I Hate Intolerance

There is nothing that get's my panties in a bunch more than intolerance. It is the politically correct word for hate. I hate... hate. I am having a hard time watching all the hate and intolerance, that is so prevalent in America, and around the world these days.

Yesterday,during the course of my day, I was bombarded with it. As I was driving around on my night job it was everywhere. Impatience is the evil twin of intolerance. The two create anger and ultimately unhappiness.

Now that NASCAR has become so popular, it seems like every male driver thinks he's Tony Stewart in the last lap of the Daytona 500. I have nothing against racing. For many years my second mother raced in the men's division at Santa Fe Speedway. She held her own. When she won races her male counterparts couldn't stand it.

As I sat at a stoplight, and it turned green I didn't push the pedal to the metal fast enough for the guy behind me. After less than two seconds he layed on his horn like I had fallen asleep at the wheel. It was ridiculous. I have experienced it more than once. If you are one of those drivers I can assure you that the two seconds you are trying to make up with your impatience, is not going to get you to your destination any faster.

When I pulled into the parking lot of a strip mall a driver was waiting to make a left hand turn. She did not leave enough room for the driver behind her to turn right. He promptly drove up on her back bumper. He was less than three inches from it. She was startled by his actions. I was too.


 I headed out on my next delivery. A Good Samaritan paused to let another driver into traffic. The soccer mom behind her layed on her horn to voice her automotive distaste at the drivers kindness. Everywhere I go bumper stickers preach hate with vile slogans designed to shock the car behind them.

What the hell is wrong with people? Why all the anger? I understand things are tough, and we are all facing new pressures and anxieties. It seems to me that impatience and intolerance only feeds an already distressed society. It has grown to proportions I have never encountered in my forty-six years on this planet.

Religious intolerance is growing to the point of evilness. Followers of the same beliefs are infighting between themselves to the point of physical confrontation, lies and the distortions of facts. We are all entitled to our own opinions, but the facts aren't open for interpretation.

I really don't think GOD cares the way I vote, or if I vote at all. I have not seen him/her or it come down from the cosmos to endorse a candidate or agenda. There is a little good in the worst of us, and a little bad in the best of us. That is called humanity.

I believe his message to be that we love each other like we love ourselves. Using his name to admonish or condemn a proposal or policy they don't agree with is hypocrisy at its worst. I believe the Bible, and most spiritual themes is to promote peace, love and truth. They ALL speak of honesty peace and watching what we say.

It is saddening to see people who preach righteousness while spewing hate. Whether you are spiritual or not, I think that living life in a positive, peaceful coexistence with our fellow man is a good way to live. The more we hate, and intolerable we become, the more destructive our words and actions become.

There is much talk about Armageddon coming in the near future. I am certain that the earth, as we know it, will experience a cataclysm that pushes humanity into extinction. That could be tomorrow or in ten thousand years. I don't think a calendar will determine it. I do not think the weather will do it. I think it is more likely that we will destroy ourselves before then. If hate and intolerance continue to leach its way on to, more and more, people it is inevitable.

Every Day IS A Gift. Why spend it hating? I hope to die peacefully. I'll start by being tolerant and patient today. My day will be more enjoyable. I would HATE to think that if today is the day I take my last breath I spent it it ticked off. Let's all give it a try. You just might find your day, and life, more peaceful....

Soul Parole: Making Peace with My Mind, GOD and Myself

Soul Parole: Making Peace With My Mind, GOD and Myself is now available on AMAZON.com and Amazon Europe. Foreword by Tom Dreesen, Epilogue by David Brenner.


Proceeds will benefit Chicago Area addiction, homeless and mental health facilities for the under served.


It's hard to believe that Soul Parole is finally complete. I have wanted to be an author since I was old enough to read Dick and Jane. I never would have imagined that reaching such a lofty goal would come in the recounting of 28 years of alcoholism, addiction and undiagnosed Bi-Polar Disorder.


My first work was called "The Monkey and the Eagle." I tapped it out, on an old black typewriter, in my Grandmother's basement. It was 1972. There were at least 20 drafts. White out and delete were not invented yet.


Each time I would carefully peck away on the old machine I would near the completion of the work and BANG, I would make a typo and start again. I wanted it to be perfect when I presented it to my Mom. My obsession with trying to do things "perfectly" had gotten a hold of me already.


The book is not perfect. As I read through it, I can say with confidence that it is an interesting read. I also see that I have a penchant for run on sentences, and should use more commas. You can see the growth in my writing abilities as the book progresses. It reflects my growth as a man.


I decided to leave things raw to show my metamorphosis from hopelessness to confidence. Soul Parole (Volume 2)will be more polished. I am grateful to have written all of it. The conception of the book was created, right here. I am humbled by the fact that "Every Day Is A Gift," is read in 62 countries world wide. When I see that a thousand people are reading the blog each month when I am writing so few assures me that I am touching hearts.


I hope people will look at my story from the perspective of overcoming fear. It is not an alcoholic manual. That has been written already. I hope that earthlings see that it is about victory over the things that hold us back from achieving our dreams, or conquering the fears that paralyze us.


Sharing accounts of failed marriages, addiction to darned near everything, and explaining how THIS addict reacts to life was unfurled. It was difficult to put some of those intimate details to paper, but I am glad I had the courage to do just that.


You can do anything with hope, faith and the hand of a friend. Take it from this 46 year old goof who didn't free himself from the bondage of fear until he was 43. I did not do my first film or commercial until I was 44. There are no age restrictions on catching your dreams. Go out and grab what you were meant to do! FEAR is the only thing that is holding you back.


I guarantee that if you put 10 percent of the effort into working on how YOU CAN catch your dreams, versus the 90 percent that you spend THINKING YOU CAN'T, you will be amazed with the results. At the very least, you can walk away with one less obsession and one less regret.


Don't leave any cards on the table. Nobody lays on their deathbed wishing they had made an extra hundred bucks. Many do bemoaning regrets and sadness over the things they DIDN'T do while here. We are all messengers. God gave us ALL gifts to share with the world. I hope people like Soul Parole. The sales will help many.  I have one less regret on the table and another dream realized.


Go out and DO IT! The only thing you have to lose is your fear.


God Bless you ALL for supporting the blog and helping me grow in my sobriety and life. You made it happen. I just wrote it down.

"Listen To What The Man Said" - McCartney

Happy Father's Day to all the dads out there. I extend those well wishes to the mothers, who have to wear both hats, due to circumstance or happenstance. This past Father's Day was one filled with mixed emotions for me. If the tone of this entry seems rife with self pity, it is not. I am grateful for where I am at on my journey.

Over the last few years, Squeaky and I have made it a tradition to visit Montana Charlie's on Father's Day. Charlie's could be called a flea market. It is different than most, because there are more new items for sale, than used.

Steamy weather has made our visits a tradition as well. Over the last couple of years it has been scorching hot as we walk the aisles of the fair grounds. We search out our favorite spots, haggle over a few items all the while wilting away. Soon after, one of us calls it quits. Then we high tail it to the car for the chilled  breeze of  the air conditioned car.

I started the day burdened by a melancholy that hung around my neck like an albatross. It is the second Father's Day without my Pop. It wasn't easier than last year. My feelings of loss and longing for his company sets itself deeper within me on each passing day.

I was taken back to Father's Day 2010. It was 6 weeks before his death. On that day, as we visited, I knew it was going to be our last together. He would enter hospice just a few weeks later. I don't know if the sudden loss of someone you care about hurts worse than knowing that the end is imminent. It was my  second sober holiday, and the clarity of the situation was hard to process. I was, and am, grateful that I felt all of it. Going to any length to avoid feelings was my M.O. for years.

While we scanned the aisles of Charlie's for spices and jewelry I had another moment of clarity. A couple of years earlier we ran into my Dad, and my Second Mom. He was decked out in a Bears shirt with goofy shorts, and white tube socks that went halfway up to his knees. My Pop was not a fashionista. I guess I'm not either.

On that particular day we weren't talking on a regular basis. We had a disagreement a few months earlier and he had put the freeze on me. My dad was always right, even when he wasn't. He never let the facts get in the way of his opinions. We made small talk, for a moment or two, and went our separate ways. I remember vividly looking down the aisles for him as we worked our way through the maze of people.

I had forgotten about that until yesterday. It fell on me like bricks. The heat of the sun mixed with the flashback sent me reeling with anxiety. Squeaky looked at me as if she was reading my mind. She held me as tears dripped from my burning eyes.

When I sprinkled part of his ashes at Soldier Field shortly after his death, I bought a Bears hat from the 1963 Championship Team. I told Squeaky it was to be my last Bears hat. I never wanted her to buy another one for me again. It sits in my office next to the two Bears hats my dad wore the most.

Squeaky knows me like no one else ever has. I suppose it's because I let her in to my heart. She can read me like flashcards for a third grader. We are connected. As we broke our embrace I looked left and spotted a Chicago Bears mug, not less than five feet away. We gave each other the look and I bought it on the spot. We dispensed of the ritual haggling and simply bought the mug. It was to remember my pop.

Being a step dad on Father's Day is an experience in itself. Even though I live with Bro, see Sunny often and hear from Hemingway regularly I am not DAD. Throughout the day I waited for them to call or text. I reflected on their younger days when I was an angry insecure jerk. I wished I could take every moment back and have a "do over," like when we were kids playing baseball in the school yard.

I tried to shake the darkness from me on such a bright day but it clung to me like plastic wrap on a bologna sandwich. As I pulled free from one side, the other flipped back to cling on again. I knew I had to think my way out of the situation. My feelings were getting the best of me. I took my mug and we headed for home.

When I returned home and switched on my computer there was a message from Hemingway. She said she loved me and I fell apart like a two dollar watch. Out of all the kids, I wish I could have the years of her late teens back to give it another approach. I was unbearable. She is an amazing woman. Later in the day I got texts from Bro and Sunny. My day was almost complete.

Mouse, my youngest daughter, is still AWOL from my life. She is twelve. I am not sure where her mother has taken her to. I have to be patient. I know in GOD'S time it will work out. Maybe it won't. I will endure whatever outcome I face sober. I am ready to take her back into my arms in a minute. My years of alcohol abuse has left her mother angry and I'm sure few positive remarks are made about me to her.

In recovery I have encountered many people trying to repair the damage of their past. I am troubled by those who say, "I will NEVER apologize or FORGIVE them!" Those are hard words to swallow after being so easily spit out. I would pay a million bucks to have my dad repeat all the things I ignored as a kid. I long for his laughter. I miss his stories that he repeated ad infinitum.

Life is short. Wounds can be difficult to heal. Scars remain. I plan on leaving this earth with a few scars and no open wounds. Anger and resentment is too overwhelming. Being right doesn't have to be the end game. I have said it a million times, like my dad would. Don't leave any regrets on the table. Swallowing your pride is easier than choking on your tears. I have learned that facing problems is easier than living with the ones you'll never have the chance to fix....

Soul Parole: Making Peace With My Mind, GOD And Myself, with Foreword by Tom Dreesen and Epilogue by David Brenner, will be available July 7, 2012. Look for it on Amazon, Amazon Europe and Kindle. Personalized copies will be available at soulparole.com.


         Proceeds will benefit Chicago Area Addiction, Homeless and Mental Health facilities

Stop My Mind...I Want To Get Off!

This is a chapter from Soul Parole: Making Peace with My Mind, GOD and Myself. It will be available at soulparole.com, AMAZON and on Kindle. Proceeds from the book will benefit Chicago Area addiction, mental health facilities and homeless shelters.

I have spoken openly about being Bi-Polar. Because of my condition, I can never turn my mind. Through therapy I have learned to slow it down. My thoughts only run at 100 miles per hour, instead of 500. My thoughts have no punctuation. The chapter takes place over 2 minutes.

This is a chapter about the night before I was to attend the funeral for a dear friend. If you need help with depression, reach out. You are not alone....

My Thoughts Are Racing And I Can't Catch Up To Them

You are about to enter my mind! If you are prone to motion sickness you might want to reconsider before boarding...

I've fallen asleep on the couch reading a book by Uta Hagen. I am just on the edge of consciousness because I rarely get "deep sleep," and when I do sleep I’m easily woken. The sound of a mouse fart will sit me up straight, wide eyed, and mind racing. Since the passing of my sweet friend Debbie on Christmas, my racing mind is kicking up the RPM's. There is no punctuation in my mind. There will be little here.

I shake from my delicate slumber as my lab is nudging my arm. He needs to go out. What time is it? Only 1:05? I'm not getting up until four! Damn dog!  "LA Woman, LA Woman!" You know he only wakes you when he really has to go! "LA Woman, LA Woman." She was only forty-three! Come on, guys, let’s go out! Why her? Make it quick boys! Come on! "Grace, stay out of the deep snow! They better not wake up my Squeaky. She's getting up in three hours. "Ridin, Ridin...." Hurry up, Grace! I wonder if she was in pain? Don't forget their treats. Am I afraid to die? "LA Woman, LA Woman." Grace needs a grooming. Quiet! Quiet! "I did a little dot about an hour ago..." What should I wear to the service? What should I wear when I've died? I wonder if a lot of people will come to my funeral? She was only forty-three! I'm forty-five! SHHHH, you guys go back to bed. "Ridin, Ridin...Ridin, Ridin.” I wonder if death hurts? I have to mail out submissions tomorrow. Grace, you have snow all over you! Cooter, you're a good girl! What was that feeling in my chest just now? A heart attack! I'm gonna die right here in the kitchen! "Which way the wind blows," Lord, don't let me die here! Not now! Grandpa was thirty-nine when he died of a grabber. I look just like him. Maybe I'll just wear a sweater and Dockers! "La Woman, LA Woman..." Check your pulse. Just put two fingers up to the side of your throat! No more treats! You guys are done for the night. God, I love you! "Ridin, Ridin..." I have got to get more sleep! My pulse seems normal! Wait, was that an irregular heartbeat? Man, I hate this cold weather! She was so cool. I think I'll be cremated. Those submissions should be sent to the agents by certified mail! "Ridin, Ridin." What if the kids die before me? If I do die, Lord, let it be quick! Squeaky is gonna be a mess! How will she get through it? The service starts at three o’clock. I will leave the house at two forty-five. "Well I did a little dot about an hour ago." I still have a couple hours to sleep. I better put an aspirin on the coffee table in case I do have a heart attack! Aspirin is supposed to help. I remember when we went to the banquet with her! "Ridin, Ridin...” I love her and miss her. I wonder if people will miss me? A sweater is cool! I need to pay my respects, not interview for a job! "Woooooooh." Now I think my heart is beating too slow! Check your neck again! "LA Woman, LA Woman. It's only 1:08. Go lay down guys. Grace, you are looking pudgy! I should put you guys on a diet! Maybe it's just her long hair? I think I'll be cremated in my Lennon shirt. No the Dylan! If I have a heart attack now, will I still be alive when my wife wakes? I'm going to take the aspirin now just in case. I gotta get up in a couple hours! "LA Woman, LA Woman..." It's still 1:08!