Month: July 2010

So I’m all by myself right now. My son and his cousin are  visiting with my father and step mom for a week at the beach. I have more down time than I would ever ask for. Usually, on a day like this, a day that I don’t have to work, we would be packing up toys, water guns, lunch, drinks and towels to go to the pool. I’m thinking of this because I have walked past my swim trunks, neatly folded up by the beach towels about 5 times today. Each time I notice one thing…they are there alone. The little blue, monkey faced, striped swim trunks that would normally be way too small for an 8 year old but fit my son perfectly are absent.

So what do I do? I have adopted the role of a daddy, and willingly and gratefully threw away my previous life. That’s right, I threw it away, meaning, I know longer choose to live that way.

It used to be that my heart would hurt, or I would feel so broken over things that you couldn’t imagine. Things like missing a vein. Things like getting burned on a drug purchase. Things like the owner of the pawn shop giving me 15 dollars shy of what I needed to be comfortable. Today, my selfishness, that I never said was completely gone, surfaces in a different way. Today, I get upset from walking past a lonely pair of swim trunks.

This is way more temporary than when I would feel discomfort from having to rip off a friend, or having to lie to a family member to get money. This discomfort lasts only a minute, and usually only seconds. Why? Because just as quickly as I realize my swim trunks are all by themselves, I realize where their normal partnering swim trunks are. They are being worn by a little boy enjoying the company of other people that love him. Other people that rarely see him. He is on the beach, digging for sand crabs, testing his endurance against the waves, showing off for his cousin. And based off of my experience, constantly making my Dad and step mom “Look at this!”

This thought fills me up. It’s not the same as when I see his joy first hand. It’s not the same as creating memories with him. It’s not the same as showing him that although I was absent, I’m back now forever. But, my heart is joyous for him because he is having fun. Because he is in a safe environment, at this moment, he is at peace. He is loved.

As a father that has no idea what I’m doing, all I really want for him is to be happy. I want him to learn. I want to teach him. I want him to laugh. I want him to sleep soundly. I want to shield him from the evils of this world and shelter him from situations that are not safe. I want to show him what G-d can and has done. I want to live with him, grow with him, squeeze him and kiss him. I want to show him he is my friend, my brother, and my son all in one little bundle. I want to paint with him. I want to let him lead me through the woods, for him to show me where to go. I want him to have that satisfaction. I want to give him everything that I can.

I want to wear my swim trunks when he’s wearing his, together. It’s the least I can do considering that I was who I was for most of his life. I am thankful that it will never be that way again provided I continue on this path towards G-d.

Recently I have been forced to make some very difficult choices. I have made many life changing decisions since I have had interest in changing my life, but in hind-sight, they haven’t felt this big…this important…this difficult.

As a father who has spent most of his child’s life making self serving decisions, while trying not to injure his child, it’s not easy to now make decisions regarding my child’s well being without seeing how he’s been harmed in the past. This is torture for me. I wake up and breathe and think only of him for the most part. I do think of myself, I’m not G-d. I am a human, but I am a human who has been taught to see where I can be of service to others. My son, who has gotten a raw deal for most of his life, seems to always come before anyone else. Including myself.

So when issues come up, that I allow to become problems, and my son is in the middle of these issues that are now problems, they seem big. They consume my every thought. Every move I make throughout the day seems to be secondary to the problem of the day. When the whole day revolves around the problem, how can I be of service? Am I truly trusting G-d? Then the problem carries over to the next day, and the next, and the next.

I got off of work the other night, and went to hang out with some of my friends from work. I had to follow them in my car because I live in a fairly new area to me. I would’ve been lost if I didn’t follow them close. While driving, I felt a pebble in my left shoe. I quickly tried to maneuver my foot around to get the pebble to the side…but it didn’t work. I tried to reach down and get it out with my hand, but I was following someone, and couldn’t pay attention to both. The pebble was becoming more and more uncomfortable as I drove. I would try to speed up so that I could buy some time and just coast my car, since it’s a stick shift, then maybe I could take my shoe off, and get the pebble out quickly before I needed to push in my clutch again. It wasn’t working. I tried to sit longer at stop signs, but then I wasn’t keeping up with the car I was following. This pebble was beginning to get more and more bothersome.

When I finally got to the destination after frantically trying to get this pebble, which felt like it was the size of a boulder by now out of my shoe, I got it out. I looked at it.

It wasn’t even the size of a grain of rice.

I smiled. I laughed to myself. My problems can seem so big when I am in the middle of them. When I am trying to control the problem, knowing full well that my primary purpose is to be of service, to remain G-d reliant, problems seem huge. And what I should be doing, is allowing Him to handle the problems I can’t control. I was so consumed with this rice sized pebble in my shoe the other night, I paid no attention to where I was going. I couldn’t begin to tell you how I got from point A to point B. Only to find out later, that this very cumbersome pebble was the teeniest, tiniest, little thing ever.

I need to trust G-d. I need to always remember that He will handle the things I can’t. I need to stay focused on the task at hand. Or I will be lost, and I will repeat the same mistakes I always have. And worst of all, I will not fully be there for my son.

I’ve never had much luck with people, including my son, before living the way I do today. Back then if you were hanging around me, you can bet I was getting something out of it. Not necessarily something materialistic, but at the very least I was stealing energy from you, or I just didn’t want to be alone so I was with you. I never, from what I can remember, was around you to see what I could bring to the table, how I could enhance your life. So, in turn, people didn’t like me at first. It took awhile for people to warm up to my sarcasm, to my arrogance…..to my selfishness. On a smaller level this is still the case, but not nearly as bad.

I never went into a friendship or a relationship thinking: “Let me see what this person can give me.” You see, I didn’t need to. I was on auto pilot, that shit just came to me as naturally as breathing. That way of life never got me anywhere. Loneliness bread more loneliness. Fear turned to anger and rage. Frustration turned to violence. Constant battles with being “ill” lead to an eventual contentment of hopelessness. Eventually that magic moment happened. You’ve heard it before, we call it “the gift of desperation.”

This feeling of desperation that hopefully everybody with a spiritual malady experiences at some point, on some level, lead me to make a decision. It appears in many forms. It could be legal troubles. Or it could be your family not wanting to be around you in the condition you’re in. Not seeing your children. Snapping in violent rages at the drop of a hat. Losing jobs. Your health deteriorating. Losing all your friends. Being a slave to the drink or the needle. Or doing the things you swore you would never do and were never even capable of.

With me, it was all of those things and more.

I struggled for almost a decade swerving in and out of G-d’s light. I would get a taste of relief, a break….G-d’s Grace, and I would take advantage of it. I wouldn’t cherish it. I wouldn’t share it. I would just abuse the gifts I was given, and eventually throw them away instead of passing them on.

My son would be a part of this. He saw the ups and downs. I was someone who appeared to be Bipolar, schizophrenic, depressed, adhd, it looked like I had an anxiety disorder and anything else you want to add. I was even prescribed medicine for all those things. ALL OF THEM. There was a point when I convinced myself that I needed the medicine too. All these people were telling me that I did, and I took the medicine, and it worked…so I thought I was doing the right thing.

I can report to you today however, that I needed none of that, and I still don’t. The pills I was prescribed were just another fill in for G-d. So, just like every other fill in, they never truly made me happy and I eventually relapsed. Sure they made me feel better, but I never felt like I was living right. I was never properly pure.

This can be a touchy subject, but this is my experience. Not yours. I’m just saying that It was only when I let G-d handle everything about me, and I did my very best to share how that happened with as many of my brothers and sisters that I could, did I feel pure.

The gift of desperation didn’t come to me easily. As a result, my son didn’t have a father when he should’ve. Today however, he does. And I owe every moment we spend together, every smile we share, every laugh, every meal, every experience, every answer to his insightful questioning, every drawing we do, every song we sing, every game we play, every single bit of strength I have, and every salty tear of joy….to G-d.

I dread these days. I wake up lonely, I slept like a wild animal, kicking, bucking like a horse….my bed soaked with sweat. I had nightmares, I had hallucinations, I swung my fists and elbows wildly all night. I think I didn’t get to sleep until I cried myself there. The clock was checked every seven to ten minutes, frantic that the morning would come too fast. And now it’s here. What am I going to do with it? I know I don’t want to get high, but I know I don’t have a choice.  The searching for ways and means to get money, the desperation, it’s too much to bare. But I know I can’t go back to sleep. That hour and forty five minutes that I was asleep is not going to hold me. I look out the window to see if her car is outside, as my hearing is faulty due to sleep deprivation. I’m disoriented at best. No shower, no teeth brushing. No talking. I gear up, strap on boots, a hoody, baggy jeans, gloves and a bubble vest. Knife in pocket.

On the road, my gas light is on and I am easily disturbed at the glares I get from other cars. My paranoia will not allow me to drive my car to the block anymore and I’m not about to spend this cash I have on gas. There is a burn mark of a tire on my driver’s side front door from a car that tried to run me off the road on Park Heights two weeks ago, they didn’t catch me though…I know that area, the short cuts, the alleys, the dead ends, like the back of my hand. I know where the narcos will be and where the rollers post up. I avoid them like the plague.

So I park at the Metro where I’ll ride the train in. There’s a stop right on my block, Coldspring. Before I board the subway I check to make sure I have everything. Two needles are stashed in my dip (the slot I cut out of either the fold where my zipper is on my jeans, or the flap on the fly of my boxers) I got 18 dollars cash (my boys will take a short, I’ll be fine) I got my knife, a book bag filled with a jacket, a half filled bottle of water and some random trash from days prior.

When I get in town, I cop what I need to get well, pleading with one of the many dope boys I know, and that know me, that if they could just cuff me an extra bag I’ll be back shortly. “Come on dawg, you know me, I’m on this block every mother fuckin day, I always come to you first, and I always come back. And shit son, you still owe me for that PSP I traded you last week, you only gave me ten bags for that and it was supposed to be fifteen. Remember?” He agreed, he gave me three extra bags on top of the two I paid for (one of which was 5 dollars short since I spent 3 to ride the train).

I hike to my boy’s house off Wabash. I scoop enough out of each bag to get well with, but leave enough to still sell the bags. They’ll be dimes to most, but if someone stumbles in to this shooting gallery either stupid or sick, I can sell them as 20’s, claiming that that’s the size of em out there today. “And what yo, you gonna go cop your own? Nah son, you’re  not allowed on that block and you definitely ain’t going in the hole where I copped these at. They don’t let white boys in there.” This was true for the most part, they really didn’t. So that’s how my days went a lot. Either hiking or biking back and forth from the shooting gallery to the dope hole and back. Shorting everybody on every sale, and staying high.

Yesterday however, I was not in any dope hole. I was not on any block. I wasn’t on a subway. I wasn’t dirty, desperate or sleep deprived. No body pissed me off on the road and I didn’t need to beg anybody for a favor.

I woke up on time, from an alarm clock, left the house on some personal business picking up someone on the way, got some good news, then I went and picked up my son who spent the night at his cousin’s house. I grabbed both my son and his cousin and went to the pool. It was very nice out. My mom was at the swim club when we got there. I sprayed the boys with sunscreen and relaxed. Watching them, and all the other people. If I slow down, and just observe the people. I see G-d everywhere. Especially in the littlest of children. They are so pure. So we spent a few hours there until my son caught a shot to the mouth from a wayward kick-board in the water. His tooth was already loose but it was bleeding now. I consoled his tears away, down played his agony but still let him know that I felt his pain. Then we left and stopped off to get pizza on the way home.

During dinner I had a blast. It was the best meal I’ve had in a long time, not because of the food, no. Because I was in the moment. I was centered, everyone was laughing. And then it happened. Right in the middle of having a mouth full of pizza while talking, my son stopped mid sentence, “WHERE’S MY TOOTH???”

I hopped up, ready to relieve him of choking on his tooth, when I looked down at the pizza on the plate, and saw his little front tooth jammed in the cheese of the pizza. We all had a good laugh at that. Then we made funny faces at each other and I took the boys on a hike through the woods.

After finding a rabid fox baby, and calling animal control to come get him, I went from being an adult to an 8 year old again, playing and joking in the woods with my son and his raspy voiced cousin. I love that kid’s voice, he sounds like The Godfather but eight years old.

When my son and I got back to the house after dropping off his cuz, we had root beer floats and then went to bed. I played the tooth fairy for the first time in my life. It probably meant more to me, than it did him. But I’ll never tell, not until he has his own child. This morning he was thrilled, and I in turn, went outside, had a Newport, and thanked G-d, feeling just as thrilled as an 8 year old little boy who just scored from the tooth fairy.

There are plenty of different kinds of people in this world. I mean, no two people are exactly the same. And whether you can relate to someone or not, feel someone’s pain or not, even if you have experienced on some level the same thing as someone else, your perceptions may have been different of that event.

I have not only damaged myself through my actions, but I have polluted the lives of my family, friends, and my son. It’s true that my family “went through” what I “went through” on some level, because they love and care about me and just wanted the best for me. But even they will never know what it was like. The emptiness, the suicidal thoughts, the frantic internal struggle for some sort of peace, the constant feeling of being lost….the hopelessness.  My son suffered because of my actions, and he too saw so much that he never should’ve seen, forming his own opinions about me, alcoholism and parenting based off of what I did. The only thing I can do now is try to show up, sober and centered for him and everyone else that I hurt.

So, although it feels good to “be good”, I haven’t really been at it too terribly long. I still miss the mark as they say on a daily basis. Maybe not to the extreme that I did before, but it still happens. I try though. I learn from my mistakes, and do my best to prevent the same mistakes from occurring when I can.

Recently, the biggest example of  my poor decision making has come to light in the form of financial problems. I am basically being taken care of right now for the most part. My bills are very minimal. This is good because my income is just as minimal. I don’t go out and buy myself anything really, but I haven’t been saving the money that I do make either. You won’t catch me with new shoes on, but I buy myself an energy drink and cigarettes and my son candy and drinks every time we stop at the gas station. I buy him toys and tee shirts,  and I really struggle with telling him no.

One of the hardest things I have to do today is tell him no. When he asks me for something, my brain starts replaying all the times I spent money on some brown or grey powder that should’ve been spent on him. All the times I pulled up to the pawn shop, sitting in my car sweating, trying to talk myself out of going in….and failing. All the sick and twisted lies I told him about where this or that was run through my head and I have to say yes.

I could be more frugal with my money that’s for sure, but I don’t see me trying to buy his affection. That’s not the case, in fact, he would much rather go for a walk or play with toys than go to the movies. But occasionally the guilt of my past shows up, and I spend money I don’t have.

I’m about to take him with me on a mini vacation, nothing extravagant, just a little get-a-way. I envision us watching the sunrise on the beach, playing in the ocean, laughing and just having a good time. And I also see me having to tell him the same thing I used to tell him when I was drinking and getting high, “No, I can’t afford that. Maybe another time.”

“Another Time” is what he always heard, and I’m sick of saying it. And I’m not scared that either one of us will go without anything that we need, that fear has been far removed. It’s just that sometimes, I want “Another Time” to be right now.