BY JOE HUDSON

I was on the front porch when you drove by and I waved, thinking the birth of a rare Malayan tapir calf — a strange looking short-necked and long-faced mammal —in the Tacoma, Wash., zoo is an important event to those of us who grew up as oddballs, watching the mother nuzzle her child, reminding us of aunts, uncles, and parents who noticed our awkwardness and through kindness guided us over the rocky reefs of our formative years.

And then there was the news story of the earthquake that struck Myanmar (Burma) that killed 1,700 people, power lines down across roads, buildings crumpled like paper, and dazed children covered in dust wandering amidst the destruction. It was a living nightmare in broad daylight. Cadaver dogs sniffed the rubble and rescue personnel harnessed to cables were lowered into what was once a basement, searching for the living to bring them out to safety.

While watching all this on TV while sitting in the Los Angeles airport, sipping an eight-dollar bottle of water, it occurred to me that the people that make a society civilized and desirable are the rescuers, the ones who put themselves at risk and that take the time to help those who can’t help themselves. Public service is God’s gift to a civilized society.

The Malayan tapir is a rare creature, near extinction, whose meat and hide have no commercial value to us. So, this odd baby belongs to a species now in fast decline, just as I and my kind are, being writers of complete sentences and civil thoughts. Social media is driving our species to extinction.

I was an average student, never academically dazzling, raised in a farming culture where hard work and sports were expected of boys. Sports required abilities I did not have. An oddball with flaming acne, I preferred to read books. When playground teams were chosen, I was picked last. There were no athletic grants or academic scholarships available to me. I learned by hard work, and information I couldn’t understand could still be memorized and transferred onto a test paper.

For an oddball, life is a jungle and you’re constantly getting lost.

But along the way you encounter numerous rescuers, such as uncles and aunts, who showed me how to work smarter. Ann Nelson, my English teacher, led me to complete sentences and proper grammar. Dr. Floyd Cherry rescued me from traditional sermons and dry speaking engagements by showing me it was okay to tell humorous stories and write your own songs. Editors Mike Fuhrman and David Ibach taught me less is more, never write about politics, and deadlines are sacred.

These days I sit and stare at the TV screen, watching large, helmeted men hurl themselves at each other and I’m grateful for cowardice and lack of athletic ability. I never played football so my knees and ankles aren’t held together with screws and wing nuts.

At one time I traveled a bit doing small shows and telling stories. I included campfire songs and “America” and a song I wrote when I was 14 called “Barney.” It’s about a pet frog that is killed while crossing a highway and ends up in heaven. People joined in the chorus, which required the audience to imitate croaking frogs and so, for a while, a crowd of people all laughed together.

That didn’t solve any problems in the Middle East or help save the polar bears. Nevertheless, I keep writing and serve on our city council to justify the efforts of my rescuers. I’m grateful I was born late enough for modern medicine and that Dr. Michael Schlesinger used it to find the cause of my frequent kidney stones and rescued me out of 40 years of monthly pain.

I’m constantly amazed at people’s drive to do good, even towards an odd tapir like me. I do not take it for granted. Thank you all, so very much.

Readers can write to Joe at Joehudsn@gmail.com and Facebook (View from the Hudson). He is author of “Big Decisions are Best Made with Hot Dogs” and “A View from the Front Porch.”