturday was prom night for a couple local high schools. Unlike the Midland/Dow prom two years ago, I wasn't kicked out. Instead, a girl asked me to dance.

Mist.

I keep imagining that one day I'll see something, quickly pull over, and then my car will fall apart.

Others.

A little bit more work from the latter half of the month. It's funny, I haven't finished my first internship, haven't had to time freak out about my second internship and I'm already having to find my third internship. Such is life, though.

Switchfoot.

I shot Switchfoot. It was like reliving my teenage years, which weren't that long ago.

Hooper.

A 16-year-old "hardcore hula hooper".

Semi.

And in the same vein.

Sunday.

Sometimes I forget how quickly things can change in a single day. How you put yourself in so many different situations and cultures. A day can start off with pleasant blue skies and almost no wind, temperatures peaking at 70 degrees, and end with a twenty degree drop, a strong wind and a wintry mix occasionally falling from the sky.

You can wake up to birds chirping and cars zipping by, head to a community event filled with the sound of laughter, find your way to a basement grindcore show, the sound of feedback reverberating through your skull, then take a 20 minute drive down a tree-lined country road where the only sound comes from the wind whipping through the trees, and the occasional car slowly turning around to head the other way.

A sunny day, a dimly lit basement, a night sky flashing red and blue.

This was my Sunday. Just a normal Sunday. Maple syrup and sheep shearing demonstrations, pot cookies and rice krispies being passed around ($5 a bag), accident investigators carefully observing tread marks and laying down orange and green markers as they process the scene.



"I don't do photos," said Jan Corwin, until her son pushed her into giving me her name. "Just do it," he said.

"Richard, this is Sean, he does photos," 'Twan said. I extended my hand. "Hey Richard, nice to meet you." "Yeah, man. You too," he said, accepting my outstretched hand.

"Before you take any photos, let me make sure the body isn't visible," said Sgt. Brenning. Two minutes later he stopped me. "Hold on, I thought I saw an arm dangling." There wasn't.



It's a strange thing. My ears were ringing during the whole drive to the accident. I had forgotten to get earplugs; it was pretty miraculous I heard the call from Scott. My head was spinning as I left the Alley and made my way through the smoke haze; as soon as I got out to the scene, the ringing became deafeningly loud. My head spun again when the Sergeant described the accident to Aaron (the reporter) and myself. Two cars were following each other, one attempted to pass, both lost control. One hit a telephone pole, the other hit a tree, shearing the car in half. Two died -- a boyfriend and girlfriend, ages 20 and 18. The boyfriend's brother was ejected from the car, but survived. The couple recently had a kid, Carter is 9 months old.

Sheared. Funny, how that word came up again. Except last time it was surrounded by a choir of little kids shouting "ewww", "grosssss", or "whoooaaa." Electric shearers, handheld. A skilled hand at work.

The road, unlike the petting zoo, and definitely unlike the basement at Bird Alley, is not a playground, said lewismedlock in a comment.

Yup.

Concord.

They won. And then they lost two days later.

Amigo.

Basketball had me driving at least an hour every game. So before one game, I went for a walk.



And this is Wayne.

Real.

I went feature hunting with Jake May a little while ago, and found a feature of these three kids playing ping pong on a tennis court. After crushing the ping pong ball, they ran around on the playground and I shot this frame. Yeah, the middle kid is totally hamming it up, but I laugh when I look at it. It's a real photo, this is who these kids are. That's all.

Hair.

I stopped for this cart.



And found this feature.









On a side note, they were listening to this song, and it's a frickin' weird song.

Play.

I love driving down the back roads and into the country for feature hunts, but a lot of times the side streets of the city have some really fun stuff to offer.

Class.

Classrooms with windows on sunny days are pretty nice.

Skyler.

He was getting pinned, but still smiled and laughed when his friends called out "GO SKYLER!" from the sidelines.

Tony.

Danny isn't here, Mrs. Torrance.

Seriously. Doomchild.

Finds.

Feature hunting can seem like a chore sometimes, especially in poor weather.





But sometimes the smallest thing catches your eye and makes you stop.





While the photos might not be the best, the stories and time spent were worth it.