When I was growing up I remember the adults in my life telling me things like "Slowdown! Life is gonna pass you by," or "The older you get, the faster the days go." I remember shrugging off these crusty old sayings and hurrying off to my next girlfriend or place I just had to be. Now I find myself saying those same things to my kids. The things I told myself I would never say to my kids come flying out of my mouth like Andy Rooney on a "60 Minutes" rant.
Some of my favorites I use are, "Don't be in such a hurry to grow up, all you have to look forward to is work." "Things were a lot different when I was a kid! We couldn't chew gum or wear shorts." "If you think you're wearing that to school, you better think again." These nuggets of wisdom seem to be in our parental DNA. Sometimes when I hear myself saying them, it seems as though they are coming out of my mouth like my father was saying them for me.
All parents, whether they admit it or not, decide the future of our kids or label them in the toddler to Elementary school age. "This one is gonna be the genius." "This one's gonna be the Go Getter." "This one is gonna be the teenage nightmare." "This one is heading for disaster." We seem to think we have them all figured out by how well they pick up their toys and how they play with the other kids around. They haven't even made it into kindergarten and we have figured out if they're heading for Harvard or as the head fry cook at Burger King!
Most of the time we are wrong. The genius is the troublemaker. The slacker is a straight A student. The one headed for disaster is organized and mature. Every once in a while we nail it right on the head. I certainly have seen that the time is flying by and the last 12 years with my kids seem like 12 weeks! When they were little I would get frustrated at how much they bothered me. Now I wish they would bother me more.
Amanda is our middle daughter. The Jan Brady if you will. I call her Sunny, because she has a smile that can light up a room. She also reminds me a lot of myself. I see the same patterns of thinking and impulsiveness that was a part of my life for so long. She is a free spirit. Just like the "Ol' Man," she definitely would have made it to Woodstock and Haight/Ashbury if she was born a few decades earlier. Thankfully she doesn't share the chemical connection with me. I can read her like a book. The good thing about our similar personalities is that when I talk to her about "grown up stuff" she usually relates to me pretty well.
Sometimes the transition from kid to young adult seems to happen overnight. This was definitely the case with Amanda. I remember the day like it was yesterday. I rolled out of bed and headed downstairs for a cup of coffee to get my day started. To my shock and surprise there was a strange woman eating Cocoa Crispies at my kitchen table. She was beautiful, curvy and the "Boob Gods" had visited her overnight. I remember pouring my coffee and acknowledging this woman at my table with a simple greeting and then went racing up the stairs to find my wife.
I found my wife in the bathroom putting on make-up and slammed the door behind me, frantic and out of breath. "Squeaky, there is a strange woman eating cereal at our kitchen table," I cried as she curled her eyelashes with some horrible looking contraption. She glanced, unmoved in my general direction and said "Honey, that's Amanda." I was horrified. I told her she had to be mistaken. This woman was built well on the top and the bottom. Our daughter is built like a board!
My Amanda is a "Tomboy" who prefers tee shirts and sweat pants to girlie stuff! Again she remarked, "Our baby is growing up." NO! I cried. Take this one back! What happened to the little, brooding, innocent child who used to play Guitar Hero and snack on bags of Doritos! I want the sleepovers and the all night giggle fests as I cooked frozen pizza and officiated the overnight festivities. I was in a tailspin, my mind was racing. I agreed that the young woman could stay but the boobs and bottom had to go back.
It all happened over night! Like the "Boob and Butt" Fairy visited my daughter's room in the dark of night and waved her magic wand, transforming my baby girl into a WOMAN. If I ever get my hands on that little so and so, I am gonna give her a good swift kick in her big Fairy butt. For the first few weeks I could only look her in the eye or shoot my gaze left or right. I couldn't bear to see those nasty boy attractors pointing my way. When she turned to walk away Bam! Right in the kisser! Her JLO bottom was following her everywhere she went.
She is 18 now. A woman by the letter of the law. Last night she came over with her boyfriend Chris and I made a wonderful spaghetti dinner for the whole brood. Remember, I am the Irishman who can make better red gravy than my Italian wife. Before we sat down to break bread she asked me if I wanted to see her tattoo. It was no big deal. I had bought her packages of Britney Spears and 'N Sync tattoos before. They were harmless fun that could be easily cleaned up with some soapy water and a little elbow grease.
I knew I was fooling myself. It was real. I was grateful that her permanent choice was that of a Celtic cross. It was done tastefully on her back shoulder and is really quite beautiful. No anger or "Daddy speeches" would make it disappear. I have 3 of the darned things. One is a Spirit shield, a tribute to my Cherokee blood. One is the earth with Celtic wings, symbolizing the world's endless possibilities and the third is a hawk flying into the moonlight. Hawks and birds of prey are my favorite animals.
She did it to me again. My baby girl is a woman now. I can give my advice but whether she takes it or leaves it is up to her. I am grateful that it is a cross, making a statement about her spiritual life. I have to bite my tongue sometimes. I want them to snap into line like when they were little. Now when they walk out the door I lose control of the decisions they make. We have raised our kids the best that we could. She didn't call from a jail or school office. She works and goes to school. She is beautiful and respectful. Most of all I am grateful that as we sat down to dinner last night she didn't say,"Da, I'm dropping out and heading for California!"
Acceptance and faith are the key to parental and personal harmony for me now. I have done all I can to raise her right. I have showed her things in life that will help her succeed and have been a living example of how to become a drunken failure. I am glad we both made it safely to the other side. She is a smart kid and I know that as parents we do our best, then roll the dice. Sometimes it works out, sometimes it doesn't. I can live with her Celtic cross. Sometimes when I get angered by a boy or man looking at her in an un-Christianly way, I wish that darned "Boob and Butt" fairy would come back to our house and refund my little girl. God Bless!
Thursday, February 10, 2011
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
Fear....Our Common Thread.
When I look at all the things that I have gone through with alcoholism and addiction there is one common thread I can trace it back to. That root is fear. Fear used to consume me and paralyze me at the same time. When good things happen to me, I feel like I don't deserve them. When bad things happen to me, again, I don't think I deserve them. It is a vicious circle that keeps me hesitant to move in any direction, afraid that I'll make the wrong choice. Therefore, I sit and do nothing, obsessing about what could or couldn't change my life, day or moment.
The acting and comedy success I have been blessed with so quickly is another one of those crazy cycles. I am by no means a "star" or Comedy Central feature but things may be moving in that direction. That's where my wacky, overloaded, think, think, think mind gets me into trouble. I would love to make it to the top! I also think, what if I make it to the top?! It sounds like a bad Dr. Seuss story but it is what I deal with in my every day decision making.
I've made it quite clear that I am terrified of bats and clowns. You can throw spiders I can't smash with a paper towel in there and snakes that can kill me as well. That kind of fear I understand. It's innate in our DNA. Well maybe not the clowns, but the evil critters for sure. You have to admit clowns are creepy. I can stand on the observation deck at the Sears Tower and laugh in the wind. Invite me to a kids birthday party where Bobo the clown is twisting balloons into obscene puppies and I'm running for the door.
I think of how nice it would be to be a ''popular" entertainer and then imagine that popularity being smashed to pieces after the National Enquirer photoshops me next to Ru Paul! I am comforted by doing a job I really love and then get distraught over the thought of seeing my family less. If you notice the things I fear are not the "are's" and "am's" of life. It's the "could be's" and "maybe's." It's a daily "whack a mole upstairs in the arcade" called my mind.
The result of my fear of succeeding or failing in life is to stick with the status quo. That creates a third side to my mental Bermuda triangle because of my disappointment in my unwillingness to take chances. I like simple. I adore predictable. I am infatuated with met expectations. I think I hear the guys with the rubber room pass key coming now.
I have been reminiscing lately about the past as I try to piece together my "lost years." I was really into journaling when I was going to college. This book is my journal to myself that I hope someone will relate to. As I was looking through old journals I found a poem, a bad poem, I had written when I was 19 years old. I'm sure Pulitzer will be looking at this Jim Dandy. My cynicism and fear were already bubbling over:
The acting and comedy success I have been blessed with so quickly is another one of those crazy cycles. I am by no means a "star" or Comedy Central feature but things may be moving in that direction. That's where my wacky, overloaded, think, think, think mind gets me into trouble. I would love to make it to the top! I also think, what if I make it to the top?! It sounds like a bad Dr. Seuss story but it is what I deal with in my every day decision making.
I've made it quite clear that I am terrified of bats and clowns. You can throw spiders I can't smash with a paper towel in there and snakes that can kill me as well. That kind of fear I understand. It's innate in our DNA. Well maybe not the clowns, but the evil critters for sure. You have to admit clowns are creepy. I can stand on the observation deck at the Sears Tower and laugh in the wind. Invite me to a kids birthday party where Bobo the clown is twisting balloons into obscene puppies and I'm running for the door.
I think of how nice it would be to be a ''popular" entertainer and then imagine that popularity being smashed to pieces after the National Enquirer photoshops me next to Ru Paul! I am comforted by doing a job I really love and then get distraught over the thought of seeing my family less. If you notice the things I fear are not the "are's" and "am's" of life. It's the "could be's" and "maybe's." It's a daily "whack a mole upstairs in the arcade" called my mind.
The result of my fear of succeeding or failing in life is to stick with the status quo. That creates a third side to my mental Bermuda triangle because of my disappointment in my unwillingness to take chances. I like simple. I adore predictable. I am infatuated with met expectations. I think I hear the guys with the rubber room pass key coming now.
I have been reminiscing lately about the past as I try to piece together my "lost years." I was really into journaling when I was going to college. This book is my journal to myself that I hope someone will relate to. As I was looking through old journals I found a poem, a bad poem, I had written when I was 19 years old. I'm sure Pulitzer will be looking at this Jim Dandy. My cynicism and fear were already bubbling over:
Looking glass people you can see through their game.
They all wear false faces and they all look the same.
Moving through life to achieve from within,
lying to family and people to win.
They all deserve Oscars for their pure plastic show.
Looking glass people I don't want to know.
The difference now is faith. I don't have a lot of it in myself. I do have faith in the abilities that God has given me. I know that he gave me the gift to communicate. I certainly didn't make me funny or dramatic. Ultimately, I know whether I am a success or failure, I don't have to go it alone. I tried going it alone for way too long. I am not sober because of my efforts. It is all the Great Spirit! He helps me through the day and is always there for me. Even if there is a clown-faced bat with 8 hairy legs in my path, I know God will give me the strength to kill the beast or the speed to get the hell outta there. Thanks, I'll leave my check on the table. See ya next session.
Oh, I almost forgot. To my friend in Iran I can't imagine your life but I can share your feelings. My country says stuff about yours. Your country says stuff about mine. I am glad to know you. There are no borders or agendas when we just look at humanity. We all have the same emotions. They just happen in different landscapes. I am grateful for what I have. I hope you find happiness where you are. I'm sure they have clowns and bats over there. If you need a friend to help you get through a tough spot. I'm here. Nobody can go it alone. Peace!
Monday, February 7, 2011
.
In life everyone has done or said things they would like to forget and can't. There are memories we try to wish and pray away. There are always a few in some dark corner of our minds just waiting for us to wrap our heads around them and drag them back into the light. Sometimes others bring it back into that light for us.
Alcohol, and/or anger makes people say, and do things they wouldn't normally even consider when calm or sober. There's the cutting remarks, pushing of hot buttons, dredged up family secrets and reminders of poor past decisions that we want permanently erased from our memory drive. There is inevitably something we have done or said while drunk, or riled up, that we wish we could take back. This is not exclusive to people like me. Everyone has an incident or remark they remember, or don't, that haunts them or embarrasses them to some degree.
For an alcoholic this haunting presents itself through remorse, shame and self-loathing that eventually it becomes overwhelming. It is simple math. Too many drinks + several years of too many drinks = loss of control, rage, verbal warfare and multiple bad decisions. This beast of burden becomes so daunting that it creates a cycle of more drinking and poor decisions. The equation is more drinks to forget, more for poor decisions made,more and more drinks, ad infinitum.
For the occasional partier or abstainer, there are probably a few of these silly, or sometimes serious, incidents that happened on a vacation or at a company party that are uncomfortable when relived. Some of them were serious enough to create a permanent scar on one, or more of the parties involved. The normal person moves on or works through it. Few seem to let it slip away into lost moments of days gone by.
Before I ever picked up a drink some things happened to me that I couldn't process as a little boy. The incidents were confusing and happened at the hands of a person I was told to trust. The mixed messages created confusing feelings, and later would fuel my isolation and anger. It twisted my sense of trust and robbed me of my innocence. This "loved" one is no longer here. I have never shared the pain with my family because I feel nothing good can come out of dredging up a ghost of painful past.
That person is not here to respond and other lives would be damaged at the news. It is my choice to hold it back because there is no redeeming or positive outcome that would result from my soul cleansing confession. It can not be changed, no matter how badly we want it to. No human can change history. I have forgiven this person. Not for his actions but for his humanity. God has given me so many chances. To hold hatred inside would rot me away slowly, while he is dead. He has stood before his maker and accounted for his stop here. His fate is up to powers I can't even perceive.
One of the most difficult, but vital parts of my recovery is facing the past, and those whom I have hurt along the way. By cleaning up the messes I have created I am relieved of some of the baggage I was burdened with daily. We drink to forget. We drink to escape. We drink to try to temporarily erase the massive pain we have created through the fog of a hangover.
Remember the Grinch cartoon where the little dog with the stick on his head is pulling that massive sled stacked four stories high with the Grinch's stolen Christmas booty? At one point they slide down a hill to a cliff, the overstuffed sleigh is teetering on the edge of disaster. The cute little dog is hanging over the edge of the cliff looking up at the huge bags that are sure to destroy him if it falls. That is what a drunk in recovery is trying to fix. Active drinkers keep adding to the burden. We try to remove the baggage, a little bit at a time, so that it doesn't destroy us. As we lighten the burden, the urge to escape is replaced by satisfaction in making things right, or at least taking responsibility for our past mistakes.
Setting the record straight with those we have wronged is greeted with acceptance and forgiveness, angry rejection or indifference by the attempted confession. The outcomes, once again, are out of our control but the issue being faced takes one more package off the sleigh of guilt to the man in recovery. There are those we can't reach, or those who are dead who make taking of responsibility for past wrongs impossible. We do the best we can with who we can, and leave the rest up to God's timing.
In the majority of reparations the people we have wronged are wives, husbands, loved ones and friends who are still in our orbit. The reparations offered to these people are "living" reparations. By leading decent, sober well intentioned lives, we show others that we are new creatures. Our actions and giving without expecting anything in return is a lifetime commitment to sobriety, and our sanity. The ultimate goal is taking ownership of our errors and living peaceably with those offended by our past wrongs.
The selfish, uncaring drunk I was for 20 years, is still inside of me, part of my permanent record. It can not be changed. There are times when people perceive that I have done them wrong. I am accused of things I did not do. The accusations are understood but create anger and resentment towards our accuser. If a dog has stolen your socks time after time, when one goes missing, the doghouse is the first place you check, based on his past. Lashing out creates more trouble. An honest appraisal of my past gives me understanding as to why they think I am the perpetrator. I was a sock stealing dog for years. I just don't steal them anymore.
Forgiveness is the key to contented life, whether drunk or sober. Anger and resentment are deadly for an addict. If dwelled upon for too long, these feelings will eventually lead us back to escape through the bottle or addiction. Forgiving myself has been the hardest reparation I have faced in recovery. The self-loathing, self-hate, fear, remorse, regret and shame can be relentless as my mind gets clearer in my sobriety. Forgiving myself is vital, or I will end up drunk or crazy.
I know GOD has forgiven me for my sins and human failings. Knowing he has forgiven me, by failing to forgive myself and others, I am questioning GOD's omnipotence. I have been pardoned for my past mistakes by the ultimate expert on forgiveness. If I question my worthiness for forgiveness, I am doubting his authority and grace. It will take time, but with help, I will make it through to the other side. I spent 28 years drinking. It may take 50 years before I am forgiven by others and myself. As long as I am open-minded, and keep GOD centered in my efforts, everything will work out fine. More specifically they will work out exactly as God has planned.
Forgive yourself and others for shortcomings and human weakness. God has forgiven us if we have sincerely asked for his mercy. Life is too short to live in the past. Remember that every day is a gift, and the days we live with hate and anger, whether inward or outward, robs us of enjoying the "present" of today. If I don't share the grace and blessings that have been freely given to me, I just might lose them all....
Alcohol, and/or anger makes people say, and do things they wouldn't normally even consider when calm or sober. There's the cutting remarks, pushing of hot buttons, dredged up family secrets and reminders of poor past decisions that we want permanently erased from our memory drive. There is inevitably something we have done or said while drunk, or riled up, that we wish we could take back. This is not exclusive to people like me. Everyone has an incident or remark they remember, or don't, that haunts them or embarrasses them to some degree.
For an alcoholic this haunting presents itself through remorse, shame and self-loathing that eventually it becomes overwhelming. It is simple math. Too many drinks + several years of too many drinks = loss of control, rage, verbal warfare and multiple bad decisions. This beast of burden becomes so daunting that it creates a cycle of more drinking and poor decisions. The equation is more drinks to forget, more for poor decisions made,more and more drinks, ad infinitum.
For the occasional partier or abstainer, there are probably a few of these silly, or sometimes serious, incidents that happened on a vacation or at a company party that are uncomfortable when relived. Some of them were serious enough to create a permanent scar on one, or more of the parties involved. The normal person moves on or works through it. Few seem to let it slip away into lost moments of days gone by.
Before I ever picked up a drink some things happened to me that I couldn't process as a little boy. The incidents were confusing and happened at the hands of a person I was told to trust. The mixed messages created confusing feelings, and later would fuel my isolation and anger. It twisted my sense of trust and robbed me of my innocence. This "loved" one is no longer here. I have never shared the pain with my family because I feel nothing good can come out of dredging up a ghost of painful past.
That person is not here to respond and other lives would be damaged at the news. It is my choice to hold it back because there is no redeeming or positive outcome that would result from my soul cleansing confession. It can not be changed, no matter how badly we want it to. No human can change history. I have forgiven this person. Not for his actions but for his humanity. God has given me so many chances. To hold hatred inside would rot me away slowly, while he is dead. He has stood before his maker and accounted for his stop here. His fate is up to powers I can't even perceive.
One of the most difficult, but vital parts of my recovery is facing the past, and those whom I have hurt along the way. By cleaning up the messes I have created I am relieved of some of the baggage I was burdened with daily. We drink to forget. We drink to escape. We drink to try to temporarily erase the massive pain we have created through the fog of a hangover.
Remember the Grinch cartoon where the little dog with the stick on his head is pulling that massive sled stacked four stories high with the Grinch's stolen Christmas booty? At one point they slide down a hill to a cliff, the overstuffed sleigh is teetering on the edge of disaster. The cute little dog is hanging over the edge of the cliff looking up at the huge bags that are sure to destroy him if it falls. That is what a drunk in recovery is trying to fix. Active drinkers keep adding to the burden. We try to remove the baggage, a little bit at a time, so that it doesn't destroy us. As we lighten the burden, the urge to escape is replaced by satisfaction in making things right, or at least taking responsibility for our past mistakes.
Setting the record straight with those we have wronged is greeted with acceptance and forgiveness, angry rejection or indifference by the attempted confession. The outcomes, once again, are out of our control but the issue being faced takes one more package off the sleigh of guilt to the man in recovery. There are those we can't reach, or those who are dead who make taking of responsibility for past wrongs impossible. We do the best we can with who we can, and leave the rest up to God's timing.
In the majority of reparations the people we have wronged are wives, husbands, loved ones and friends who are still in our orbit. The reparations offered to these people are "living" reparations. By leading decent, sober well intentioned lives, we show others that we are new creatures. Our actions and giving without expecting anything in return is a lifetime commitment to sobriety, and our sanity. The ultimate goal is taking ownership of our errors and living peaceably with those offended by our past wrongs.
The selfish, uncaring drunk I was for 20 years, is still inside of me, part of my permanent record. It can not be changed. There are times when people perceive that I have done them wrong. I am accused of things I did not do. The accusations are understood but create anger and resentment towards our accuser. If a dog has stolen your socks time after time, when one goes missing, the doghouse is the first place you check, based on his past. Lashing out creates more trouble. An honest appraisal of my past gives me understanding as to why they think I am the perpetrator. I was a sock stealing dog for years. I just don't steal them anymore.
Forgiveness is the key to contented life, whether drunk or sober. Anger and resentment are deadly for an addict. If dwelled upon for too long, these feelings will eventually lead us back to escape through the bottle or addiction. Forgiving myself has been the hardest reparation I have faced in recovery. The self-loathing, self-hate, fear, remorse, regret and shame can be relentless as my mind gets clearer in my sobriety. Forgiving myself is vital, or I will end up drunk or crazy.
I know GOD has forgiven me for my sins and human failings. Knowing he has forgiven me, by failing to forgive myself and others, I am questioning GOD's omnipotence. I have been pardoned for my past mistakes by the ultimate expert on forgiveness. If I question my worthiness for forgiveness, I am doubting his authority and grace. It will take time, but with help, I will make it through to the other side. I spent 28 years drinking. It may take 50 years before I am forgiven by others and myself. As long as I am open-minded, and keep GOD centered in my efforts, everything will work out fine. More specifically they will work out exactly as God has planned.
Forgive yourself and others for shortcomings and human weakness. God has forgiven us if we have sincerely asked for his mercy. Life is too short to live in the past. Remember that every day is a gift, and the days we live with hate and anger, whether inward or outward, robs us of enjoying the "present" of today. If I don't share the grace and blessings that have been freely given to me, I just might lose them all....
Sunday, February 6, 2011
The Great Spirit... The Last To Know... and the First to Go!
I have to confess that I am lazy. I take things for granted and I can slip back into old thinking and bad habits pretty easy. Whether it's being a good husband, father, son, friend or follower I can get complacent pretty quickly. I think the way to judge where I stand, or sit, in the relationships I listed above are based largely on how good or bad things are going in my life. For me, I am at the top of my game in all these relationships when there is trouble or challenges facing me. But as soon as things smooth out again I slip back into cruise control.
When I am with my wife I am a loving, attentive husband. If she is unhappy with me or anyone else I become "super hubby," jumping up like a loyal Shirpa to meet her every need. It is when I am alone, or things are just peachy, that I get a real gauge on how I am living my life. As I'm driving with my wife in the car and a pretty girl is walking down the street, I take a quick glance and look away out of respect for her feelings and our marriage. If I am alone the glance is a little longer and my thoughts less honorable or down right rotten.
When my kids are having problems with school or a relationship, I am Johnny on the spot to help them with homework or to lend an ear. When they are happy and cruising along through life, my relationship with them becomes less engaging and moves to the back burner. I see that they're okay and don't feel I need to jump in the middle and harsh their life buzz. This is laziness and pure rationalization on my part. If I don't see a problem, I assume that I'm not needed.
I have spoken of the conflicts I go through with my mother. If she is sick, or it's around a holiday or birthday, I see her more. I call her more. I take an active role in her well being and put my discomfort and issues with her to the side. As soon as she gets back on track, or says something hurtful to me, the calls become fewer and the visits nearly extinct. It's easy to do the right thing when things are a little shaky, but when we are on solid ground I retreat into complacency and go back to worrying about me.
When I am navigating my way through life on my own, I truly have a fool as my compass. I work with people in recovery and those who struggle with sobriety. That is the whole purpose in writing this book. If I have a fresh alcohol beaten subject in my midst, I am full of knowledge, guidance and myself. I help them to get a little sobriety under their belt, then push them out of the nest to learn to fly on their own when their wings are just starting to get strong.
It's easy to have faith when you are sitting in a pile of life's bird droppings and have nowhere to look but up. There were innumerable times when I was in hot water and I turned to heaven, begging God to "save me this one last time and I will do thy bidding." "Help my son out of this jam and I'll join the church choir." "Answer my prayers and I will dedicate my life to you and all of humanity." As soon as I was delivered and the heat is off, the prayers slow down to a trickle and my relationship with "Him" goes from confidante to acquaintance.
When the mortgage and bills are paid and all is well, I slip into spiritual cruise control and move from leaning on God, back to leaning on my own understanding. It is when I try to go it alone that things start falling apart in the first place. I go from dedicating all of my life to the will of God, to just filling him in on what's on my life schedule. My insistence on running the show is what gets me into the pickle in the first place! When I go it alone I begin to slowly self destruct.
The true test of faith is when things are good, not bad. When I am on fire I turn to my faith like a spiritual fire extinguisher. As soon as the flames are out I set the extinguisher to the side waiting for the next flare up. True faith is continuous and consistent. When I put my spiritual health at the front of the line in my life, good things happen. All the other relationships in my life bloom and thrive. When I try to run the show things start to go wrong.
A healthy life and faith are like beautiful flowers. It needs water, food, weeding and constant attention. As soon as we feed it less, water it on occasion and settle for the state it is in, it begins to die. I am human and will make lots of mistakes. A mentor to C.S. Lewis made the statement that "man can fail miserably with God, or succeed more miserably without him." These are wise words that I can't let myself ever forget. I need to give thanks for every day, good or bad. My attention to my marriage, children, family and friends need to be tended to at all times. If I begin to lose sight of my blessings all of the beautiful things I have been given will slowly start to die, just like that beautiful flower.
When I am with my wife I am a loving, attentive husband. If she is unhappy with me or anyone else I become "super hubby," jumping up like a loyal Shirpa to meet her every need. It is when I am alone, or things are just peachy, that I get a real gauge on how I am living my life. As I'm driving with my wife in the car and a pretty girl is walking down the street, I take a quick glance and look away out of respect for her feelings and our marriage. If I am alone the glance is a little longer and my thoughts less honorable or down right rotten.
When my kids are having problems with school or a relationship, I am Johnny on the spot to help them with homework or to lend an ear. When they are happy and cruising along through life, my relationship with them becomes less engaging and moves to the back burner. I see that they're okay and don't feel I need to jump in the middle and harsh their life buzz. This is laziness and pure rationalization on my part. If I don't see a problem, I assume that I'm not needed.
I have spoken of the conflicts I go through with my mother. If she is sick, or it's around a holiday or birthday, I see her more. I call her more. I take an active role in her well being and put my discomfort and issues with her to the side. As soon as she gets back on track, or says something hurtful to me, the calls become fewer and the visits nearly extinct. It's easy to do the right thing when things are a little shaky, but when we are on solid ground I retreat into complacency and go back to worrying about me.
When I am navigating my way through life on my own, I truly have a fool as my compass. I work with people in recovery and those who struggle with sobriety. That is the whole purpose in writing this book. If I have a fresh alcohol beaten subject in my midst, I am full of knowledge, guidance and myself. I help them to get a little sobriety under their belt, then push them out of the nest to learn to fly on their own when their wings are just starting to get strong.
It's easy to have faith when you are sitting in a pile of life's bird droppings and have nowhere to look but up. There were innumerable times when I was in hot water and I turned to heaven, begging God to "save me this one last time and I will do thy bidding." "Help my son out of this jam and I'll join the church choir." "Answer my prayers and I will dedicate my life to you and all of humanity." As soon as I was delivered and the heat is off, the prayers slow down to a trickle and my relationship with "Him" goes from confidante to acquaintance.
When the mortgage and bills are paid and all is well, I slip into spiritual cruise control and move from leaning on God, back to leaning on my own understanding. It is when I try to go it alone that things start falling apart in the first place. I go from dedicating all of my life to the will of God, to just filling him in on what's on my life schedule. My insistence on running the show is what gets me into the pickle in the first place! When I go it alone I begin to slowly self destruct.
The true test of faith is when things are good, not bad. When I am on fire I turn to my faith like a spiritual fire extinguisher. As soon as the flames are out I set the extinguisher to the side waiting for the next flare up. True faith is continuous and consistent. When I put my spiritual health at the front of the line in my life, good things happen. All the other relationships in my life bloom and thrive. When I try to run the show things start to go wrong.
A healthy life and faith are like beautiful flowers. It needs water, food, weeding and constant attention. As soon as we feed it less, water it on occasion and settle for the state it is in, it begins to die. I am human and will make lots of mistakes. A mentor to C.S. Lewis made the statement that "man can fail miserably with God, or succeed more miserably without him." These are wise words that I can't let myself ever forget. I need to give thanks for every day, good or bad. My attention to my marriage, children, family and friends need to be tended to at all times. If I begin to lose sight of my blessings all of the beautiful things I have been given will slowly start to die, just like that beautiful flower.
Friday, February 4, 2011
A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the.........Chicago Code Premiere!
A funny thing happened on the way to the Chicago premiere of "The Chicago Code." The show starts Monday February 7, 2011, at 9pm on FOX. The first month of ratings will determine if there is a season two. I'm sure there will be because the show ROCKS! It has obvious appeal to Chicagoans, being shot entirely in the city and 'burbs. The story line, edgy feel, great writing and acting by Jennifer Beals, Jason Clarke, Delroy Lindo, Matt Lauria and the rest of the cast, create a dynamic that is attractive to any audience, in any market.
I pray for a second season, not only for the work, but because the cast and crew are amazing. We need your support for this show, every week, so we get picked up for a second season! I ended up on the editing floor in the pilot, but that's show biz. I am proud to have been a part of several episodes, starting with episode 2. From the first day I walked onto the set I could feel that I was a part of something special. All the cast and crew bonded immediately and working 14 hour days became fun, no matter how physically exhausting.
The premiere party was held at Hollywood Boulevard Theatre in Woodridge. The place was packed with cast and crew and local news crews were on hand to interview some of the VIP's. Hosted by the amazing Darlene Hunt and daughter Rachel, we were greeted with gifts and an air of excitement. It was my first official premiere as an actor and my head was bobbing like a kid in a candy store. I can't tell you much about the show but the shots of Chicago, great acting and fresh plot are sure to make the show a hit. I am truly grateful to be a part of such an amazing project. But that is not where the story begins or ends.
A good friend of mine, and fellow "Chicago Code" actor, Edward Majka doesn't drive. He called me early in the afternoon to see if we could pick him up at the Downers Grove train station and get him to the premiere. I obliged and we set out early to gather up my friend. On the way I asked Squeaky if she wanted Starbucks - her liquid crack. She said no and we navigated the icy streets of Downers Grove to rendezvous at the train station. I have mentioned I have O.C.D. about being late and we arrived 30 minutes before Edward was due to arrive.
There is another Starbucks strategically located on Main Street, right across from the station. I told my wife I wanted a cup of Joe and that it was a great place to meet Edward. We purchased our coffees and I picked up the new Greg Allman CD "Low Country Blues." Four stars I might add. It is a must for Blues aficionado's. As I added sugar, cream and cinnamon to my steamy beverage, my wife spotted a flyer with a picture of a cute, wee puppy named Fiona. I was busy ripping the plastic off my Cd and stirring my coffee, running through our time table to make sure we would make the premiere on time.
Being the cynical, losing faith in humans, kinda guy I am, I thought the poster was for a missing dog. I remarked that "Some idiot probably stole the dog and has it up for sale on the Internet as we speak." My wife went on to tell me that the pup, named Fiona, was from a family that had an old dog that couldn't handle the rambunctious little Japanese Chin/Pekingese playmate. They also had a nephew who was allergic to her and it limited his ability to visit his auntie regularly. My wife looked at me. Her eyes spoke volumes. I had seen it before when we rescued Grace! I called the number and asked the owner to meet us back at the coffee shop at 8:30.
We grabbed Edward and shot to the premiere party. Squeaky was speaking in the present tense about Fiona, the 1 1/2 year old, 8 pound Pekingese/Chin. "Do you like her name?", "How do you think she WILL get along with Grace?" I played the straight man telling her to slow down and we would talk about it later. Inside, I am as squishy as wet sand between your toes when it comes to animals. It's humans that seem to rub me the wrong way. As we watched the premiere I could tell Squeaky was already picking out places to put her bed and how to configure the feeding stations in the kitchen.
After the premiere wrapped up Squeaky began the Ali, "rope-a-dope" on me. "Something called us to that Starbucks. You know that." "She is the same breed as Grace!" I knew that unless the pup was ridden with ticks and fleas, and hungry for the fingers of Italian women, Fiona would be coming home with us. Even if she had all those conditions, we probably would have taken her out of pity and nursed her back to health. When I met Kris, she didn't even care much for dogs. Now we have four. Stay tuned to Hoarders because I see myself in a guest shot soon. I am glad I passed on my love and kindness towards all of God's creatures to my wife and kids. They share the same passions for critters as I do.
At 8:30pm the deal went down in the vestibule of Starbucks. The owner handed my wife the tiny pup, who instantly licked her nose. A Hollywood director couldn't have written it any better. It was over. I had a new pup named Fiona. We got her home and our other female Pekingese/Chin, Grace, was dominating her right from the start. I officiated and introduced Fiona to the pack correctly. As the Alpha Dog I placed her between my legs and the butt sniffing parade began.
Just like when our kids were small, Squeaky passed out for the night and I was left to comfort our tiny guest. I think I got a total of about 2 hours sleep. Fiona slept between the couch and my back. My fear of squishing her miniature frame had me contorting my body to accommodate her comfort. I'm like butter when it comes to creatures big and small, except bats. We made it through the night with all troops alive and accounted for.
I really do not believe in coincidence. I had the call from Edward for a ride, the stop at Starbucks after my wife turned down my first offer earlier. I also did an episode of "Shameless" where the lead actress is named of course, Fiona. What a night, my first movie premiere gala, the pride of being a part of what is sure to be a hit series, and a new baby in the family. See ya on Animal Hoarders Chicago soon. Until then I would like to welcome, Fiona Apple Schmutzy Connolly!
I pray for a second season, not only for the work, but because the cast and crew are amazing. We need your support for this show, every week, so we get picked up for a second season! I ended up on the editing floor in the pilot, but that's show biz. I am proud to have been a part of several episodes, starting with episode 2. From the first day I walked onto the set I could feel that I was a part of something special. All the cast and crew bonded immediately and working 14 hour days became fun, no matter how physically exhausting.
A good friend of mine, and fellow "Chicago Code" actor, Edward Majka doesn't drive. He called me early in the afternoon to see if we could pick him up at the Downers Grove train station and get him to the premiere. I obliged and we set out early to gather up my friend. On the way I asked Squeaky if she wanted Starbucks - her liquid crack. She said no and we navigated the icy streets of Downers Grove to rendezvous at the train station. I have mentioned I have O.C.D. about being late and we arrived 30 minutes before Edward was due to arrive.
There is another Starbucks strategically located on Main Street, right across from the station. I told my wife I wanted a cup of Joe and that it was a great place to meet Edward. We purchased our coffees and I picked up the new Greg Allman CD "Low Country Blues." Four stars I might add. It is a must for Blues aficionado's. As I added sugar, cream and cinnamon to my steamy beverage, my wife spotted a flyer with a picture of a cute, wee puppy named Fiona. I was busy ripping the plastic off my Cd and stirring my coffee, running through our time table to make sure we would make the premiere on time.
Being the cynical, losing faith in humans, kinda guy I am, I thought the poster was for a missing dog. I remarked that "Some idiot probably stole the dog and has it up for sale on the Internet as we speak." My wife went on to tell me that the pup, named Fiona, was from a family that had an old dog that couldn't handle the rambunctious little Japanese Chin/Pekingese playmate. They also had a nephew who was allergic to her and it limited his ability to visit his auntie regularly. My wife looked at me. Her eyes spoke volumes. I had seen it before when we rescued Grace! I called the number and asked the owner to meet us back at the coffee shop at 8:30.
We grabbed Edward and shot to the premiere party. Squeaky was speaking in the present tense about Fiona, the 1 1/2 year old, 8 pound Pekingese/Chin. "Do you like her name?", "How do you think she WILL get along with Grace?" I played the straight man telling her to slow down and we would talk about it later. Inside, I am as squishy as wet sand between your toes when it comes to animals. It's humans that seem to rub me the wrong way. As we watched the premiere I could tell Squeaky was already picking out places to put her bed and how to configure the feeding stations in the kitchen.
After the premiere wrapped up Squeaky began the Ali, "rope-a-dope" on me. "Something called us to that Starbucks. You know that." "She is the same breed as Grace!" I knew that unless the pup was ridden with ticks and fleas, and hungry for the fingers of Italian women, Fiona would be coming home with us. Even if she had all those conditions, we probably would have taken her out of pity and nursed her back to health. When I met Kris, she didn't even care much for dogs. Now we have four. Stay tuned to Hoarders because I see myself in a guest shot soon. I am glad I passed on my love and kindness towards all of God's creatures to my wife and kids. They share the same passions for critters as I do.
At 8:30pm the deal went down in the vestibule of Starbucks. The owner handed my wife the tiny pup, who instantly licked her nose. A Hollywood director couldn't have written it any better. It was over. I had a new pup named Fiona. We got her home and our other female Pekingese/Chin, Grace, was dominating her right from the start. I officiated and introduced Fiona to the pack correctly. As the Alpha Dog I placed her between my legs and the butt sniffing parade began.
Just like when our kids were small, Squeaky passed out for the night and I was left to comfort our tiny guest. I think I got a total of about 2 hours sleep. Fiona slept between the couch and my back. My fear of squishing her miniature frame had me contorting my body to accommodate her comfort. I'm like butter when it comes to creatures big and small, except bats. We made it through the night with all troops alive and accounted for.
I really do not believe in coincidence. I had the call from Edward for a ride, the stop at Starbucks after my wife turned down my first offer earlier. I also did an episode of "Shameless" where the lead actress is named of course, Fiona. What a night, my first movie premiere gala, the pride of being a part of what is sure to be a hit series, and a new baby in the family. See ya on Animal Hoarders Chicago soon. Until then I would like to welcome, Fiona Apple Schmutzy Connolly!
Thursday, February 3, 2011
Three Blizzards, Three Lives....Three Me's!
ARMAGEDDON THE DAY AFTER! This was the big one. Out of the last dozen or so predictions by my local weatherman that were false alarms, he finally called it RIGHT! Weathermen have it perfect. They can screw up day after day and continue to hold their job. It goes back to man trying to figure out things we have very little control over. God keeps us on our toes.
In the tiny hamlet of Plainfield we got pummeled. When you combine the fact that I live on the top of a cul-du-sac, that sits at the highest point at the end of our street, my house got extra rocked. Snow drifts are naturally attracted to my driveway and back yard. The deepest ones were about five feet tall. The funniest moment of the morning was letting the dogs out for their morning relief. My 2 labs were in heaven jumping and thrashing in the fluffy whiteness. My Pekingese, Grace, ran straight into a drift.
In the tiny hamlet of Plainfield we got pummeled. When you combine the fact that I live on the top of a cul-du-sac, that sits at the highest point at the end of our street, my house got extra rocked. Snow drifts are naturally attracted to my driveway and back yard. The deepest ones were about five feet tall. The funniest moment of the morning was letting the dogs out for their morning relief. My 2 labs were in heaven jumping and thrashing in the fluffy whiteness. My Pekingese, Grace, ran straight into a drift.
This drift is 5 foot tall, and was just a foot from my patio door. Grace, who is all white, disappeared into the massive drift but came out bewildered, chunked with snow, but otherwise okay!
The dump of snow took me back to 1979 and 1999. They were polar opposites when they occurred in my life. The blizzard of 1979 was heaven for a kid. School was called off for a couple of days. I was 12 and eager to make some money off the back of old man winter. Dressed like the Marshmallow Man I started through the neighborhood, seeking out the homes of the elderly and lazy, practicing my sales pitch to shovel their drives. I trudged through the snow, sinking up to my hips with each heavy step.
Visions of a radio controlled car danced in my head as I counted my yet undeserved earnings, over and over again. I peeked back at the house. I had made it about 50 yards from our Mokena condo. I felt like a character out of a Jack London, Alaskan wilderness story. I wiped my nose on my glove, and turned once again to the vast Yukon of snow that lay ahead of me. The moisture from my breath was freezing on my Mexican Wrestler styled face mask. My eyes winced, peeping through the narrow slits. My face was growing an icy goatee.
I looked back again at my permanent campsite, 100 yards and counting. My legs became granite, punching their way through the snowy dunes that faced me. As I took each tiring step my drive and entrepreneurial spirit began to wain. "Who wants a stupid radio controlled car in the middle of winter?" My toes were chilled to tingling. My fingers wet and raw from the prerequisite snow bombs I was tossing around the street. I was certain I was miles from home and on the open road to riches. I glanced back once again. I was 150 yards from home.
I looked at the frozen carpet that faced me with fear and discouragement. I questioned if I was the right man for the mission. I looked forward and back to my homestead. I remembered Bozo would be coming on at lunch time and the debate began. "Bozo or big bucks, big bucks or Bozo?" My brain was on hyper drive nestled between my cool crispy ears. I turned, my decision made. I must go watch Bozo. My road to riches could wait another day. There would be comfort in the comical Bozo, even though I loathe clowns. Bozo was an exception. He was on TV, not in my living room. Retracing my steps I returned to our cute Mokena condo and began to warm up. I watched Bozo, careful not to sit too close to the TV, just in case.
1979 was the last winter of innocence for me. My introduction to alcohol was only months away. Fast forward to January 1, 1999. I was living in a transient hotel in Stone Park. My job in Melrose Park was an easy 2 mile drive. I was quick to work and quicker home so my daily party could begin. I was staying at The O'hare Kitchenette. It was strategically located next to a bar/liquor store that sold pretzels and Slim Jim's. All of an alcoholic's four food groups could be had there. The store had booze, beer, cigarettes and snacks. Alcoholic paradise.
There was a blizzard hitting on that start to January. I had no boots or winter coat. All of my possessions gathered could fill a couple of Walmart bags. It took about 20 minutes to fight the head wind and drifts that stood between me and my obsession. My sneakers soaked, the trip bitterly cold. I could see the drivers on Lagrange road looking at me like I was crazy. They were right. I made it to the store and gathered my provisions. 1 wwelve pack of cheap beer, 1 pint cheap vodka, 1 can of orange soda for chaser and 1 bag of pretzels to prevent throwing up the previously listed items.
I fought my way back to my temporary home and quickly downed the pint of vodka accompanied by the can of soda. I polished off the first beer and was struck with panic. I only had 11 beers left. What if the liquor store closes because of the blizzard pounding the area? What if I ran out of beer? That can't happen! The obsession and compulsion of alcoholism is unrelenting in the depths of addiction. The insane and absurd, from an earthling's point of view, are normalcy and common place to the drunk. I slipped on my wet shoes and summer coat and retraced my journey to the store. I purchased the same items I had picked up only an hour earlier. I was comforted that I had all I needed to get through the next few days.
Flash to February 2, 2011. The official Plainfield snow total was 18 inches. My estimation, 34 feet! My wife and son, whom I call Bro, are at home. School and work have been cancelled for them. It is just another day of searching for gigs for me. I looked forward to the day, picturing the three of us laughing and playing board games while roasting marshmallows and smores over the fireplace. Note to self: you are sober now and facing reality. Oh, what a day it was.
Our "idyllic" Rockwellesque day began quite pleasantly. We sipped coffee and watched the war footage of the blizzard on local TV. The morning passed and the reality of life and wife set upon me. My son bundled up and retreated to the back yard to create safe passage for the dogs to have room to get their business done. Each plop of snow rang in my ears like gun shots as my guilt for not helping him grew with each shovel toss. I knew he could handle it! He is 15 years old, 6'1" and 200 pounds. I am 45, weak and fragile in the cold. He is Goliath. I am an aged David with a heart attack phobia.
The pictures played like well edited movies in my mind. I am assisting the lad in the drive when a pain shoots up my arm. I fall into the drifts, clutching my chest. "Hear that Elizabeth? I'm coming to join you honey, with a guilt complex and frozen bottom!" I think I see my Dad. No that's just snow in my eyes. Who will miss me? Who will come to my funeral? I didn't call the mortgage payment in! Lord I'm coming home!
Another plunk snaps me out of my Sanford dream soliloquy. My wife is acting as if she is going to go out and help my son. I am trying to teach him a life lesson honey! Plus, I'm paying him! Do you really want me to help him and cut into his profits? There's a plunk on the outside, and an icy, emasculating cold front coming from Squeaky inside. I can not escape my fate. I hang my head low and pound up the stairs, like a spoiled child, to slip into my long johns and snow gear.
Armed with my shovel I join my son in the wintry battle. I toil for 10 minutes then sit for 5. The Fred Sanford visions are still haunting me. I secretly envy my buck-like son as he tosses the snow left and right like he's shoveling confetti. Why does my snow feel like granite? We attack the drive together. He tosses 3 shovelfulls for every one of mine. I find myself laughing with him. He has grown into a man. Our roles have reversed. When he was little he would use his tiny shovel to help me with snow removal, usually making more work for me, but his efforts appreciated. Now he has taken the lead.
After an hour or so, we have reached the end of the driveway and had cleared it of the Kilimanjaro mounds that once daunted us. I am happy to have spent the time with him. He is growing into a fine decent man. As we toss the last remnants from our mission onto the pile, we look across the cul-du-sac and realize, even though we have a clean drive the streets are still not cleared. We are still trapped in our home with a really clean driveway. We nod to each other, man code for a job well done. We return to the warmth of the house where my once icy queen has hot cocoa and coffee waiting for us. The blizzard of 2011 is one I won't soon forget and one I am glad to have shared with my son. My wife smiles at me with approval, my testosterone level replenished. I am sober, I am not homeless, I have a great family, and Bozo has been taken off the air. It has been a good day indeed.
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
We're Just Two Lost Souls Swimmin' in a Fish Bowl, Year After Year..Pink Floyd
I have spoken in recent chapters about being emotionally unavailable or incapable of having functional, healthy relationships with people when I was drinking and using. In my experiences an addict doesn't have the capability to connect fully with another human when they are in the midst of active addiction. The disease creates an obsession, so strong, so uncompromising in its demands, that even when we are with our loved ones, we are not "all there." We are thinking about the next drink, hit, high or escape.
I have had an inability to connect with my mother over the years of my addiction, undiagnosed depression issues, or more specifically, before I ever picked up and learned to live with my depression. Take a moment and think about the people in your orbit. There is somebody who you just can't reach. It's someone you love and you feel that your efforts at making them happy are never good enough. There is someone who you desperately want approval from and a deeper relationship with but that just never materializes.
My mother is a fiercely independent woman, who prefers isolation and solitude over "lovey-dovey" chats. Deep heart felt conversations are rare, if ever, and I accept that. She was never the PTA, go to the game, "rah-rah" type of mom. She had work and her own issues to work through. My grandmother wasn't exactly warm-n-fuzzy. My grandfather, I can tell you very little about, even though I spent a lot of time with him. I know he enjoyed his beer and wasn't much for conversation. I don't know what she has lived through to make her who she is. Nor have I walked a mile in her shoes.
This is not meant as a finger pointing session, but a deep confession of frustration. I don't hold resentments towards her or anyone. Resentments are where we drink the poison and wait for the other guy to die. Any person you hold a resentment towards, probably isn't sitting in front of the fire thinking about you right now. Plain and simply put, I do not let people live in my head rent free. She is who she is. That is a simple statement of truth. That doesn't make it any easier but I am amazed that at age 45 I am still waiting for a magical day that just isn't going to come.
For years I blamed my drinking and addiction on my folks and found myself dialing them up drunk and telling them what complete failures they were as parents. That worked for a long time until the day my mother responded to my berating with a cool reply of "Maybe you're not the son I wanted to have either." That really hit me between the eyes and ended my drunken calls. It was a true statement. I couldn't argue with her. Addicts drink "AT" people. When I quit using it was pointed out to me that I hadn't lived with her in 20 years and continued to use. My excuse was rendered ridiculous. She also never poured it down my throat. I am responsible for my addiction. There was always someone to blame for my woes. I was the one who got me high.
My mom and I are a lot alike. We are sensitive, deep, dark and brooding. I know that plays into the difficulties over our connection. We are like rams butting heads, not in a fight for territory, but because that's the way we are. We go through some good patches and then go on the skids. It's a pattern we have repeated for years. I chuckle to myself, in an unhappy way, that I am a grown man and am still craving love from my mommy, like a 5 year old child.
It has gotten to the point that phone calls are excruciating. I don't know what to say after we have covered her health, her dog and the weather. After that it is like I am forcing conversation that is awkward and difficult. I know one thing for sure. After the phone call is over, I am left feeling sad. There is a hint of bitterness in her goodbyes. My mother can let me know what a disappointment I am just by the tone of her voice. When we see each other it is pleasant, but I always sense that I have treated her inadequately or am on her icky list and don't know why. She always seems to look at me like all I do is let her down. I certainly know I did horrible things as a drunk but this vibe has been there since I fully comprehended that she was my mother.
In the 5 years I have done comedy she has never seen me perform. Her response to my acting and film work is "Do I have to call you Mr. Hollywood now?" She hates FOX so won't see me on "The Chicago Code" and has never heard of "Shameless" or Showtime. I am auditioning for a full feature film thriller. She has already said she won't see it because "she doesn't like films like that." I know I sound bitter. I think this chapter is more for me than you but I know some of you have to share these same frustrations.
I am not some diva or movie star who wants her to "ooh and ah" over my profession. I am pleased with my work and have great passion for it. I just want to be recognized as making her happy or proud or at least not a gaping wound in her life that will never heal. That is what I have wanted my whole life no matter what profession I was in. But why? I know I haven't been the greatest son in the world, but it seems like when I get two steps ahead in our relationship, something happens, and I slip back three.
I know the key is acceptance. I do accept her for who she is but that doesn't make it any easier. When I feel bad or insignificant, the self assuring thought of "oh, well that's just the way Mom is" doesn't cut it. Actually if she suddenly changed and became interested in my life and engaged fully in it, I would probably be even more uncomfortable at this point in my life. I would think she went soft.
In my sobriety, I am really starting to see that we are all messed up somehow, someway. I avoided "feelings" for years through self-medication and drowning in my own depression. We are all just trying to get through this life as happily as possible. I love my mom with all my heart. She is who she is. That is the fact. I am the goof who dreams of a chicken suddenly turning into a peacock. I am sure there are people in my life who feel these same things about me.
I will continue to make the awkward phone calls and choose my words carefully when we speak. My wife, family and friends give me great support and I am grateful for that. I can pray for her to change but the outcomes are out of my control. I will take our relationship like all of life, one day at a time. I will keep the faith, and do what I gotta do.
Thanks for the session. I will leave a check on the credenza and I will schedule another appointment with the lady in reception. Be safe. Do your best. God Bless you all.
I have had an inability to connect with my mother over the years of my addiction, undiagnosed depression issues, or more specifically, before I ever picked up and learned to live with my depression. Take a moment and think about the people in your orbit. There is somebody who you just can't reach. It's someone you love and you feel that your efforts at making them happy are never good enough. There is someone who you desperately want approval from and a deeper relationship with but that just never materializes.
My mother is a fiercely independent woman, who prefers isolation and solitude over "lovey-dovey" chats. Deep heart felt conversations are rare, if ever, and I accept that. She was never the PTA, go to the game, "rah-rah" type of mom. She had work and her own issues to work through. My grandmother wasn't exactly warm-n-fuzzy. My grandfather, I can tell you very little about, even though I spent a lot of time with him. I know he enjoyed his beer and wasn't much for conversation. I don't know what she has lived through to make her who she is. Nor have I walked a mile in her shoes.
This is not meant as a finger pointing session, but a deep confession of frustration. I don't hold resentments towards her or anyone. Resentments are where we drink the poison and wait for the other guy to die. Any person you hold a resentment towards, probably isn't sitting in front of the fire thinking about you right now. Plain and simply put, I do not let people live in my head rent free. She is who she is. That is a simple statement of truth. That doesn't make it any easier but I am amazed that at age 45 I am still waiting for a magical day that just isn't going to come.
For years I blamed my drinking and addiction on my folks and found myself dialing them up drunk and telling them what complete failures they were as parents. That worked for a long time until the day my mother responded to my berating with a cool reply of "Maybe you're not the son I wanted to have either." That really hit me between the eyes and ended my drunken calls. It was a true statement. I couldn't argue with her. Addicts drink "AT" people. When I quit using it was pointed out to me that I hadn't lived with her in 20 years and continued to use. My excuse was rendered ridiculous. She also never poured it down my throat. I am responsible for my addiction. There was always someone to blame for my woes. I was the one who got me high.
My mom and I are a lot alike. We are sensitive, deep, dark and brooding. I know that plays into the difficulties over our connection. We are like rams butting heads, not in a fight for territory, but because that's the way we are. We go through some good patches and then go on the skids. It's a pattern we have repeated for years. I chuckle to myself, in an unhappy way, that I am a grown man and am still craving love from my mommy, like a 5 year old child.
It has gotten to the point that phone calls are excruciating. I don't know what to say after we have covered her health, her dog and the weather. After that it is like I am forcing conversation that is awkward and difficult. I know one thing for sure. After the phone call is over, I am left feeling sad. There is a hint of bitterness in her goodbyes. My mother can let me know what a disappointment I am just by the tone of her voice. When we see each other it is pleasant, but I always sense that I have treated her inadequately or am on her icky list and don't know why. She always seems to look at me like all I do is let her down. I certainly know I did horrible things as a drunk but this vibe has been there since I fully comprehended that she was my mother.
In the 5 years I have done comedy she has never seen me perform. Her response to my acting and film work is "Do I have to call you Mr. Hollywood now?" She hates FOX so won't see me on "The Chicago Code" and has never heard of "Shameless" or Showtime. I am auditioning for a full feature film thriller. She has already said she won't see it because "she doesn't like films like that." I know I sound bitter. I think this chapter is more for me than you but I know some of you have to share these same frustrations.
I am not some diva or movie star who wants her to "ooh and ah" over my profession. I am pleased with my work and have great passion for it. I just want to be recognized as making her happy or proud or at least not a gaping wound in her life that will never heal. That is what I have wanted my whole life no matter what profession I was in. But why? I know I haven't been the greatest son in the world, but it seems like when I get two steps ahead in our relationship, something happens, and I slip back three.
I know the key is acceptance. I do accept her for who she is but that doesn't make it any easier. When I feel bad or insignificant, the self assuring thought of "oh, well that's just the way Mom is" doesn't cut it. Actually if she suddenly changed and became interested in my life and engaged fully in it, I would probably be even more uncomfortable at this point in my life. I would think she went soft.
In my sobriety, I am really starting to see that we are all messed up somehow, someway. I avoided "feelings" for years through self-medication and drowning in my own depression. We are all just trying to get through this life as happily as possible. I love my mom with all my heart. She is who she is. That is the fact. I am the goof who dreams of a chicken suddenly turning into a peacock. I am sure there are people in my life who feel these same things about me.
I will continue to make the awkward phone calls and choose my words carefully when we speak. My wife, family and friends give me great support and I am grateful for that. I can pray for her to change but the outcomes are out of my control. I will take our relationship like all of life, one day at a time. I will keep the faith, and do what I gotta do.
Thanks for the session. I will leave a check on the credenza and I will schedule another appointment with the lady in reception. Be safe. Do your best. God Bless you all.
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