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SOUL PAROLE: Making Peace with My Mind, GOD and Myself

Amazon-Kindle-soulparole.com MARCH-2012

Step Parent? Stepson? There Are NO Steps, Only Parents and kids...

Sometimes I think there should be a recovery program for being a stepparent, or the child of one. I am both. It has been both the most difficult and rewarding experience of my life, more so than my battle with addiction and recovery.

The word "STEP" in front of “parent” or ‘child’ is as ridiculous as the term "holy war," or "amicable divorce,” because it implies a barrier between the parent and child and sets up a preconceived notion of separation between the two. When someone mentions, “stepmother,” I remember poor Cinderella being run ragged by hers. As for "stepfather,” I think of those horror movies where the guy is all cheesecake and smiles when his wife is in the room and pure evil when he's alone with her child.

My first experiences with a "stepparent" happened when I was six. I thought my father’s new wife was pretty and polite, but she brought along three daughters. I was the only boy, so I was either the lucky one or the odd man out. There were feelings of envy and jealousy at the thought of sharing my father, but I think that is pretty normal for a little kid. I also had a "stepfather," for a short time, and he would be a good candidate for the nasty character I described earlier in this posting.

After enduring the loss of two children to miscarriage in my previously failed marriages, I was angry with God for not giving me kids of my own. I prayed over and over, but the answer was always, “No,” or so I thought at the time. Little did I know He had a plan for my life, and when he didn't follow "my" plan, I thought I was getting a raw deal. My father never called his new wife's daughters "step," just daughters. I noted that early on, and it made a lasting impression on me.

When I moved in with Squeaky, I became "instafather." The position has advantages and definite disadvantages. When things were great it was, "I love you DA!" When things weren't so good, the ever popular, "You aren't my Dad!" flew like death darts. I would be less than honest if I didn't point out I pulled the same trump card early in our marriage with comments like, "YOUR Daughter “and “YOUR Son...."

As a parent to my kids, I have made lots of mistakes, both when I was drunk and when I was sober, and I always will because I am human. However, there were benefits from my “dad once removed, DNA-free relationship with my kids.” When they were small, I told them they had a father, and I wasn't trying to replace him. They adopted an affectionate nickname the Irish use, “DA,” instead of the American "Pa.” I told them they could talk to me as a friend, rather than their dad, but that I wanted their respect as the man of the house and their mother's husband.

I have different relationships and memories with each of them. I was there for Bro's first day of school. I will never forget his adorable look of excitement mixed with a touch of terror as I left him behind on that first day of kindergarten. Bro has referred to me as his DA and stepdad, depending on his entourage, and I am comfortable with either title. I know he loves me.

My middle daughter, Sunny was, and is, close to her father. Once, when Sunny and I were at a doctor's office, a man commented that she "looked just like me." We smiled and thanked him for his kind words, then laughed our butts off in the car at the congenital comparison. We had many challenges during our years of growing up together. Now we are the best of friends.

Hemingway, my oldest, calls me, “Dad,” and that makes me feel good. I was proud to take Hemi to the "Daddy/Daughter" dance her senior year. Her father has little interest in her, but I hope that changes some day. I will be happy to share her with him, but she will always be “Daddy's little girl” to me.

Growing up, my relationship with my "stepmother" was up and down. She was patient and always cordial to me, but I could sense her frustration because I always ran to Daddy when I was in a pinch or needed money. She was the “tough love” type, so I’m sure my frequent requests caused disagreements between Dad and her. I am grateful my father assisted me, yet, in my addictive manipulation, I often took advantage of his willingness to help.

During my father's illness (He was in the hospital nine times during the last two years of his life), my second mom and I grew very close. We spoke freely of my addictions and the challenging personality my father brought to their relationship. She loved him, and I could see why he spent his life with her. Today we are close friends, and I love her deeply.

If you are a "stepparent" I feel ya! If you are not, please don't judge us until you have walked a block in our shoes. I do not see my biological daughter as much as I would like to, but that is a story for another day. That will work itself out in God's time. I have two mothers, four sisters and four kids. There are no "steps" between us.

God often gives us what we want; it's just not the way "we" want it. I am blessed to be a second father to my wife's kids, and I have adopted my father's policy of no "steps" when I speak of them. Dad, thanks for the life lesson. I miss you! God, thanks for giving me the children. I have given up on trying to figure you out, but am grateful you understand me….

Parents Just Don't Understand

I remember when I was growing up, and my parents did something wrong, I thought it was high treason punishable by death! If I did something wrong, it was just a mistake and should be forgotten. For some strange reason, I thought parents weren't human. No. Humans went in one column, parents went in another. They were held to a strict double standard.

They were to dismiss my wrongs. I licked up theirs like an all day sucker. I kept a mental diary of all of their faults. Some were hurtful actions and failings, others were just resentments I held against them for not seeing things MY WAY. They had no feelings! I wasn't to be held accountable or judged based on my behavior! I knew everything! My screw ups were different!

As parents we don't keep lists. We have been where our kids are. They think we were hatched, or beamed down from a distant galaxy... just before THEY were born. When we share our experiences with them they look at us as old fashioned, preachy and hypocritical. They say, "times are different now," and that "they just don't understand." Advice burns like hot pokers in their ears. I remember that those hot pokers burnt mine closed for years.

Parents see things from both sides of the fence. Sometimes we are the good cop, on other days the bad one. We too, reflect on things we wish we had handled differently during our kids tender years. We also see where we were wrong in our youth. Some incidents trouble us greatly. We wish we could have a mulligan. Time makes memories clearer when we take an honest look back at what we have said and done. There are regrets for actions taken, and those that were not.

Each of us has a mental time freeze on an age our parents never out grow.  My parents were frozen at around thirty five. When they reached their sixties, I was shocked! I wondered what had happened to their calendars? Theirs didn't match mine! My God! They're old!

 Sometime around thirty, I started seeing my folks as humans. I realized that much of the advice they offered was right. I began to see that my perceptions of their wrongful actions were based on their fear for my safety and guidance. They had not been hatched. They moved into the human column with a parental asterisk. They really did know a lot about life. They weren't clueless.

I understood that they really had already experienced the pains and tribulations of growing up. I had been a bit hypocritical in my assessment of them. They had parents! Grandma and Grandpa had a couple as well!

I did make mistakes as a kid and parent. I still do. Check that! As a human being, sometimes I fail. I know we each share common ground in our victories and failures. I know there is no double standard... we all try our best....

SOUL PAROLE: Making Peace with My Mind, GOD and Myself is on sale NOW at Amazon.com and Amazon Europe and Kindle. Personalized copies can be purchased at tommyconnolly.com by clicking the link at the top of the page. 

Proceeds benefit Chicago Area addiction, homeless and mental health programs.

In The Navy and Outta My Mind!

Shortly before turning 40 in 2004 I joined the United States Naval Reserves, based out of Great Lakes Naval Station, Great Lakes, Illinois. Assigned to command NPSTRU 1326, Unit 87740, I came in at a Rank of SA(SN). The unit is made up of men and women who did not serve in the NAVY or RESERVE. Once you are trained you are attached to a unit and the ships, bullets and wars are the same. I had almost joined the Army at 18 but my family convinced me to try college first. At forty the Navy was the only branch that took an enlisting man of my age. This has changed as the wars of Iraq and Afghanistan have stretched the regular troops and Guard thin.

I scored very high on my ASVAB test and rushed for entry. I was not attached to a specific job specialty as my test score was so high. I went in general classification. I was in the complete grip of my over indulgence for booze and depression and was hammered when I signed on the line for Uncle Sam. My recruiter was a good man. His job is to recruit sailors, not smell their breath. I answered his questions honestly about the many broken bones, mishaps and dark spots I had encountered along the way to that day. He helped me fill out the paperwork in an acceptably worded manner.

I was in no physical or psychological shape to be a sailor. My heart was! I was not pro-war. In fact I was anti-war and pro-freedom. I do love America! At that time I thought we were spending too much treasure on Iraq and not enough on Afghanistan. After all, that is where those responsible for the 911 attack had come from. I also knew that there was oil and strategic advantages to a war in Iraq. That is one of the sad facts of war. They are fought for ideals and additional contingencies. No matter what you think about it, we all like to drive cars and Iraq is right next to Iran, a genuine threat under the current regime. I was joining to help protect the freedom of my son's sons.

I reported and was thrown head first into military life. Most of the officers were younger than me. A few of them saluted me thinking I was an officer in my Civies. The base was like a self contained town. You didn't need to leave the gated area to find a pizza, bowling alley, bar or a bottle. I found a few of those. They put you up in hotel-like rooms instead of barracks for monthly training. I would drink enough to get my nerves satisfied but not too much that I couldn't handle PT or classroom study the next day.

Running was almost impossible. I have broken my right ankle 3 times and my left knee is shot from sports. My panic attacks were occurring regularly and I was realizing that although my patriotism was that of a 25 year old, my body was that of a 50 plus year old. That was due to the abuse I had put it through. I stuck it out for a year. At some point along the way I realized I could not handle it physically or emotionally. I also didn't want to put a brother sailor or soldier at risk because I wasn't up for the mission and was falling apart upstairs and downstairs.

I called my recruiter and explained that the ankle and physical ailments that plagued me were really taking a toll on me. The unit allowed for an administrative separation. It broke my heart. I am still technically under contract until April of 2012. This is the first time I have really spoken or wrote in detail about the experience. For a long time I felt like a failure, like I let my country down by not being able to cut it.

I know if I had been more forthright in my application they never would have taken me in the first place. To this day I am still uncertain if I am supposed to check off "veteran" or "military service" on applications. I have never tried to take advantage of any program the government offers veterans because I did not complete my contract. I left the service "honorably" by the paperwork but not by my "code book."

I am proud of that year now. I owe it to Fred Tormey, a high school friend, former U.S. Marine and current Arizona police officer. I still gave a year. I still gave it my best for that year. I took a risk that many will not or could not. My family thought I was nuts. My wife knows how I feel about this country now and forever. America is the greatest place on Earth. Our freedoms can lead us down some destructive paths but we are free. I can write this book. I can go where I please. I have the right to be me.

In my year I learned why guys re-up and go back for another tour in Hell after they just got out of it. They have left family there, dead and alive. When you are with your unit, your family becomes everyone in the units' family and vice-versa. You literally have each others backs. When one falls or leaves it creates a break in the chain that makes it feel strange or wrong for a while. I never saw action but I did see the brotherhood.

Do me a favor, not just this weekend. I do this every time I see a Vet. I don't care if you hate war. If you like your freedom, Starbucks and the right to say f**k the president, then follow my instructions. Pass this on to your kids. When you see a Vet, walk up to them no matter how young or old they are and say "Thank you for serving our country." That will mean a lot to them. Shake their hand and feel the rough grip of war. Look into the tired eyes of combat. Stop and realize that these fine young men and women are part of an all VOLUNTEER military. They are part of the greatest fighting force protecting the FREEDOM of not only the USA, but giving hope to millions around the world.

God Bless America and the World.

How are YOU?

3:30am. I'm painfully awake. My head is pounding with dehydration and demons. They're not the little red guys with horns and a trident tail. They jab at me though. They never stop.They are my demons, created by my fears and wrong choices. They were forged from broken hearts and failures, pains of my making, and agony handed to me by everyone's reality. They never sleep. Sometimes they let me catch a nap. Then they poke at me in my dreams. They must not sleep, because they are always there to wish me hell-o daily. They are a constant in my life beyond the booze and misery.


I have to get up and shower. My terry cloth diaper didn't hold again. I'm drenched in my own urine. It has grown cold, and leaves me shivering to the bone. The maid must hate me. Cleaning my room must be the job for the new girl. The tiny transient motel I know as home is the litmus test for the intestinal fortitude of the new hires. I don't feel bad for them. The dozens of roaches that cover me at night, and shoot into secret corners when I turn on the lights, have dulled me into apathy. I don't hate them. They know it. They taunt me as I splatter them on the wall. I leave their guts there for the others to see. It doesn't matter they have legions to replace my wall mosaic.

I have become one of them, crawling from the darkness, feeding on the garbage people have left behind. Poison has no effect on my body. I ingest it nightly. I sometimes run my fingers through my thinning hair convinced that the tiny feelers are sprouting from my head. They are survivors. I am a survivor, if not a hanger on. They are immune to the barely lit room I inhabit. Light hurts my eyes and lightens up the darkness of my world too much for me to witness. They scurry about ignoring me. I am no threat to them. I am either drunk, working, passed out or too sick to care about their invasion.

I slip in my own vomit as I move to hose myself down. I don't remember being sick. I've blacked out again. Blackouts scare and delight me. I come to, day after day, with strange objects in my room, bruises on my body. There's more or less money in my pockets than when I left the cave that night. I am grateful for not remembering, like my gratitude for a sale on vodka or cheap beer. Bloody knuckles usually mean I was shooting my mouth off the night before, or punished someone for shooting off theirs.

Sometimes I find a woman in my bed. I don't remember her name or where she's from. I don't care. I know why she's there. I hope her expectations weren't high when we stumbled back to my palace. I am useless as a lover when I'm drunk. I may have hurt her feelings by my impotency. I don't remember. I would have made it perfectly clear when I picked her up at the bar that I only wanted sex. I do also find comfort in sharing a bed with someone as lost as I am. I dread it when they wake up. I hate morning conversation, especially with people whom I don't know what to call or where they are from. I usually kick them out before I pass out to prevent the uncomfortable morning chit chat.

I turn on the cold shower and rinse the piss and puke from my body. The freezing water dulls my headache and offers a brief taste of sobriety. I watch the roaches enjoying the mess I have left on the floor. I wash my self scrubbing and tearing at my flesh. No matter how hard I try I can't wash myself off of me. I shave with shaking hands and aching soul in the cold water. The cheap razor tugs at my face. When I feel the dirt of the day is gone I dry off. First my hair, then my back, then my front and legs. There is only one more thing to do, comb my hair. I squint through blood shot eyes like two piss holes in the snow. I neaten my thinning hair and look away. I don't like mirrors, and won't look at another one until morning. I hate what I see. I know what I am. I don't like seeing the reminders a mirror offers the onlooker. Today is just another dose of yesterday.

The Sounds of Silence

I LOVE YOU...Wonderful When Heard...Stinging When Withheld...

I love you. It is such a simple phrase. A powerful one at that. It can hold you together. It can make you fall apart. I say it every day to my Wife. I say it every day to my Children and my friends. I say it to the World and mean it. There are times it is said in passing like a tip of the hat. The times it can have the deepest impact are the times it's not said.

Growing up my Grandmother's rarely, if ever used these words. They were of a different generation I guess. Both were strong women from tough backgrounds and challenging lifes lived. I knew they loved me. To hear it spoken wasn't so. A scribble in a birthday card nestled next to a crisp five dollar bill was as close to the deed as they got.

In my drinking and using days I threw "I love you's" around like raindrops. They landed upon any young woman who was the object of my desire. I desperately wanted to feel love because I felt so badly about myself. I was a love junkie. I was always the first to say those three little words. I see now how empty and shallow it was. Those are sacred words. To me they are the definition of God himself.

As I have matured and grown in my sobriety I have noticed a terrible habit that I have picked up from some of my family members. That is the intentional omission of the words I love you. To me that is more harmful than a half hearted utterance of the phrase. After a disagreement with my wife when reaching a resolution to our conflict, upon her saying an "I love you" to me there have been times where I have replied, "luv ya," or "ditto." Most likely because I was pouting or things weren't resolved to MY satisfaction.

There have been times when ending a phone conversation she says, "I love you" as she utters her goodbye, and I merely say goodbye. This is truly a sad statement about my conduct and a reflection on what a big dumb baby I can be sometimes. I love my Wife to the center of my being. Why in the name of GOD would'nt I take every single opportunity to let her know that?

I know how bad it makes me feel when I tell someone I love them and they don't say it back to me. To do the same thing to others is just continuing a cycle that is fruitless and cold. Love is the most beautiful thing that we have in this world and should never be taken for granted. I would hate to walk away from someone knowing I held back those words in my selfishness and never see them again.

I know I can be corny. I know I can be a dork, but I really believe that the whole problem with this big ball we are spinning on is that we are moving away from hugging each other to getting wrapped up in ourselves. That "meism" might be our downfall. I have so much to learn about myself. I am glad that I can see where I am wrong and try to change things. I know I don't have to be the guy I was yesterday or an hour ago.

All You Need Is LOVE was such a simple Lennon song. Almost nursery rhyme like in its' structure the songs' simplicity is right on the Money. If all you need is love when someone gives me what I need I damn well owe it to them to give them what they need. Right?

Chasing Serenity, the Clouds and the Corn Row Runners...

Serenity is one of those words that has the feel of the word wrapped up in itself. Words like agitate make my tongue live the definition as it lurches uncomfortably through the three syllables. Caress soothes my mind and body as I utter the invitingly crafted letters. When I say the word serenity I feel the lightness of the elusive term just barely hovering on my lips tranquilly coaching me to comfort.

I have known moments of serenity. I enjoy them as much as anything I have ever experienced. The feeling of being completely at peace with myself, my creator and my universe is like nothing else. The paradox is that serenity is like a drug in itself. Now that I have had fleeting glimpses of it I want more. My whole problem with myself and my conflict with the real world is my desire for ME and MORE and NOW!

The harder I chase serenity, the farther it seems to be from me. I remember when I was a kid and I would be riding in the backseat of the car staring at the clouds. As the car would be going along I would pick out a cloud and wait for the car to catch it. No matter how fast we went, no matter how long I stared, the cloud always seemed to be just out of reach. Then suddenly we had passed it by.

 I also raced the corn row runners. If you lived in corn country as a child you know the corn runners. When you drive by great spanses of cornfields and stare at the rows of corn they seem to come alive. The rows begin to take the shape of legs and begin to run. No matter how many fields you pass corn runners never tire. They just keep on going. They either are just in front of you or right along side of you. they can run all day and into the evening, as long as the shadows are just right.

 I would compare it to taking a pad of paper and making an animation. You start on the first page. Draw a circle, turn the page. Draw the circle again slightly lower on the page. Continue page by page until the circle hits the bottom of the page and you reach the end of the pad of paper. Now flip the pages through your fingers and the ball magically becomes an animated bouncing ball. I used to do this for hours on end with clouds, corn runners and many pads of paper.

Serenity is defined by the American Heritage Dictionary as, "Clear," "Tranquil," "Unruffled" and "Unclouded." I was surprised by the definition when I read it. I though it would be much more mystical and Dali Lama like. That is how things tend to go for me when I "pre-decide" how outcomes should be. They rarely live up to the billing or grand notion my mind has erected. People and their lives, feelings, choices and reactions keep getting in the way of my big picture.

I have come to realize that serenity, for me, isn't a chosen, conscious feeling or experience. It happens when it happens. Usually when I go with the flow and let things be. What I shoot for now is "surrenderty." I can make that happen or end up with that agitation I mentioned way back at the top. I can choose to be happy to a point in life. People don't MAKE us happy we allow them to make us that way. The same can be said for unhappy, angry and all the rest of the positive or negative emotions that come with human interaction.

I know this for a fact because there are times when my wife has called me a co******er and it didn't phase me. I laughed in fact. On another occasion she called me a "Drama Queen" and I almost filed for divorce. It's all in how I decide to accept and surrender to the people and circumstances who are in my reality that are going to determine my serenity or lack of it. I look forward to when it comes again.

For now I am grateful to have moments of serenity and a philosophy of "surrenderty." I will still chase clouds and dreams. I will still watch the corn runners keeping pace alongside my car. I don't waste the paper I did drawing those bouncing balls in crude animation. I am lucky to be a part of real films and television. I know one thing for sure. If I think I can control outcomes, run other people's lives and worry my way to serenity, I'll never even catch a glimpse of it. Thanks God for giving me the wisdom to realize how little I know....and finally realizing I don't need to... 

Another preview from Soul Parole 2: I Was and I AM!

This is a first draft (like all my blogs)

We all have fears! Plug in your favorite....

BLUE......An Addict or Depression Sufferer's Favorite Color!

Just leave me alone! I just want to be alone. I need some time to myself. I'm just gonna chill tonight. I'm just tired today. I don't want to talk about it right now. There's nothing wrong, I just want to be by myself. All of these are favorites I use on family, friends and loved ones when I am in a depression rut. It is also a warning sign, or a cry for help, from someone suffering from depression or addiction and recovery.

"9 out of 10 Addicts and Depression Sufferers favorite color is BLUE! The last one's favorite is Dark Blue!" For the last week or so my favorite color has been BLUE. If I don't stop isolating, it will quickly turn to DARK BLUE! Then I am in the danger zone. There is quiet solitude, and there is also intentional isolation. Suffering from both depression and addiction, isolation is the first "friend" I turn to when I'm feeling BLUE.

Suffering from Depression really makes me sad sometimes. It is particularly frustrating when someone says, "Why are you so down," and I honestly don't have an answer for them. There is no answer because I don't know myself. A person with depression can be sitting on their own private island, with a winning lottery ticket and Beyonce rubbing their feet, and feel like crap. Depression is misunderstood by the sufferer and those around him.

Before I started writing this blog today I did some Internet research on "Famous" people who suffered from depression, or other forms of mental illness. I hate that phrase MENTAL ILLNESS! It implies that my brain has typhoid fever or malaria and I'm gonna spread it around the whole village, or go postal and wipe everyone out! No! I have a "Chemical Imbalance" in my noodle. The feel good chemicals up there just aren't produced as effectively in me as in "Normal" people. Can I stop and say that "Normal" people scare the hell out of me! I always think they're hiding something, like bodies under their "Family" room.

I always hear things like,"You're so funny, how can you be sad?" My favorite is,"How can you be a comic and suffer from depression." Those questions make me cringe, because my guess is as good as yours. Try these ones on for size. Jim Carrey suffers from Depression and Bi-Polar Disorder. Additional "funny people" who suffer from some form of depression are, Drew Cary, Robin Williams, Ben Stiller, Drew Barrymore, Tracy Ullman, Roseanne Barr, Spike Mulligan, Jonathon Winters and Louis Anderson. The Louis Anderson "Funny" reference is subject to reader interpretation.

"Funny People" aren't the only high profile people who suffer from these conditions. It has no prejudice or favorite "type" to grab on to. Beethoven, Abraham Lincoln, Thomas Edison, Teddy Roosevelt, Vincent Van Gogh and my favorite Beatle, John Lennon all suffered with depression issues. There were a total of 244 people listed on the celebrity menu of depression sufferers, that I am referencing from Google. Those folks seemed to get around it, and push forward. That is what we must do also. It does give me some comfort in knowing that there is a thin line between artistic genius and insanity. I'm not sure which side of that equation I fall. It just feels good knowing that I'm not alone.

"Alone!" "Now there's the rub!" When I am in a funk I want to be left alone. During those down times, while you see sunshine, I complain about the glare. Where you see a beautiful snow covered hill, I see the filthy slush on my street. While you see the wonders of the Chicago Skyline, I see the garbage in the alleys. The need to be alone occasionally, is important for anyone. To a person like me it can only be implemented for a short time or I will slip from "light blue," to "Dark Blue," to BLACK.

Nothing gets me out of a depression or funk better than forgetting about myself. Sitting alone listening to John Coltrane seems like a good idea but it leaves me alone with me! I have proven to myself over and over again that there are few things in this world that I can overcome ALONE. In recovery it means attending more recovery meetings and calling fellow addicts. It means turning off the Coltrane and turning up the Ramones! It means taking an interest in things outside of my mind intentionally. Sometimes I have to force it. I have to make myself engage with other people.

Knowledge is power, so I've heard, and by golly I believe it! As addicts and/or depression sufferers we tend to focus on the emotional side of our condition, and try to figure ourselves out. Emotions can lie or distort the facts. I have made it my mission to learn about my conditions from a medical and psychologically objective point of view. The more I know about why I tick the way I do, the easier it is to push past the funk. I used to analyze myself to death. Knowing the symptoms, triggers and SOLUTIONS to dealing effectively with my conditions, makes it easier to be me. I can experience negativity or downward depression and be confident that it is going to pass. I don't have to buy into the "whoa is me" mentality and go for the whole miserable depressive ride!

Surrender and acceptance of exactly who I am, is the start to making peace with my conditions. I am not a crazy drunken baby anymore. I am a person who suffers from a chemical imbalance, that I see a doctor for. I take medication to rebalance the chemicals in my melon. I go to places where there are other people just like me, who understand me and can help me through situations I can't handle alone. I have a family, loved ones and friends who I can share my feelings with. I have a God whom I can turn to at anytime and ask him to help me through whatever I am experiencing, and be confident that he will show me the way through it. Every obstacle and challenge I face no longer has to be a catastrophe as long as I am willing to reach out for help from someone else. My condition is reality. Suffering is an option....

God! I'm The Frog! (Soul Parole 2)

This is a sneak peek at SOUL PAROLE 2: I Was and I AM....

My world seems to be running at a frenetic pace lately. As a person with bipolar issues it always is at differing degrees inside my mind. Add my addiction issues and how I am working my recovery program and my melon can become a fun house. Not an actual house of fun. More like something that Stephen King would conjure up including the clowns everyone knows I'm SO fond of. At times my mind is like the center lane of the Dan Ryan at about 7:30 am and everyone is running late.

Professionally I am blessed beyond my wildest dreams. Soul Parole: Making Peace with My Mind, God and Myself is still on track to be released through Amazon/Kindle in mid November. I just finished a film called "Family" that is going to rock the festival world. "Chasing Hollywood," My first costarring film is premiering next week at the Naperville film festival. I have two films lined up back to back "The Fruit of Andersen Farm" shooting here in Chicago in October and "Beneath" Shooting in L.A. in November. As an actor I couldn't ask for more.

I have been speaking to civic groups about my story of addiction and depression and the list of appearance requests is growing. I am the Spokesman for this years "Rally Round Recovery 2011" in Will County taking place this weekend. All of my goals seem to be right on track. I feel I am doing the right things for the right reasons. I am grateful to be working with other people newly sober and facing depression and addiction issues. God is using me as a messenger. I am happy to be of service. I was a user, hostage taker, mind bender and scar tissue on this beautiful place we call earth for 28 years too long.

Squeaky whom I have put through the wringer emotionally, financially and everything else that ends with "LY"  is facing surgery Monday. They will be removing half of her right kidney. There is a mass at the top that is unusual. They will biopsy it for disease on the operating table due to its' positioning in her body. I will sleep by her side while she is there and we will get through this season and trial, no matter what the outcome. The doctors have assured us that the long term prognosis is great but there is always concern for this type of major invasive procedure.

I haven't written about it because I have had more questions than answers about the whole thing. Quite a bit of it has left me speechless. I have been supportive and there for her and have tried not to "Fix" things. As a recovering "Fixer" that takes a lot of work to keep a cork in my big fat pie hole. I used to always have an answer or an insecure need to provide one to people even when it wasn't solicited. When she told me she was scared the most brilliant thing I could come up with was that I was scared too. It was an honest answer and I think It's the best bit of husbandry I've done in a while.

I've had to pull over and cry. There have been calls to friends weeping like a fool gibbering that I knew I was powerless and it was in God's hands that I was scared witless. Recovery has taught me how to use new coping skills.I have had to walk out of the room so that I didn't fall apart like a cheap watch. Treating my depression and bipolar symptoms with a professional helps me recognize my own mood swings and emotions and adjust accordingly. There have been times when I have held her and we have fallen apart together. We turn to God in those moments and ask for strength.

The thing that gets me is that I tried to destroy myself a drink or drug at a time, over and over daily for 28 years. On one occasion I tried to do it all in one garage swan song. My faith is strong. I would be a liar if I didn't tell you that I don't get mad at God. I still want things my way. I always will. I probably have spoken about this before. I will undoubtedly again. I don't have to like the way things are in life. I only have to accept them to be reasonably happy and sane. I tried to fight reality for 28 years and it still did it's own thing it's own way. I just got high along the way because it wasn't my way.

The projects, films, speeches, books, jokes and ME things are on hold as of Monday. I am grateful that I can be there for MY WIFE. For the 12 years we have been together I couldn't always say that. I am human and there will be days in the future when I will fall short again. Monday will not be one of those days. Her days of recovery won't be those days. I will be there clear minded and at FULL attention. Sobriety gives me that gift and opportunity. Drunk I would call her mother and have her deal with it. That is the sad truth.

As I grow I ask God WHY less. That is good. I still ask sometimes. I don't know why he does what he does. I will find out someday when I reach the Great Woodstock Festival in the sky. What I can do is the next right things NOW. Sorries don't cut it any more. I will SHOW my wife my love for her through my actions not my intentions. It is my turn to take care of her.

I'm pretty sure that is how friendship and marriage is supposed to go. It's not a 50-50. One is strong when the other is weak. Marriage is a complimenting of each others strengths and weaknesses. One dog has to take the lead of the sled team each day. That dog changes depending on the situation. Both dogs keep the team and sled on track. I ask that you keep her in your prayers. She will be fine. She is Italian and from Berwyn. She'll probably grow a new kidney by the time we get home...

When Love Is Not Enough!

The pain and despair that comes with addiction is excruciating. Every day you wake up you feeling like hell and you know you are going to do the same thing that day. It's like there's a guy with a sledge hammer standing behind a door and even though you know he's there, you choose to open the door any way. The power of addiction is merciless, deceitful and doesn't care who you are. It just wants you to submit to it's every command - and you do.

Being through addiction, part of my recovery is trying to help others to recover and make it to the other side. As a recovering addict I have done the lying, cheating, stealing and manipulation that makes addiction possible. Being an alcoholic or addict is a 24 hour job. You are either trying to get high, getting high or suffering from the last high. The paradox of addiction is that it convinces you that you are not an addict. It also twists your mind into thinking that your family and the world are against you. It reassures you that giving in and getting high is your only path to peace.

There is a person very dear to me who I see slipping into the jaws of addiction. She is a daughter to me. Knowing the signs and games an addict plays is both a blessing and a curse. It's like you know the fastball is coming and you still strike out. The person I am speaking of is a beautiful girl. She is bright and intelligent and only 20 years old. She is completely lost.

When I used "checking out" of myself was required. I had no choice. For over 20 years I continuously opened the door and let the guy with the sledgehammer beat my brains in. I lost everything from my self respect to my family. Those losses just added fuel to the fire and more power to the addiction's constant reminder that it was my only friend. It wasn't until I truly thought I was losing my mind and going to die that I got help. Friends, family, strangers and God Almighty can't help an addict until they get tired of the guy with the sledgehammer beating them to death. I was thrown life preserver after life preserver and my denial let me drown for years.

It is so sad for me to look at her and see the patterns I am so familiar with. There have been threats, sob stories, broken promises and I'm sorries. The patterns are all the same. Only the faces and places change. I see the pain in her eyes and the self hate she has for herself. The self hate is the ultimate master of destruction and obsession for an addict. As life gets more chaotic, the greater the drive is to escape. It is hell on earth.

As a loved one you can make threats, try tough love, beg, spoil and play every game you can think of to get an addict to see reality just for that one second. Sometimes it works. Other times it doesn't. Alcoholism and addiction are the only diseases that tell you you're not sick, that you can quit at anytime. An addict thinks they know all the answers and everyone else is full of shite! Prayers are important. Setting a good example is right thinking. Loving the addict who is suffering is vital.

The reality check is that all of the solutions, combinations of them, love, anger, compassion and punishment, may or may not work. It's a crap shoot. Some times you roll a 7. Sometimes you roll box cars. There is no perfect solution. All of us suffer from terminal uniqueness. You can do your best and keep the faith. That is all.

I am going to see this lovely girl tomorrow night. I can share with her my love, experience, strength and hope. I can pray for her. I can tell her the stories of living on the street or having cockroaches crawling all over my body. Maybe something will stick. Maybe it won't. We can control our actions but we have no control over the outcomes. When she walks out the door she will be left with my love and words of support and the knowledge that I will always be there for her. Once she hits the streets it's just her and her addiction. Until the scale tilts from misery to recovery I must accept I can only do so much. I must also face the fact that her life is out of my control. Sometimes love is not enough to save a friend.
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When she walks out that door I will say "Sunny, I love you and I'm here for you."


SOUL PAROLE: Making Peace with My Mind, GOD and Myself is on sale NOW at Amazon.com and Amazon Europe. Please visit tommyconnolly.com by clicking the link at the top of the page.

Proceeds benefit Chicago Area addiction, homeless and mental health programs.

I had Amnesia...What was I Just Saying?

When I share a post about day to day life, I try to keep it real. I have done a fairly good job of that to date. I have been candid about my journey to today. I report my triumphs and tragedies, as well as the silly and the insane. In every entry I try to give a piece of myself to my readers to identify with.

When addiction is active in a household, roles are formed and the family adapts around the sick. Mom or Dad steps in and makes decisions on their own to cover for the user. Enablers are confused when the user gets sober because they no longer have a codependent partner. Kids who were pushed into becoming  grown ups prematurely, are suddenly given their chance to be kids again. The whole family dynamic is thrown into flux. Roles are redefined, and there are growing pains that go with that.

Early in my recovery I had the emotional I.Q. of a young adult. I will turn 47 shortly. Thirteen years ago I began a relationship with a woman who came equipped with three beautiful children. I instantly became a stepfather, a word I loathe. I dove in to my new position head first. For the first few years, there was no water in the pool. It was as if I decided to become a brain surgeon and started doing operations the next day. I was suffering from untreated alcoholism and had lots of issues to work through. I did not handle my new role very well. I have done my best with the job, but quite frankly, I don't really know what I'm doing sometimes.

When it comes to being a good husband and father consistently, I often slip into old thinking. That is an honest assessment of myself. I didn't have a traditional upbringing. I grew up in a single parent home. My mother worked very hard. My father had a family of his own. My sister went her way. I went mine. My grandparents were our neighbors. They were caught in the middle.From my late teens on, we were pretty much on our own. That's not a knock on anyone. That's just the way it was.

My first 3 marriages were not even marriages. I was so far gone. I was barely human. The loss of two children made the relationships impossible to mend. The losses fueled my anger at God and the world. My addictions deepened.  Now I AM a husband and stepfather. I love my kids as though they were my own. Some days I am a champ and on others am clueless, jealous, thoughtless and selfish. I sometimes wonder if I'm fit for either job at all. I am just learning what I am all about, and I seem to make mistake after mistake in the "other people" category. I don't do it intentionally. It just happens.

I have grown in my relationship skills over the last 45 months of recovery.  I still have gaping holes in my "big boy" abilities and skills. There are moments when I see my wife with the kids and feel left out. I understand they are her babies. They will always be held in a different light, as they should. When they disrespect me because "I'm not their Dad," it burns me up when she says nothing. I am her husband. I feel she should demand my respect from them. Now, I understand that respect is earned, not an entitlement. She says it's me. I say it's me against them. Our lives can move from, "A deluxe apartment in the sky", to "Funky Town," in a flash. Not knowing where my youngest daughter Mouse is, makes it all the worse.

We both have expectations. Sometimes we don't meet each others. Sometimes others don't meet both of ours'. I know I have a big mouth. I am learning to keep it closed more often. It shrinks with each day in recovery. It doesn't open as wide as it used to.  I have said, and done, many stupid things as a husband and stepfather. I will again. This is still new to me. Each day I learn positive and negative things about myself and the world around me. Getting sober is truly like being reborn. It is like I had amnesia and am being reintroduced to my life. I really don't know how I feel or which way is up. The old me says run. Just run. The new me says go ahead and run. You can help yourself unpack when you get there.


SOUL PAROLE: Making Peace with My Mind, GOD and Myself is on sale NOW  on Amazon and Amazon Europe. Personalized copies can be purchased through PAYPAL at tommyconnolly.com. 


Proceeds benefit Chicago Area addiction, homeless and mental health programs.

Great Expectations!

There are few things sweeter than when people, places and things meet my expectations. I make the plans and sit back, waiting for the universe to meet my deadlines. When they aren't met, it can be crushing. Sometimes things work out better than I had planned. Trying to predetermine what they will be, is a mistake.

My mind races. My melon becomes the Daytona 500 of anticipation. I picture myself taking the victory lap, before I have even gotten in the car. I know I only need to make left turns, put the pedal to the metal and wait for the glory. Ah, There's the rub. I can't control the race, only my driving.

My expectations are that everything will go EXACTLY as I want it to. I know I have everything carefully mapped out. I wait with confidence that the players in my model will do what I want. Each new day illustrates the futility experienced when predetermining that plan A is a sure thing.

When it comes to relationships, I often have the dialogue written before I have even met the actor. I am certain that the plot is intriguing. I know that I have carefully considered the blocking, and action that should be followed. I am filled with wonderful intentions, then POW! On cue the actors and action in my grand productions deviate from the script.

Have you ever seen a person at a stop light yelling and they are not on the phone? That's me. I have arguments with people, who aren't even there. That is because I'm rehearsing my lines for the face to face meeting that waits for me down the road. I have even gotten into loud expletive filled rants with myself when things don't meet my...expectations.

One night I planned a surprise romantic dinner for Squeaky. I went to the store and got some steaks and the biggest baked potatoes I could find. I was giddy with ANTICIPATION, delighted by the thoughts of what the magical evening had in store. There were candles on the table set in a center piece that would make Martha Stewart swoon. I made a CD of romantic music, and had placed the player on the counter just a few feet from the mood lighting.

I would lay in wait, with ears tuned in for the familiar sound of the garage door lurching its way up. When Squeaky walked through the door I would light the candles with one hand, and perform a yoga like move to hit play on the music box. It was a scene right out of a Julia Roberts, Hugh Grant film. I could have taken a picture of it for Lifestyle magazine. The caveman would prove, once and for all,  that he was full of mush and cuddly stuff.

She would walk in ravaged by her day at the office. When she passed through the doorway of our lower level she would be greeted with sweet smells and the sounds of Frank and Deano lilting into her tired ears. Her anxieties would melt away. I was dressed in big boy clothes, confident that I was dressed to kill. Everything was just right.

I finished cooking and had considered every detail. As she stepped into the family room I would whisk her off her feet. There would be the sweet, dove like coo's of mutual adoration. I would say, "You look amazing." She would smile and return an equally flattering remark. As the aroma and music overtook her, I would gently take her by the hand and lead her to the Queen's chair. I would become Benson, sans the sarcastic remarks.

I waited, and waited some more. The traffic must have been heavier than usual. I turned down the heat on the oven, to prevent overcooking the culinary delights. I could hardly contain myself as I scanned the grand scene before me. There must have been an accident on the Stevenson. No problem I will sit patiently. The payoff would be worth the few moments of uncomfortable anticipation.

My cell rang. I dashed across the kitchen, scooping up the phone and hitting the answer button with graceful assurance. It was my wife. I had a secret I wasn't going to spill on the call. Tee Hee! In that moment, I was the Don Juan of suburbia. She began the conversation with a tired greeting. "I have got a migraine, a real pounder," she groaned.

As each word spilled from her lips I was suddenly thrown into Charlie Brown's body. All I could hear was the slow motion, "whah, whah, whah," that rang in Charlie's ears as he listened to the teacher drone on. I was a shrinking violet. "I forgot about your appointment," I whimpered meekly. "If your headache is that bad, maybe you should come home." My expectations would soon be dashed, then smashed to pieces.

"I have a hair appointment. Courtney doesn't work any other nights this week. I can't reschedule." She droned on, with a tinge of regret, that she had to honor her commitment. "Well, I'll have something ready to eat for you when you get home," I meekly replied. I was moving in to plan B. "No thanks, one of the vendors brought in subs and I ate at the office. Between that, and this headache, when I get home I'm going to take a shower and go to bed."


"I hope you feel better," I chimed with sincerity mixed with disappointment. I heard her words fade into the distance as she finished our chat with a sweet knock out blow."I'll talk to you later cannoli. I love you." I muttered an I love you and laid my phone on the counter shocked at what I had just experienced. I felt as if  I had  just learned that they were placing a ban on chocolate ice cream.


I sat down with my steak, and wrinkled baked potatoes. I'm surprised I was able to get food past my puckered out boo boo lip. I chewed slowly. I turned on the music that was meant to melt my girl's heart. Sinatra songs can be interpreted as happy or sad, depending on the moment. "All the Way," tormented me as I chewed my cud. How could this have happened?


I cleaned up the table of  plates and circuses, and went up to bed. Soon, I heard the dogs barking as Squeaky pulled herself up the stairs, hair perfectly quaffed. I asked her how her headache was. It had not lessened. She washed up and fell into bed. She remarked that the house smelled good. I told her I had made steak. She returned a weak smile and half attentive nod, then was out like a light.

I stared at the ceiling, as I listened to the lift and fall of her breathing pull her deeper into sleep. Where had I gone wrong? The plan was perfect! The execution was performed with precision. There was nothing left to chance...except life on life's terms. I had failed to figure uncertainty and reality into my grandiose vision.

I could have looked at the calendar on the fridge. She had told me about the hair appointment a few days earlier. I had forgotten which night it was. I could have called her and asked if she would be home on time. Nope. I only counted on my plans and outcomes. I did not consider hers.

I slowly faded into a slumber understanding that I had made the miscalculations. There would be no freeze out the next morning as we drank coffee. Self pity morphed into an understanding of the pains that come with assuming the world is going to do things my way. I was glad she could sleep her headache away. There was a delicious lunch sitting in the fridge. It would be alright. Stupid hair salons....

My book, SOUL PAROLE: Making Peace with My Mind, GOD and Myself is on sale NOW at Amazon .com. Personalized copies bought through PAYPAL are available at tommyconnolly.com. Proceeds benefit Chicago Area addiction, homeless and mental health programs.

What a Mutha!

Happy Mother's Day! I hope you all take the time to say that today to your Ma. If they are in heaven, don't worry, they just moved from their condo into your heart. If your adopted send well wishes into the cosmos.

Most, if not all of us have had issues with our Mother at some time in our lives. Some of them are real, deep seated wounds. Yet others are because we wanted things our way and had a strong woman in our world to say "NO!"

If you haven't talked to your mother in a while, today is the perfect time to do it. You may say, "after what she did, and said to me...forget it!" Family conflict is real and sometimes brutal. That's called life. Mom's are human, just like us. Why is it that we think that our folks should allow us to make mistakes, but we think they should be the ones accountable for theirs?

Without your mother you wouldn't even be thinking about their faults! Why? It's simple. YOU WOULD NOT BE....Mother's gave us life. They carried around a watermelon in their belly for nine months! Would you do the same for her?! I hope the answer is yes. They fed you when you were helpless. They clothed you and did the best mothering they could do. It may not be the way you want the picture painted. Maybe your not the way Ma wanted you to be. What's the difference?

I hope two things happen on this Mother's Day. The first is that you tell your ma you love her. The second is that you tell her "THANK YOU," for giving me life. WE don't have much time here. Eating a meal of crow is a lot easier than guilt gnawing at you for what you didn't say or do. You don't have to be right, even if you are. That's not the point. Without mothers you would be...NOWHERE! Thank GOD for their sacrifices!

Apologizing isn't admitting your wrong. It's recognizing the fact that your relationship is more important than your pride....God bless you and your Mother....To my Mom, second Mom and wife,,,thanks for being a Mutha!

What About Bob?

It has been a long time since I have felt the urge or NEED to write two blogs in one day. If you had a chance to read the entry from this morning the ending revolved around my gratitude for my sobriety. I checked out by saying I was going to a recovery meeting. It was one that changed my mood from happy to sad. It further ingrained in the deepest depths of my psyche that EVERY DAY IS A GIFT!

I hope the readers who regularly follow the blog have realized that you don't have to be an addict to relate to my message. We all have fears and habits that we are slaves to. Some use food, envy, relationships, greed, work and a myriad of other things as their means of escape. The justifications and denials are the same. The pain runs as deep. It effects ones' ability to live comfortably, without guilt. Because it is not a drug, or can be easily concealed, it is dismissed as being just a "BAD HABIT."

To escape the grips of any obstacle that is impeding your ability to live a guilt free, fear free life is my goal. Addiction is what I know best. The other examples I listed are a few of the other things that kept me lost in myself or codependency for years. The joys of being free of self, and at peace with GOD and my fellows is what I hope to drive home.

You can't do it alone. The deeper an unwanted habit or fear is driven the more it tells you to keep it a secret. The less likely we become willing to talk about it. It also becomes nearly impossible to reach out for that help. Once you are freed from the ties that bind you, anything is possible. Life, family and life being "YOU" is amazing!

While I was at my meeting I found out about the death of a friend who was my age. His name was Bob. Bob was a fun loving, highly intelligent guy who loved his family. He had eyes that were piercing. Bob could not escape the grips of alcohol. He died last week. He was taken to a hospital with a blood alcohol level of .70. His organs shut down. Then he did. I am glad he is no longer at war with himself.

People who find the miracle of sobriety are few and blessed indeed. The guilt and shame of living a lie and in a secret world are crushing forces to have to relive day after day. Being said that I have been given a second chance would seem paltry to the miracles I have seen since I turned to GOD and friends for help. My life is anew. I am living a dream. I can deal with me as me. I can cope with reality and have stopped beating myself up emotionally. That is where all these habits center. The euphoria of experiencing our drug of choice is brief. It is really the self loathing, and emotional self beatings, we become addicted to.

When Bob was sober he was like a lamb. I used to see him sleeping in the streets. I gave him clothes and a winter coat. He drank. He was arrested over and over. He drank. He got to a point where if he stopped drinking he would have seizures. I was talking with him once when one occurred. It was terrifying. He jumped up in a moment and was ready to fight. He lost the fight last Week.

Overcoming yourself is the hardest thing a human can do. We get so caught up in chasing after money, material success, and escapism, that we are soon lost.

When I say I try to leave every meeting with a friend or loved one with a good feeling, I MEAN IT! Every day is a gift because we only live moment to moment whether we like it or not. I don't want to leave any regrets on the table when I split for paradise. Guilt is no longer a feeling I can live comfortably with. Anger is an emotion that is toxic for me. I avoid it at all costs.

Wherever you are in your world please realize what you have is so much more than you need. We have it so good in America. Even in these dark economic times. Take a trip through the shacks of the Caribbean Islands or Mexico and see what shanty life is.

Take time to enjoy the simple things in life like smiles, hugs and sunsets. The next time you eat an apple, marvel at its natural beauty. Laugh at the laugh of a child. Most of all, make peace with yourself and the people that surround you. Live like there's no tomorrow. There may not be one. Eventually we all will have a last moment. I do not want my last day to be wasted on fear, hate, broken relationships and wasted negative energy.

The greatest thing about life is that you can start over any time you want. Take time today to thank GOD for what you HAVEN'T been given. Call that lost friend or shunned relative. Your last day may not be tomorrow. Theirs may. Nothing in life is as precious as...LIFE....

Though I walk through the shadow of death....

Everyone has fears. I know I do. Some of them are healthy. Yet others have been paralyzing.

I look strikingly like my paternal grandfather. He died of a massive heart attack when he was 39. He is buried in Toronto, Canada. My family immigrated from Ireland to Canada. Then they made their way to Chicago. My father was only fifteen when he passed. He has a picture of his tombstone. It reads Thomas Connolly. I also have a copy. It is sobering to see your name spelled out on a tombstone.

I wish it had continued to have a sobering effect on me. It did the opposite. His death at such an early age contributed to my justifications to drink. I figured I was going to croak by forty, so I might as well live fast and leave an average looking corpse. Through 28 years of addiction I was obsessed with a perception that I was going to die prematurely. It was going to hurt real bad too.

My stepfather died shortly after his 41st birthday. That was the deal closer. It set me off on my path of self destruction. It also ingrained in me the notion that GOD was smiting everyone down in anger. He was a vengeful guy as far as I could see. I ran from him and chased after him for years. I couldn't understand why he had it out for me.

From the time I was five until the age of eighteen, I was a member of no less than 6 different churches. Methodist, Lutheran, Baptist, The United Church of Christ and the Catholic church were just a couple of stops on my spiritual journey. Every where I went I heard stories of love and acceptance. I saw only pain and loss. I believed in the fella because I was in complete terror of what he was going to do to me. It was just a matter of time.

When my great grandmother died I was horrified at seeing her lifeless sweet soul lying in a box. As more of my elders passed I found myself thinking about death more and more. I believed with absolute certainty that GOD took the good and left the bad to wreak havoc on the planet.

Of course, like most folks, what I feared most was the way I was going to die, and the thought of how bad it was going to hurt. For me fire is the most horrific way to go followed by drowning. I conjured up scenarios and mental pictures of my crispy or bloated body sprawled out for all the world to see.

Right before I got sober I was having multiple panic attacks. If you have never experienced one I hope you never have to. They are devastating. Your mind convinces you your going to die at any moment. Your body follows suit with sweats, racing heartbeat and a myriad of other symptoms that compound your certainty it's curtains. It was consuming me..

By now I was 45. I had passed gramps and the stepfather. I was on borrowed time. As each birthday came I was certain I was going to kick the bucket and fall face first into my cake. 3 of my attacks put me in the emergency room. All of the visits led to the same prognosis. It was all in my head.

I am grateful to say that I no longer fear my lifelong obsession. I am comfortable with the fact that we all get our ticket punched at some time. It is out of my control. I can do things on my end to help promote a longer life, but ultimately it is in HIS hands. I hope to live many years and end up on a scooter with a miracle ear and those space clamps that grab my cereal off the shelf.

The key to conquering this fear was building a new relationship with my creator based on a one-on-one basis. It also stems from the fact that I try to live in the moment. I never try to leave a friend or family members' company on a bad note. My fear has moved to a healthy desire to get the most out of the rest of time I am here. I am sure I'm going to heaven based on my beliefs. My life is so much more fulfilling living in the goodness and opportunity a positive outlook creates. Fear only creates darkness and immobility.

Whatever your fear may be I hope you can take a good look at it. If it's death there is no point in obsessing about it. We all know it's coming. Why waste a day stuck on death? It prevents us from living. It's comparable to worrying if the sun is going to rise tomorrow. It is wasted energy. I would say that the key to removing those fears is based on a connection to YOUR GOD, the ability to love, an appreciation for the beauty of this world and a desire to make peace with yours. I wish you well.

A Christmas of Love and Extra Hands of Hope....

On November 13, 2012 I was 3 months away from the anniversary of my third year of chemical free sobriety. My dedication to service work to those in need was at an all time high. I couldn't imagine my life without it. From helping others in sobriety to lending a hand at an area food pantry my life was rich with the desire to serve.

About that time a friend I had worked with as a movie extra came to me with an idea to start a toy drive similar to "Toys for Tots," mobilizing actors and extras to help the less fortunate. I loved the idea from the start. My all or nothing mentality set in. This cause was ALL IN for me. My mind began to brainstorm on who and how we could make it happen.

After working in several underserved neighborhoods on the South Side of Chicago in the past, I wanted to center our efforts there. In the inner city poverty, foreclosures and the jobless rate is double that of the national average. I did much of my work in Englewood where crime rates are high and the pressures of the economic downturn are clearly visible.

I called my church and asked if they could put me in touch with a community support organization on the South Side. They gave me names of worthy local programs and one in Englewood. It was as if God had directed me to the place I wanted so desperately to reach out to. The name of the organization is Urban Youth Outreach (urban7.com), a safehouse for underserved and homeless kids situated in a home at 63d and Union. The fearless man who devotes his life to the kids, and GOD, is Pastor Keith Vosler. I told him what we were trying to do and set up a meeting.

On my first trip to Urban Youth Outreach I was unaware that the home was located in the middle of a powerful gang controlled part of the city. I had been given the address and was looking for a church. I pulled down the street and pulled over waiting for the Pastor to pull up to what was the safehouse. I did not realize I had parked my car in front of a gang leader's home. I was  concerned when two cars with blacked out windows began driving past my car repeatedly. I quickly realized that it was not a good situation.

One of the cars began to pull along the side of my car. The window rolled down slowly and the driver was slouched down behind the wheel with just one eye peeking over the door. I knew instantly I was in trouble. My window was rolled down. I prayed and waited for his next move. I have been around the city enough to recognize he was a street soldier positioned to shoot.

 He asked if I was in the right place. I looked at the car as I spoke, careful not to show disrespect as I answered his questions. I replied that I was looking for Pastor Vosler. He never sat up, but told me he was in the corner house. I thanked him and breathed a sigh of relief. The car slinked away back to the areas he was protecting.

It wasn't long before a tiny white man pulled up in front of the home. He was all of about 5'7" and had a smile that was infectious. I have to be honest that based on our conversations, and the fact that we were in the middle of a stretch of African American churches, my mental picture was of a Black Minister with a swagger and unshakeable purpose in helping the kids.

I was instantly captivated by the conviction of this man, and the fearlessness that glimmered in his eyes. The house is more of a compound than a church. It truly is a safehouse. The Pastor quickly informed me that the houses down the street where I originally parked were home to street liutenients who commanded over 100,000 soldiers in the city. I thanked GOD again and knew I had chosen the right place for the drive.

During our previous discussions the pastor explained to me that the ministry served more than 200 plus families and several kids living on the streets. The house provided safety, food, games and access to computers, along with words of hope and a message of faith. After our talk I decided to expand the drive to clothes and books along with toys.

I returned home and began to work on a name for our cause. I came up with "Extra Hands of Hope." I drew a basic concept for the logo. It was a peace sign made of hands. A local graphic artist Victor T. brought it to life. The logo was amazing. It far exceeded my rough sketch and wildest dreams.

I immediately began to call the casting companies in Chicago. I contacted both extras casting and principal casting companies. The first on board was Atmosphere Casting owner Jon Kinnas, Joan Philo of JP Casting and Darlene Hunt of Extraordinary Casting. They all agreed to join in the cause. Jon offered to be media contact. Darlene offered field support and Joan said to call if we needed anything else.

I was amazed that the competitive nature of the 3 was cast aside to embrace a worthy cause. The next step was to secure drop box locations for toy, winter clothing and book donations. A plea on Facebook got the ball rolling. As we moved forward I approached the 3 biggest principal casting companies to see if they too would take part in our mission. Simon Casting, Paskal-Rudnicke and O'Connor Casting all said yes. Some have told me it was the first time that all of the cities casting agencies had come together for one common project. I was grateful to all of them and felt GOD was making things happen to make the drive a success.

The logos were printed. Jeffrey H., a Sag insider, offered a donation of 20 drop boxes. Jay D. promised to get the Screen Actors Guild involved. I reached out to several "Ma and Pa" stores and community centers to see if they would allow a drop box at their location. Not one of them said no.

Every day I made impassioned pleas to the Facebook community to join the cause. With well over 100,000 actors in Chicago I knew we couldn't fail. Along thwe way friends began to offer their help. Jeffrey H., Jan and Kera S., Theresa C., The Bolber family, Charmane W. and Randy B. were my elves. After trying to run the show alone I saw that as in most cases reaching out my hand to friends was needed if we were to reach our goals.We also took on two more organizations bringing the total number of families we hoped to serve to 800.

The drive was to run for 30 days between November 17th and December 17th. 16 locations were secured around the city. The casting agencies put notices of the drive on their home pages and Jon Kinnas did a press blast announcing Extra Hands of Hopes' mission. Boxed were put in place and I sat back and waited for them to fill up with everything the families needed to make Christmas extra special.

Yahoo Contributor Patricia B. ran a story on the cause (appendix). I was certain the city would embrace the idea. I was certain that as in "A Field of Dreams," if we built it they would come. I could just sit back and drop off the thousands of donations to Keith back at Urban 7. For the first few weeks things looked shakey.

Everyday I posted what we needed. I was emailing my drop box locations like a man posessed. I felt like a tv preacher trying to get people to "fill them boxes." I waited for the press to jump on the story. The casting agencies devoted more announcements and even pages devoted to the drive. Still there was no media pick up.

For the first 2 weeks dribbles and drabs of items began to come in. Charmane W. recorded a song to encourage people to give. I am confident that it will be a song known to many as we make the event an annual event. We moved from collecting only new items to "gently used." That would be the ticket. My prayer life couldn't be stronger. With every call I made to my satellite elves there was only a couple items in the box or nothing at all. I prayed harder but I can honestly say that I was discouraged. I was concerned about the kids and didn't want to let them down.

Meanwhile Jan S. and Jeffrey H. were making things happen on the North Side. The halfway point came and it looked like we would only be able to help about 25 families. There was no way we could accomodate the original goal of 800. I bought the website extrahandsofhope.org. I was beginning to see that a month was too short of a time frame to collect the amount of resources needed. Jon did another press blast. Paskal-Rudnicke, O'Connor and Simon Casting all had postings. Where had I gone wrong?

As we closed in on the collection date of December 15th I was happy for what we had accomplished to date but disappointed that I had not brought corporate sponsers into the mix. My own disdain for Big Brother got in the way of doing the best for the families. People shared kudos and posts congratulating us on a job well done. I set my goals so high I was having a hard time seeing just how much we had done.

On the the 14th we began to collect items from the boxes. Charmane covered the downtown. Pert cleaners on Irving seemed to be a fountain of giving. Randy had collected several items of his own. As we made our rounds to clear the drop boxes our cars began to fill up. Jen had a warehouse lined up for us. Kids were joining in. Police officers hopped on board. We were beginning to see things shape up at the finish line.

We assembled at the warehouse and were astounded at what we had. Darlene, Jon, Erin and Jess from Girls Gone Casting, Jennifer from Paskal-Rudnicke, Claire Simon all came in at the end with huge personal donations. We were blown away with what we had amassed. I finally felt the beauty and generosity of the actors and agencies around this beautiful city. I had been overwhelmed by the logistics and almost missed the spirit of the Christmas Season.

We counted and sorted. I had rented a truck for the haul down to Urban7. Pastor Vosler had assembled a team at the house and we were ready to rendesvous at 3pm. There were clothes, coats, toys, books, bikes and every conceivable item. The two funniest donations were a can of pumkin filling and a karate outfit. It was all the more encouragement as it was a bitter cold day as we sorted. Theresa was dressed as an elf. We had Santa hats donated to us. We laughed and shivered our way as we organized the booty.

By the time we had finished we had hundreds of coats, shoes, kids outfits, books, jeans, toys, stuffed animals and various odds and ends. We would meet our original goal of helping Urban7's 200 families. I was grateful to have such wonderful friends and supporters of the worthy cause. I imagined the smiling faces of the kids and gratitude of their parents. I felt Christmas joy bubble up inside me. It warmed me to the core.

We made our way to the safehouse. The cube truck I had rented was completely full. As we arrived at Urban Youth Outreach there were small children dancing and singing by the gates excited to see what the truck held inside. The Pastor's army of volunteers began to pur out and move the haul from the truck into the house. A team of missionaries had come in from Arizona to help sort the gifts for distribution to the families during the annual community dinner.

At the last minute we were shocked and amazed that a few groups outside of ours were delivering packages to the center directly. I was extra grateful because I wanted others to see the amazing work the Pastor was doing in the community. It is a place where some kids get their only meal and clothing from. I pictured them with a shiny new toy as they returned to the street. I prayed for them that they would find safety and a home.

As we finished up the drop Pastor Keith explained that he treated a gun shot wound a week at the home. These are mean streets where he had set up the home. The little man with the big heart was fearless. Stories of kids coming to the compound with guns and intentions to shoot other youngsters after losing basketball games left us gasping. Our respect for the Pastor's mission grew. He is truly a miracle worker.

Jeff and I left the outreach feeling blessed that we were making a difference. It was another example in my life that I can't go it alone. So many people stepped up at the end and took us over the finish line. We warmed ourselves in the truck and began talking about Christmas 2012. My plans are to make Extra Hands of Hope a full time charity. This time I will put my feelings aside and approach every store and corporation I can find. A council of elders will be in place to relieve me of the burden of such a massive undertaking. We will start months earlier instead of weeks. I will have a game plan in place.

My wife asked me what I wanted for Christmas. I thought about her question and couldn't find an answer. I was filled with the joy of giving. My normal practice of self-criticism had been pushed aside. I told her I was grateful for whatever her and the kids chose. As we sat opening gifts on Christmas morning I couldn't help but think of the kids in Englewood. We had made a difference and put some smiles on tiny little faces. Pastor Vosler told me the items were gone within hours and the new gifts were distributed at the dinner.

God gives me all I need and more. It is so easy to forget those underserved and overlooked in our world and city. I get frustrated when people say the folks in the inner city have the same opportunities and resources we have in the suburbs and nicer city neighborhoods. It is just plain not true. I would suggest to those who hold that philosophty to take a ride down to Englewood for an afternoon and come back and chat with me again. I defy anyone to return with the same thoughts about the area.

I am grateful to all those who helped, donated and were drop locations for the first year of Extra Hands of Hope. It will certainly become an annual event. I have the elves in place. They took a simple plan and turned it into a beautiful reality. My worry that the kids would not be served was for naught. God came through working through his people. He always seems to amaze me with his grace when I least expect it. I am humbled by his surprises.

I LOVE YOU...Wonderful When Heard...Stinging When Withheld...

I love you. It is such a simple phrase. A powerful one at that. It can hold you together or it can make you fall apart. I say it every day to my wife, my children and my friends. I say it to the world and mean it. There are times it is said in passing, like a tip of the hat. The times it can have the deepest impact are the times it's not said.

Growing up my grandmothers rarely, if ever, used these words. They were of a different generation I guess. Both were strong women from tough backgrounds and challenging lives lived. I knew they loved me. To hear it spoken wasn't so. A scribble in a birthday card nestled next to a crisp five dollar bill was as close to the deed as they got.

In my drinking and using days I threw "I love you's" around like raindrops. They landed upon any young woman who was the object of my desire. I desperately wanted to feel love because I felt so badly about myself. I was a love junkie. I was always the first to say those three little words. I see now how empty and shallow it was. Those are sacred words. To me they are the definition of God Himself.

As I have matured and grown in my sobriety, I have noticed a terrible habit that I have picked up from some of my family members. That is the intentional omission of the words "I love you". To me that is more harmful than a half-hearted utterance of the phrase. After reaching a resolution at the end of a disagreement with my wife she'll say "I love you" and there have been times where I have replied, "luv ya," or "ditto." Most likely because I was pouting or things weren't resolved to MY satisfaction.

There have been times when ending a phone conversation she says "I love you" as she utters her goodbye, and I merely say goodbye. This is truly a sad statement about my conduct and a reflection on what a big dumb baby I can be sometimes. I love my wife to the center of my being. Why in the name of God wouldn't I take every single opportunity to let her know that?

I know how bad it makes me feel when I tell someone I love them and they don't say it back to me. To do the same thing to others is just continuing a cycle that is fruitless and cold. Love is the most beautiful thing that we have in this world and should never be taken for granted. I would hate to walk away from someone knowing I held back those words in my selfishness and never see them again.

I know I can be corny and can be a dork. I really believe that the whole problem with this big ball we are spinning on is that we are moving away from hugging each other to getting wrapped up in ourselves. That "me-ism" might be our downfall. I have so much to learn about myself. I am glad that I can see where I am wrong and try to change things. I know I don't have to be the guy I was yesterday or an hour ago.

All You Need Is LOVE was such a simple Lennon song. Almost like a nursery rhyme in its' structure the song's simplicity is right on the money. If all you need is love and someone gives me what I need, I damn well owe it to them to give them what they need, right?

What would you do for YOUR Kids Knowing What Your Dad has Done for you?

God says I should be writing and I need to do more. I will. So often I pray for something and when it is given to me I ignore it or dismiss it as not having the time or being so surprised that I have been granted it that I figure HE must have made a mistake. Well He obviously doesn't make mistakes. He let's us handle that. I have been struggling a lot with that lately. That is, when am I doing the will of God and certain of it and when am I forcing my will upon the world and hoping God is okay with it?

I hope this video makes it to all the countries who read this blog. This is a documentary video, not an artistic piece. A director friend of mine, Eddie Garcia (mentioned in my last blog), made a version of this on his own. I find this to say so much about life itself. It makes me ask myself questions about me and my faith and my convictions as a human being.

AFTER WATCHING.......HIT REPLAY.......

HAVE A DAY!

The Luck O' The Irish Aint All That Bad!

Last night was the 8th out of the last 10 St. Patrick's Days that I spent sober! There aren't many Irishmen who can say that and be proud, but I am. For many years every day was St. Patty's Day for me. I also want to clarify for those who don't know. If you tell someone that they have the "luck o' the Irish." you are not telling them they are on a streak of jolly tidings. The Irish traditionally have had shite for luck. To wish someone "the luck of the Irish," is to basically wish them hunger, loss of home, servitude, oppression and general misery. You're better off wishing someone no luck at all than to bestow upon them the "luck o' the Irish."

Last night the Micks beat the odds. We had one helluva night in the working town of Joliet, Illinois, a miniature Pittsburgh or Boston about 30 miles outside of Chicago. On an unseasonably warm night I was blessed to take the stage with 7 other Irish comics and 1 Mexican (minority requirements) for a night of laughter and friendship at the good old American Legion Harwood Post. It was the first show put together by Patrick Bagdon (soon to go national) and myself. I have to say for our first time out of the gate it was a huge success.

Being no stranger to self promotion myself, all of the other comics promoted the show for a month and the turnout was great. The crowd looked like part of the cast from "The Departed," some from "Happy Days," and the rest from "How the World Turns." It was the great American melting pot. The line up consisted of me, Patrick Bagdon, Horacio Ramirez, Kristen Toomey McLaughlin, Dan Brennan, Derek Miller, Sean Patrick Conroy, Joe Larkin and Patrick O'Hara. Everyone was on game. Everyone was in top form; a rarity when everyone in the lineup hits a home run.

Making people laugh is something that has always given me great pleasure and satisfaction. Last night was no exception. Comics are a rare breed and a unique species. We take the darkness of the world and turn it into light. We take our pain and let people in on it and get a chuckle out of it. There is no such thing as a well adjusted comic. We have to be a little off center to come up with some of the material that spills from our lips. Mostly we say the things that most people want to but don't dare to. We say what most folks dare to think.

Beyond making people laugh, I was touched to the center of my being by all the friends, old and new, who came out to support me. It would be impossible to name them all but I have to point out my friend Todd Brown. I've known him since we were in diapers. That's when we were little, not a freaky thing. Plus Lisa Koon. These are friends I hadn't seen in 20 years who I used to run with when I was about 5. Fond memories of Mokena and grade school filled my head. It was like we left off where we were during our last conversation. Nothing had changed.

There were friends from recovery and friends from high school and the comedy circuit. I actually had to take my set list with me onstage because I was afraid I was going to forget my routine! By the grace of God I didn't. I got some laughs. I got some groans. Both acceptable responses for a comic's happiness. My cousin, who just lost his mother, even showed up to support me. It almost brought me to tears. The whole night had me feeling like a big ball of mush. I just wanted to hug and kiss everyone in the joint, and I think I did.

I tend to beat up on myself for mistakes I have made in my life too much. Last night God showed me I truly am loved. He has blessed me with a talent I love to share. Seeing so many friends made me put the bat down and ease up on myself. I may not be a man rich in earthly treasure but when it comes to friends my cup runneth over. In one night many years of regret and insecurity was washed away and replaced by a feeling of love and real friendship. I was truly happy and grateful, two feelings I think I could really get used to. Thanks again. God bless us all.