There is an old adage hung on young baseball players who are entering their second year in the bigs. It's called the Sophomore Slump. It is a reference to players having career setbacks in their second season. Some go through it, some do not. Most of them have some growth, and a few setbacks.
July 21, 2012 marked the second anniversary of my father's death. Ironically the official release of my book SOUL PAROLE is this weekend the 28th. I didn't plan for it to work out that way. The day was based on the publishing date and hall availability. The exact time of Dads' death was 7:27pm.
I decided to write about how I'm feeling a few days before the weekend. I was thinking that his passing was this weekend at 7:21 pm. Thinking of dad, and my mental mix-up is eye opening. My melancholy has been replaced with shock that I had dropped the ball.. I could cry on a dime. When I think about the friends who are coming out to support the book launch, I could cry on that same dime. The first is born from a loss. The second a mark of accomplishment. The reconciliation and personal success was a direct result of teamwork. For this whole week I've been thinking his death was on 7-27-10 at 7:21pm. I was scheduled to do an interview on the 27th. I made a mental note that it was ironic to be honoring his memory on that date. I thought Pop would think it was pretty cool.
I wrote about my Pop in Soul Parole: Making Peace with My Mind, GOD and Myself quite a bit. It was a natural. Although we only lived under the same roof for the first two years of my life we were together quite a bit as I grew up. I yearn to hear his unmistakable laugh. I have been so busy, I flipped the date with the time of his passing.
I often write about starting over. We can do it any day, or moment, we choose. Before the Big Bopper moved on to the Isle of Green in the heavens I was given the gift ofgrace before his passing. My despair would be doubly compounded if I had not squared the wreckage of my past with him before he moved on. I am glad he is at peace. I am grateful the book was closed free of regrets.
It is easy to conjure up smells that please us, and some we would love to forget. When you read the words buttered popcorn and burning leaves, the aroma immediately wafts into your mind and nose. They are permanently burned into our honkers. The same can be said for dead skunk. Our snouts have uncanny recall.
My Dad had a smell that was unique to him. I'm recalling it now. They say we are dirty Irish but that refers to mixed blood lines, not personal hygiene. It seems our clan got an extra chromosome of oily hair and skin. With it comes it's own. The smell our hyper oil output creates is not foul. It is just one of those smells I can recall like popcorn and leaves. I have the same condition sans the unique smell. If the day comes that I do, I will know I have lived a rich life, and be reminded of my Pop daily.
When I received the initial shipment of books from the publisher I ripped open the first one like a kid at Christmas. The smell of cardboard, and new book surrounded me. I bathed in it. I felt contentment as I gazed upon the piles of my creation. It was burned into the "never forget" smell file.
There was a time when I thought I had written a book. I now see that my Dad and friends wrote it with me. I just held the pen. There are at least 100 of my friends nestled in the pages. Each one of them should be listed as contributors. I do mention several of them in the Special Thanks section. If I listed all the people who have touched and enriched my life, it would read like the family trees from the Old Testament.
Last weekend I was relaxing in my garage after work and was enjoying the sights and smells of a mid summer night evening. I could hear the calls of frogs and cicadas. The wind was whispering and a few of the neighborhood dogs were taking claim of the night. Their howls were like challenges between canine warriors. I was just taking it all in.
For a moment THAT smell wafted around me. I turned quickly to see if he was standing behind me. I called Squeaky into the garage. She said she didn't notice. I would like to think he was there. It lingered for about a minute or so. I called out and told him I missed him. I could imagine his pride in how far I have come in recovery and life. The smells I longed for disappeared as quickly as they had befallen me. It was the 21st.
We all have goals we want to achieve. There are people whom reside in the dark places in our hearts. This is called the human experience. How we approach them is unique to the individual. Fear can paralyze us from even attempting to catch our dreams. Difficult, and often deeply seeded pains can keep us from trying to reconcile with loved ones. We get busy, and say we'll get to it.
Nothing compares to the liberation you feel when you reach out for a goal or mend a relationships broken fences. I'd rather live at peace with the world than fight to be right. I would rather try and fail, than never try at all. Regrets are living through the retching of daily self poisoning, without death...ad infinitum.
I don't think anyone would say that facing the pink elephants trapped in our souls is easy. It is rewarding, or creates closure on the poison drinking. I know I have a better day when I'm free of the anxiety of fear and resentment. My moods are directly proportionate to how much good or bad energy I'm adding to the cosmos.
It's never to late to become a new you. The Beatles nailed it in Tomorrow Never Knows. This weekend will be filled with mixed feelings and conflicting emotions. No matter how I feel I will be contented by the fact that I am reaching for the stars and mending life's fences. There will forward progress and some failures. In either case, I am cleaning up my side of the street. My Dad would laugh at the fact that I flipped the date and times. I say good night to him every time my head hits the pillow.
Learning to say "Never Say Never," is an attitude. I like keeping my mind open. I also know that "missing the bus" is a reality. I hit the sophomore slump with my revised calendar. It's time to get back to the fundamentals, and start over. In the past I have said that I would give anything to hear my Dad repeat the things I ignored as a kid. If he could talk to me again I know he would say, "Good job kid." I would look back and say, "Thanks Dad. I gave it my best. I couldn't have done it without you." I think about you every day...
SOUL PAROLE: Making Peace with My Mind, GOD and Myself is on sale NOW at Amazon.com and Amazon Europe. Personalized copies can be purchased through PAYPAL at tommyconnolly.com by clicking the link at the top of the page.
Proceeds benefit Chicago Area addiction, homeless and mental health programs.
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