Category: childhood

A Dog’s purpose

The other night, while strolling through 179 channels of nothing I came across the movie A Dog’s Purpose. I’d heard of it, in particular, that it was sad. I’ve wanted to watch it but I learned my lesson with Marley and Me after I barely recovered from the ending of Old Yeller some 45 years ago.

An aside, I can watch the worst horror movie jam packed with gratuitous sex, entrails hanging from the rafters and enough blood to fill a swimming pool and I will sit, unflinching as I munch popcorn. There is no limit to the depravity I can view and call it entertainment. But I lose my mind if an animal is harmed, especially a dog.

Curiosity prevailed and I selected it and sat back in my recliner. An hour and a half later I sat transfixed as the credits rolled. It was worth the watch, in fact it was wonderful. There were a few scenes that made me tear up, including the ending but it was a joyful brand of tear-jerker.

If you’ve seen it please indulge me, this is not a movie review but instead a homage to the lead character, the beloved dog.

In short, the movie is about a dog who experiences reincarnation. It is narrated from the dog’s POV and the story takes us through about 30 years, starting with a young Golden Retriever that belongs to a young boy in the 70’s. Most of the movie occurs with this character as he loyally stays by the side of the boy as he grows into a young man. It is an extraordinary relationship and the scene when the Dog (Bailey) gets put down is indeed a tear-jerker. It didn’t help that I stood in such a Dr.’s office less than a year ago as we watched our beloved Brandon draw his last breath. The movie unfortunately nailed the pain and grief of the moment and I was impressed but sad. By sad I mean bawling like an idiot. But the movie brings the viewer back to smiling as we see Bailey emerge as a new puppy, one possessed by the knowledge that he was “back” and had the presence of ,mind to remember his past life. We are walked through several incarnations of Bailey; a German Shepherd Police dog that gets killed in the line of duty, a Corgi that dies of old age under the love of a married woman that he had been with since she was in college, and finally a Mutt that has a miserable life at the hand of an abusive owner. But the owner sets him free (cruelly, by just pulling the truck over and kicking the dog out) but our hero turns it into a blessing when he reconnects with (by the power of the wet nose) a woman from his first life. This woman was the girlfriend of his first owner and they had broken up as teenagers. Amazingly, he reunites the two, who fall in love again and get married thanks to their 4 legged matchmaker. The movie ends as Bailey miraculously manages to convince his former owner that he is indeed his old dog in a new body. It is a beautiful, tender moment and a wonderful ending to a movie.

Thus confirming what I have known since I buried my first dog as a young teenager.

A Dog’s Purpose is to form a completely unique and unbreakable bond with us, make life unimaginable without them and then leave us too soon with a enormous, smoking hole in our very souls. If we value friendship, and most people do, we are left feeling as if we have lost our best friend.

I don’t know how the chain was determined, how it was decided which animals are chosen to be beasts of burden, which are food and which become domesticated companions. The line is further blurred as we see species never before regarded as a pet; reptiles, goats, pigs, miniature horses, cows and even “wild” animals such as big cats and bears showing up on cute FB videos as “pets”. As refreshing as these friendships are none are as special and, let’s face it, as natural as the relationship between the dog and man.

I’ve experienced a lot of loss in my life. In fact, I have often felt that I have experienced more than my share. I’ve been to a staggering number of funerals. Dear friends in HS at the hands of tragic accidents. Family members. The loss of my father to name a few. Sadly, I think I am more “over” all of them than I am my first dog. Am I saying that a mere dog meant more to me than my father, family and friends?

Of course not.
It’s just not the same. The hole left to fill is as big as a Black Hole. Friskie, my first dog, was my earliest memory. He was a pure-bred Brittany Springer Spaniel, gun-shy at a young age and rendered useless as a hunting dog. We found him at a shelter when I was about 5. He became my constant companion, my shadow, my best friend. As a child with few friends, we were especially close. He even saved my life. Twice.

We lived on the bottom of a hill that was the main route to get to the Middle school. One day, I was playing by the street and my football got away from me. I followed it into the street and suddenly found myself being tackled. It was Friskie, who ran across the street from the other side. A school bus nearly missed him as he knocked me to the ground. We were both nearly killed. As he sat on my chest, he looked into my eyes and I swear at that moment that I was staring into the eyes of a kindly, wise old man. He was never “just a dog” to me.

I was a teenager when he died. Despite him being an older dog that lived a full, wonderful life, I was crushed.

For years I missed him. We got another dog, which I loved. Mom and Dad had a few after I went out on my own, and I loved to visit them. Their household always had a dog, my parents were in agreement with me that despite how crushed you are, no matter how big the hole they leave, another dog is the key to recovery. Not that you ever get over that particular dog, you simply need to fill the hole in your life.

When I moved in with my mother her dog, which she shared with my father before he passed, was healthy and thriving despite his advanced age. A year later, that changed. I hated to go through it again; I wasn’t ready. But I put on a good face, and I tried to love him through the concerned looks and worry. I believe that it is imperative to love a senior dog as much as you did the puppy and be there when they are in pain and to always be there when it is their time to shut their eyes forever. We owe it to them, and that is just what we did. It was terribly painful, but I have no regrets. Other than our four-legged friends not living forever, that is.

My Mom got another dog. She had to. Hers was a dog home, and we are dog people. Her new dog, a beautiful Cocker Spaniel pup named Sammy (Samuel L. Spaniel, his favorite human word is Motherf@#ker lol) is a pure destructive delight that brightens her house in ways that I can’t even count. He checks all of the boxes when it comes to loyalty and unconditional love. Although I don’t live there anymore, I visit as often as I can. I will deny this to my Mother, but sometimes I need to hug Sammy more than I need to visit her.

Sometimes, when I look into his eyes, I have to wonder. Beyond what is he thinking and what his particular need is at the time, and wonder if it is possible that we have met before. That behind his young eyes is the wisdom of an old dog. One that has met me before and is as glad to be reunited with him as I. Then I remind myself that reincarnation is not real, that it is impossible. That what I am feeling is just unconditional, pure and unfiltered love.

For to love me more than it loves itself; to only think of and need me alone when I sit preoccupied with the events of my day; to devote its entire life to being there for me…THAT is a Dogs Purpose.

Explain yourself

I realized something recently. I don’t have to explain myself to anyone.

This is quite a departure for me. I feel quite liberated.

It was Thursday night. I had plans to attend a Masonic function, my third one in a week. December is a busy month in MA Freemasonry, I won’t bore you with specifics. Let’s just say that active guys like me are invited to, and expected to show up at, many events. Thursday’s event was one that I wanted to go to, but I wasn’t expected to be.
I worked on Thursday during the day. I allowed myself time to get home and change and relax for a few before heading out again. I made the mistake of sitting in my recliner. I always do that, it never fails to make it hard to get up and get in the shower. My apartment is cold, I was under a blanket, and the weather was picking up outside. 40 MPH winds and snow squalls. I made a “game day decision”. I was staying home. I texted a friend that I had discussed going with to the event. I explained my decision to stay home. I then ruminated for hours over not going.
Why? Do I really owe anyone an explanation why I didn’t go?

While I am at it, do I owe my Shriners Motorcycle unit an explanation for not making any parades lately? Do I owe my friends an explanation for why I didn’t go out for drinks last week? I regretted it, do I tell them that also? Hell, why did I feel obligated to explain to my family why I missed Christmas Eve last year? I think COVID explains itself. Yet I explained myself over and over and then quietly beat the shit out of myself.
At some point, I need to stop doing that. I think now is a good time.

I don’t know for sure if it is a trauma response. As I wrote recently, I’m the only Trauma survivor who can’t specify the exact trauma. If it’s not that, it’s my anxiety. If it’s not that, then I have no explanation for why I have so many of the traits. Explaining oneself can stem from a fear of judgment. Also, a need for validation and a lack of self-confidence. There is also a need for understanding and a pressure to perform or conform. It’s all part of being a People-Pleaser. If I don’t please people around me by conforming to the current dynamic, it reveals my insecurity. It shows that I feel I am not good enough.

Pardon the dated reference, but this ^^^ is quite appropriate. If I complete just one item on my bucket list, it must be the “Know your worth” item.

Many of us were taught—explicitly or implicitly—that being understood equals being safe. We think that if we can just express ourselves clearly enough, others will finally understand us. They might then treat us better. So we explain. We clarify. We soften. We give far more context than anyone asked for. I am so guilty of that.
Understood doesn’t equal safe. Understood equals peace. To me, peace is the state of being comfortable with today, reconciled with yesterday and not worried about tomorrow. I can achieve that by simply not lowering myself to explain every decision I make or word I say.

There are days when it is all I can do is put on my mask and go out into the world. I dutifully complete tasks that, inside, send me into a spiral of anxiety. I venture out when I don’t feel well. I work when my body is screaming at me to stay in. I take on responsibilities and new projects, knowing full well that I barely have the time to fulfill them. Yet I always do. I deliberately make my life challenging. Because I am trying to lead a fulfilling life. People might have their own opinions about my station in life. However, maintaining it is more difficult than they will ever understand. What may come easy to some is a real challenge to me.
It takes everything I have to get through my day. If I overschedule myself and fail to see it through, I need to start giving myself a break. I think I’ve earned it. If I make a social faux pas, then I need to move past it. If I make a total fool of myself…Well, I don’t need to explain myself to anyone. For any of it.

Nobody owes anyone anything, and I don’t owe anyone an explanation.

My weird glory

The origin of Your Weird Glory can be found here for context: https://goodtobealivetoday.com/2019/01/14/just-jot-it-january-14-reflection/

It came up today.

Next up in the “things I wish I learned earlier in life” category is embracing your uniqueness.
This arose in the most flattering of ways today.
At our 2nd Coffee/Therapy session today with the boys, we were joined by Pedro’s lovely wife, Wendy. Wendy has been reading my blog of late, and she’s really enjoying it. She finds my diatribes useful, so much so that she wants to share it with some friends. This made me happy, after all, that’s why I bothered to start logging my life story in 2017.
We discussed the origins, the trajectory of it, and the different styles I have incorporated over the years. I talked about a Poem I had written years ago. In it, I described my life as “In my own weird glory”. We all got a laugh out of it. Weird Glory is actually a wonderful way to describe me at times. I have an irreverent, goofy, inquisitive, and thoughtful side to me. You can describe it as weird, but it’s really what makes me unique. As the day went on, I began to ponder what I now realize is the “takeaway of the day.” Why do only close friends and my readers know what a vulnerable, emotionally turbulent, weirdly glorious mess I am?

I can answer that for you. I care too much about what people think of me. I always have. I dislike it, but I’ve been unable to change it. Pedro himself, when he first met me, thought that I was a Stoic “dick” with Resting Bitch Face. Now, we’re wonderful friends. That makes sense, because when he met me, I was around a lot of strangers. I didn’t know which Mask to wear.

“All the world’s a stage, and all the men and women merely players”, Shakespeare famously said. The whole speech within As You Like It refers to the life cycle of one man. However, it has been widely adopted to advance the “Mask” theory. The theory? That we all wear masks to show the world the face we want them to see. It is common to believe this. We are all acting to some degree as we navigate life. That goes for me as well. I have been acting my entire life. The problem is that I don’t know the script.

I hate that at 60 years old, I still struggle being myself. I have always tried to be what I thought others wanted me to be. Often, and sadly, I was many things to many people. Not fake, just pleasing people. One of the most toxic of my toxic traits. Now, I am able to act more consistently with my character. But I always hold back something. It’s not for fear of rejection. Instead, it’s out of reticence to reveal my true self.
Yes, my dear friends know most of my sides. As does my family of course. The rest of the world has seen only pieces. Those carefully selected pieces that I am comfortable showing. Which saddens me. There are aspects of me that I would love to share with others.
I look stiff and off-putting to some. In actuality, I am a welcoming person and I love to engage in deep conversations with strangers and friends alike.
I appear confident, but well, if you’ve been reading, I’m really not. About some things, yes. But I am deeply insecure. Interestingly, if I shared this with others, I would probably be less insecure.
I appear quiet. In actuality, once I go off, I never shut the f*ck up. Today, among friends that I am comfortable with, I completely dominated the conversation. I was self-conscious about it. They didn’t care. That just proves my point.

I could seriously go on with the list but there’s no need. The point is that there is a whole side to me that I rarely show. And that is a shame. There are likely some people who would enjoy that side of me. Yet, I suppress it. When I should have let it out 40 plus years ago. I cared too much about what people I didn’t even care about thought of me. Instead, I could have developed a group of friends who would accept me for who I really was.

In all of my weird glory.

No help for me, thanks

“The child who wasn’t comforted still lives inside the adult who doesn’t ask for help.”
Author Unknown

Why is my go-to emotional reaction to inquiries about my upbringing initially negative? If asked, I don’t answer in the negative; I have adopted a Go with your second reflex policy of late. My second reflex/answer would be to say, “I don’t remember needing anything.” The real answer would probably be, “Pretty messed up.” As I read this, that’s unfair. My parents did everything they could to give me a happy childhood. What was messed up was me.
That’s a tough one to share. It seems foolish to write about this. Still, I have been thinking a lot about Childhood Trauma lately. After all, I exhibit multiple traits of a person suffering from Childhood Trauma.
The problem is that I don’t remember experiencing Trauma as a child. Yet I exhibit the following:
Avoidance of relationships: I avoid or bail out of relationships to avoid getting hurt. I do want a relationship. However, I am very battle-scarred. I will run from a person if I so much as think they will hurt me.
People-Pleasing. I am so guilty of this. I engage in behaviors that make other people happy to avoid the emotional pain of not being appreciated.
Perfectionism: I set super-high standards for myself. I rarely meet them and then denigrate myself as a failure.
Constant comparison to others: Comparing yourself to others will almost always lead or contribute low self-esteem. I am never so low that I can’t find someone doing so much better to make me go lower.

5 out of 5, that’s problematic. And begs further exploration. A far-fetched option is that something traumatic occurred that I’ve suppressed way, way down, and it’s starting to surface. That’s unlikely. I have vivid memories of my childhood. While there are many events that still haunt me, they fall more into the category of learning experiences, not Trauma. Yes, they were difficult to process and probably left some scars, but they were necessary. My generation, unlike today’s, learned lessons the hard way. Saying the wrong thing to the wrong person often resulted in a punch in the face. Getting rejected at a School Dance stung a lot. Betrayal by the hand of a friend comes to mind as well. And can I ever forget the disappointed look on my Dad’s face when I acted beneath his standards?
Again, learning experiences. Rites of passage, perhaps. So why did I jump at the above quote, inspiring a blog entry?
The term “Doesn’t ask for help.”

I don’t ask for help, even among my friends. Today, I met with some dear friends, Masons, for our weekly coffee. Between 4 and 6 of us turn out to talk. The rules are no rules. Talk about anything, but if you need to unburden yourself of something, your problems become our problems. We unburden without fear of reprisal or lack of confidentiality, and we listen unconditionally. It is our own little therapy group.
It is an honor for someone to feel comfortable enough to share their innermost conflicts with you. To seek your counsel is a higher honor. I am proud to tell you that many Brothers have sought out my listening/counsel over the years. It is a true blessing among Masons. But I am never the one to unburden myself. I just don’t do that, except in very rare occasions.
I have to ask myself why.
The answer isn’t elusive. I really didn’t have anyone to talk to about my multiple problems growing up.

I learned at a young age to handle everything internally. It began out of a fear of asking a stupid question of my parents. I have always had an unreasonable fear of asking the wrong questions. It may be out of fear of appearing dumb, perhaps I feared mockery. Maybe I felt that I should know it already. I was a very mixed-up child. If I had asked those questions, it is very possible that I would be in a different place today. If this segment reeks of uncertainty, there is a very good reason. Uncertainty is THE word to describe my entire childhood. I have always, including now, been uncertain about myself.
The worries about seeming dumb, ill-informed, or just plain wrong are still there. Not always but enough. I still battle uncertainty about my intellect, competency, reputation, character, and even who the Hell I am. This is partially due to my not asking for help.

As I said, I remember having a happy Childhood. By that, I mean that even though we were not wealthy by any standard, I don’t remember wanting for anything. I never went hungry. I went to camp. I had friends. I played sports. I had an amazing Dog (my best friend) from my earliest memory. My Mom and Dad really tried.
Dad worked a lot, but until he climbed the seniority ladder in his Union, he was laid off most summers. He would work part-time jobs, and our house was always under construction. He was there, but sometimes only in body. It may have only been my impression, but I found my Dad hard to talk to about personal things. I feared him judging me to be weak of character. Toxic masculinity was a thing then. Asking for help almost always resulted in him questioning why I couldn’t “figure it out” myself. As he aged, he became more accessible. As I’m going through right now, he was reviewing his choices in hopes of having achieved a fulfilled life.

My Mom was a very different story. She worked full-time but was home at a reasonable hour each day. She was, and is, a friend as well as a mother. But, and this is a big one, she was very hands-off. As parents who had difficult parents often do, she overcompensated for her own Mother’s overbearing, suffocating parenting style. Consequently, she went the other way and left me to do my thing. I regret going down this road, but I have to point out that she didn’t see the signs. I did everything but scream for help at one point. She didn’t see it.

It got worse when my parents adopted an 8-year-old. I was 13 and well into an adolescent crisis. Puberty, as well as dealing with being bullied among other embarrassments, had me in a spiral. During this critical time, a young girl with a lot of problems was introduced into our family. She had a horrific past and needed much extra attention. This was not what I needed at that moment. My options were to vie for attention or keep to myself. My parents were lost in the transition of adoption. My new sibling required so, so much. My parents just didn’t have much time or attention left for me. So I kept everything to myself, tried to figure things out on my own, and not ask for help.

It is slowly becoming clear to me that the era in discussion may have been traumatic. During my most formative years, when I needed guidance the most, it was just me. I developed what would become a lifelong habit. Not wanting to bother anyone. This is my toxic trait. There is a long line of brothers who would gladly be there for me if I asked. I’m not going to take them up on it because it’s just not who I am. I am the guy who needs more help than anyone can give. But I will never ask for it. I’ll just deal with it in my own way.

All because I wasn’t comforted as a child. Yet I blame nobody but myself. Mom, Dad, it’s not your fault.

I wish I read these sentences earlier in life

  • You won’t always get closure; learn to move on without it.
  • Discipline will take you places motivation never could.
  • Not everyone you lose is a loss; some exits are a blessing.
  • If it costs you your peace, it’s too expensive.
  • You become unstoppable the moment you stop seeking approval.
  • Your future needs you more than your past ever will.

I would like to credit for this intro, but I saw it on a FB Meme. Sometimes you hit gold just reading the musings of others. Sometimes it’s all garbage. But if you try hard enough you can find something thought-provoking if you open yourself to the opportunity.

You won’t always get closure; learn to move on without it. This one, Ugh. I wish I had a dollar for every minute I sat stewing about a conversation, an argument, or a break-up. Closure is essential for the overthinker. It is critical for the anxiety sufferer. If an overthinker says he loves you, then believe them. They’ve thought of every reason not to. Adversely, if you dump an anxiety-ridden over-thinker without a reason, they will invent every possible reason. These reasons may be logical or completely unfounded. Still, they persist. When the simple goddamn truth would have been enough. Hurt, anger, betrayal, they can all be overcome. Lack of answers sends me spiraling. I have had a string of recent break-ups/unexplained endings that devastated me. As I am known to do, I blamed myself for everything. I constantly asked myself what I did/said and replayed countless scenarios on a loop. When a simple “I don’t like you because you _______ would have been fine. As I said, anger subsides. Not getting closure may be easy for some. Not for me. It is enough of a reason to stop dating altogether. It hits me hard.
I really need to stop insisting on closure.

Discipline will take you places motivation never could. It is timely that I came across this today, as I have recently committed to being more disciplined. I am not motivated. I want to be, I try to be but I’m not. Because I don’t practice good habits. I don’t create schedules for myself. I don’t manage my time well. I promised to work on being more disciplined. By creating good habits, I will find motivation to achieve my goals. I haven’t made major changes yet to my routine, but I am making solid baby steps. I feel very driven, dare I say motivated, to achieve this. I’m confident that I will. But the above sentence is as true as can be.

Not everyone you lose is a loss; some exits are a blessing. This one doesn’t need much elaboration. It’s perfect as it is. It does tie in with the first sentence nicely, though. I spent much time commiserating about the lack of closure. Now, I realize those who failed to provide closure are welcome departures from my life. I am a caring, considerate person. I have no place in my life for someone who treats me poorly.

If it costs you your peace, it’s too expensive. My peace is everything to me. Even now, at this advanced stage of my life, I am not at peace. But I am working at it as hard as I am able every day. To be at peace is my life’s goal. When I see the word expensive, I realize it pertains to the cost of peace. I know the cost can be monetary as well as emotional. Example: I love my motorcycle. Riding it is one of the only sources of true joy I have. But it’s very expensive. The payment is causing me distress. It’s bordering on costing me some of that peace. Another example, my efforts in Freemasonry provide me with peace. Over-scheduling myself in those efforts is stressing me out. The more commitments I make, the more I worry about fulfilling them.

You become unstoppable the moment you stop seeking approval. I have always cared way too much about what other people think of me. It stems from me always seeking the approval and validation of a father with whom I had a complicated relationship. I am confident in what I bring to the table. I am able and qualified. Yet, I am terribly concerned about what people think of me. There is a caveat. I’m not so concerned about being liked. I want to be respected and considered a man of good character.
I have made great strides in this area of late. I have become more confident, and surprisingly, a lot more bold and assertive. I am close to being comfortable enough with myself that I may be able to rise above my inner “People-pleaser”. Once I can do that, I will not need, nor desire, the affirmation of others.

Your future needs you more than your past ever will. I wholeheartedly agree with this sentiment. It’s particularly poignant to a person who spends as much time ruminating over past deeds or misdeeds as I. I may never move completely past this, but I am committed to doing my best. Dwelling on the past wastes a massive amount of time. It also poses a massive threat to my mental health. I have plenty of goals. I will never accomplish them if I continue to focus on what cannot be changed. This one may be the most important of all.

The very bad day

In keeping with yesterday’s post’s theme, I have to say something. Yesterday was not my best round of golf.

It started with a text from my youngest daughter. Our relationship is very complex at the moment. Several dynamics are at play. She is estranged from her mother. The whole situation has caused a lot of strife in the family. My ex-wife seems to think that I can somehow influence my daughter to change her mind. I would never do that to her. It isn’t up to me to change her mind. For what it’s worth, I have never blamed her for cutting off her mother. I know their relationship well, and I understand and appreciate her perspective. I absolutely want them to work it out, but not at the compromise of my daughter’s mental health. I am in the middle. Trying to save my family.

My support of my daughter has strained my relationship with my ex-wife. Still, I have tried to be there in every way for my daughter. Lately, it seems that she also has a problem with me. Frankly, I don’t know what to do about it. Boundaries are vital to her and her mental health. I do my best to honor them, yet I seem to violate them anyway. Friday morning, in a text conversation, she revealed hostility about something that I apparently did. My first reaction was to lash out, and I chose to disengage and think it through. It worked out, or so I thought, and we had a civil conversation later. I even told her that she had a valid point. I try to be an adult after all. I thought it was over and we were good. Until the next day, when she began a text conversation by railing against our President. I carefully replied that I know she and I have differing opinions on the man. I thought I did the right thing. She became very agitated. She started blowing up my phone with comments. She was furious and done with me over it. Didn’t I disengage?

I know why she hates the man. She is gay and she, rightly, hates him for his anti-LGBTQ opinions. I get it. She accused me of calling it “politics”, as if I don’t know it is a personal thing to her. Of course, I understand it, I just don’t want to engage in heated arguments over a US President. With anyone, not just her. I was, and still am, very upset with how she treated me. I feel insulted and very minimized as a father. The urge to challenge her is there, but I really don’t want to make it worse. But, as a man who values accountability, I don’t want to just forgive the disrespect either. I feel that I have been very amenable to her boundaries. But what about mine? Am I expected to allow myself to be treated like that? I really don’t know what to do. I’m sad and I’m hurt. I love her so much and really want her in my life. I wish I knew what to do.
In alignment with the Golf metaphor, this round was a rain-out.

Yesterday, I was dealing with all of the thoughts above. During this time, I went to an event held by the Shriners with my oldest daughter and granddaughter. It was there that an opportunity came up. I had the chance to address a Brother Mason I know has been publicly disrespecting a friend of mine. I confronted him. I don’t feel bad; he is not a good man. I laid into him without raising my voice and presented consequences. It was effective. In golf, it was a good swing. I silenced a bad person and did it in a way that won’t come back to me.

Then, I went food shopping. It was an uneventful, if not chaotic, shopping experience. But I managed to get through it. Until the parking lot. Putting my cart away, I almost got backed into by a car backing out of a space. Without considering if I was at fault, by not paying proper attention, I called him out. He mouthed off to me, and we had a verbal exchange. It was pretty harmless, but I’m not proud of how I acted. I’m sure he’s not thinking about it. But I wish there were some way that I could tell him that I’m sorry. It’s just not who I am.
For that, I wish I had a Mulligan.

With the exception of confronting a bad man to defend a good one, I wish I could have a Mulligan for the whole damn day.

Movie night.

Yesterday was a good day. Productive, rewarding, and just fun.

I have never been a complainer. I am not a negative person in general. However, I feel that I don’t write about my good days enough.

I picked up my car at noon. It had been in a body shop since Monday. It should have been done on Wednesday. However, my friend and Masonic Brother Alex ran into some issues at his shop. This caused a delay. I couldn’t complain; he was taking care of me, as Masons do.

It wasn’t an Insurance job. I can’t afford the surcharges and rate increases every time an incident occurs. I damaged the bumper of my car by hitting a fat Raccoon in August. I was sad for killing one of God’s innocents. I was also pissed because Alex had just replaced that bumper after an Uber incident. I procrastinated on getting it repaired because I was annoyed as well as broke. Always a fun combination. So Alex, being a friend, offered to replace it as cheaply as possible. Now, I don’t take advantage of a friend’s good nature. And I am very careful never to abuse a Masonic relationship. Because of that, I did it on his availability.

Often, having a friend do work for you is a liability in its own right. I know of instances where the work was not done up to standard because it was a favor. Also, it can take longer because, as they are doing you a favor, the real paying customers come first. Neither was the case here. The work was excellent, and the delay was due to shipping errors for the parts. I had another reason not to complain. He had loaned me his very nice Dodge Truck for the week. This kept me from having to rent a car. It saved me a lot of money. By the time I pulled into his shop, I was feeling good about the whole thing. Little did I know that he would up the ante by taking me to lunch at a local Brazilian restaurant. We had a great lunch and a better conversation. He is a genuinely nice and generous man. Driving home from lunch in my nice undamaged car, I felt very satisfied. It was a moment when I paused to acknowledge how special some areas of my life are. These moments remind me of the value in my life.

I was then struck by a wave of inspiration to do some writing. I have been working on a novel for some time, and I have been locked down with writer’s block. When I got home, I immediately opened the file and reviewed everything I had so far. Inspired, an entire new chapter flowed from my fingertips. I hated to stop but I had made plans with my son Ryan. We were doing Movie Night and I couldn’t wait.

Movie night is our new tradition. Ryan and his new bride recently bought a great house in Central NH. It is perfect in every way. The house is updated, perfectly located in a sparse, quiet neighborhood where distance and privacy are paramount. They have 2 dogs and acres of land for them to run around. Since moving in, Ryan has invited me several times to come watch a movie and hang out. The unspoken part is that we get high before the movie.

Smoking weed with my kids is something that I never thought I would do. In fact, I spent an inordinate amount of time as a younger man worrying if my children would like me enough to even hang out with me when they were older. Just another thing I wasted valuable kidney function worrying about.

Getting high with someone is a significant social interaction. The act itself implies that all participants will likely become inebriated and act uncharacteristically. We all know of the effects of weed, but the biggest side effect is vulnerability. When smoking with someone, you need to be comfortable with those around you and unafraid of judgment or criticism. Some people can act quite out of character. Ryan and I have a blast. We laugh hard, and have amazing conversations. It warms my heart that he wants to hear me regale him with tales of my youth, my philosophies on life, and my unfiltered views on things. He calls the session before the movie the “Unfiltered Dad time” and no title has ever made me happier.

Last night we had a treat, my daughter-in-law joined us. Abby has been a nurse for years and always regretted that she couldn’t use weed because of testing. She recently got a new job, one that requires her medical training but as an Account executive. She now has normal hours and she can finally get high. She celebrated that new privilege with us last night. She was hilarious to smoke with.

The movie was irrelevant. It was the steaks on the Blackstone. It was playing with the dogs. It was enjoying candid time with my adult son, not having to wear the “Dad Hat” anymore. Years ago, I was terrified and constantly worried that my children would outgrow me. That the volatility of our household would cause them to resent me. That I would be relegated to the distinction of the Thanksgiving, Christmas, and Easter dad.

It thrills me that the exact opposite occurred. Here’s to many more Movie nights. And days like yesterday.

Second instinct

I was talking to my lady friend recently. The conversation was about morality and religion. I was challenging her, playfully but genuinely, on her very firm religious views. She and I are very different in our approach, but we do share a genuine belief in a higher power. More importantly, we are both very committed to being good people in a very messed-up world. I say that salvation lies in being a good person. She insists that the goal is Heaven. She insists the only path is through the Big JC. I see our similarities; I think she sees the differences in our approach. It’s a work in progress and we’re both saying and doing the same thing. The conversation took an interesting twist, as I pointed out to her that I tried to be a good person every day and in every interaction with people. Her reaction, which concerned as well as fascinated me, was to say, “You shouldn’t have to try.”
I couldn’t disagree more.

I was raised by the last generation that produced tough, independent, and resilient people. I was taught how to handle myself as well as deal with others. Respect for elders was important. A handshake was your word. A promise made was a promise kept. Your reputation mattered. How you conducted yourself was in due proportion to how you were perceived. Manners weren’t an ideal, they were the gold standard.

Let’s face it, the behavior of people has taken a tragic turn. Except for the good people around us, I always want to acknowledge them as the rule and not the exception, manners and respect are out the window. Personal space, respect for the elderly, decorum, clothing choices, and of course, public conduct are all out the window. Some days, it takes all my energy to stay calm. I try not to become furious at how people treat each other and me. Beyond the notion of anger at the deterioration of society, it also saddens me.

So,where does the earlier comment about “trying” enter into this? My lady friend maintains that, as a good Christian, it should happen naturally. She further explained that if you have to try, then it isn’t organic. That is the Biblical Scholar in her. I love this about her and it maddens me at the same time. Being a person of faith, having accepted JC as your lord and savior, does not make you less mortal. As a mortal person, you have the same human frailties as the rest of us. You are no less prone to being annoyed, offended, or insulted. I do give Christians the advantage in forgiveness. They, and my lady friend is included, are very good at that.

Me, sometimes it takes a little work. I am very rigid when it comes to societal standards. What people do, say, wear, etc., in public concerns me. I don’t care for blatant displays of public affection. I don’t love profanity on shirts and bumper stickers. I dislike slovenly people wearing pajamas outside of the house. I strongly dislike rude behavior. I can go on but you get it. Mind you, I’m not a prude by any means. I don’t hate those who offend my sensibilities; they just challenge me. So I have to “try” to conduct myself to my own standards in reaction to their low standards. I invariably succeed, but it’s not easy for me. It takes work. I made a semantic error. I should have stated “it takes effort” instead of the word “try”. Still, I’m glad because it led to a meaningful conversation. It caused me to explore it further here. As part of that exploration, I was reminded of one of my staple coping mechanisms, Second Instinct.

When I try to be a good person and do the right thing as often as humanly possible, the Second Instinct is often utilized. Sometimes doing the right thing entails doing nothing other than not being an asshole. Increasingly, it’s more work than that. When I’m treated poorly or disrespectfully, my natural instinct is to lash out. I can be a righteous sonofabitch when challenged. But years ago, as my blood pressure was rising, I had to learn how to control my reaction to events. I began to repeat a mantra to myself. “Not everything requires a reaction,” I said it over and over. I did this when in environments that cause me stress.
I trained myself. And it has served me well. I take a deep breath instead of getting into verbal or physical altercations. I control my first reaction or instinct. Then, I go with my second one. I have found that most times my first instinct is correct, because I do believe that I am a good person that knows how to conduct himself properly. But sometimes things do require a reaction. A good person can walk away from most things. But a person with self-respect will assert himself if his dignity is on the line. In which case, the second instinct will be the same as the first. But the second one is almost always right.

Cherishing Moments: A Father’s Reflection on Parenting

A regular Thursday turned into a fond memory. Thursday was a fairly typical day for me. Out of the house early to drive up to Mom’s house to do a Detail. I had a busy day ahead of me but if all went according to schedule it would be fine. I would be at my Ear Doctor’s at 9 when they opened. I would start work on my detail by 10. On the way back, I would stop at my son Ryan’s house to pick up some weed. Then I would go home to shower and head out to a Masonic event. The day went smoothly and I was able to pull into Ryan’s driveway at 4. It was close but I would make it.

The weed was just an excuse to see him. I really look for any reason to get together with him. We have been making time for each other. Lately, the plan is to have a movie night with a buzz at least once a month. Neither of us smokes a lot, but we have had some amazing conversations when we do. He calls it the “Stoned unfiltered Dad talks”. I won’t lie, I love that.

On this Thursday afternoon, his temporary roommate was there as well. Hunter has been his friend since the age of 10. He is like a third son to me. He’s going through some stuff right now and Ryan is giving him a hand up by letting him stay. As conversation freely flowed, the likelihood of rolling a fat one was inevitable.
So we did.
And another amazing conversation began.

We spent some time reminiscing about the old days with them. Ryan and Hunter were inseparable. They spent a great deal of time at our house. Hunter’s home life was less than happy. We had some big laughs at some recollections. The vibe in the room was ripe for real connection. At some point, Hunter pulled out his phone and began trying to show Ryan some videos he found amusing. Ryan repeatedly asked him to put it away. Finally,he said, “Dude, put the phone away. We can watch videos any time. My Dad is here and I want to hear him talk”.
I was floored. Flattered. Impressed. Happy. Gratified. It pleased me to no end that my son recognized the value of moments.

Having been given the floor, I had no intention of talking for the sake of talking. It was an invitation to speak freely and on the level. I have never been a big fan of wearing the “Dad Hat”. I raised my children largely by trying to be a tuned-in, relatable parent. I built relationships with my children so they could reach out to me for support. I wanted to ensure they received encouragement, not reprimands and stale advice. I wasn’t a lax friend or failed role model; I was approachable.
It was in that moment that I decided to feel out what my parental legacy really was. For the sake of context, I need to say that I carry much uncertainty about my parenting. I have been validated by how wonderful all four have turned out. But I also believe that it could have happened despite me. It happens.
So I asked them something I’ve always wanted to ask, Was I the Cool Dad?

My son Derek had already suggested that to me. He and I got along famously. My relationship with Ryan was more complicated. We failed for the longest time to really connect. He would say he was just finding his way. However, I felt that I didn’t have a relationship with him. And that absolutely killed me. We eventually turned a corner and things became great between us. But the off years really dug at me.
So, the resounding “Yes” at the question warmed my heart. Ryan revealed many fond memories of our times together. Ones that I had forgotten about because of my tendency to dwell on the worst moments. Hunter further confirmed that all dads were not like me in his friend circle. I was further pleased at the mentions in which Ryan witnessed what he called my “Masonic moments.” For the sake of this conversation, Masonic moments were those times that we were together where an opportunity to do something good arose and I acted on it. He would later become a Mason himself, to my great joy.

It was such an amazing moment. It was the conversation I had always hoped for with my adult children. All of those times that I sat, head in hands, fretting about my parental mistakes. Hoping and praying that I wouldn’t be the “Holiday” Dad that only gets an invite on the big 3 Holidays. That my children would absorb the good things I tried to do and forgive the bad times.
It would appear that I have accomplished this. I am grateful for this. It really is all I ever wanted, to be valued by my Children.

At 5 o’clock I decided that I would miss the function that I had planned on attending. I was in the middle of a moment, a moment that needed to fade on its own volition. I am so thrilled that my son has learned the importance of turning off a video and just be in the moment.

Embracing Faith: A Journey from Doubt to Strength

I’ve battled my anti-religion demons long enough. I am a believer, and it’s time to walk the path that has been cleared for me. I have embraced righteousness in all walks of life but one, as a man of faith. Sure, I walk proudly, but I am secretly insecure. I have love in my heart, but my mannerisms push people away. I believe in myself, but I struggle with self-worth. I’m tired of fighting for peace when I continually immerse myself in chaos.
I have faced and overcome so many challenges. Considering all I’ve been through, the world could easily give me “a pass” to just exist. But that’s not good enough for me. I don’t want to merely exist, I want to LIVE. I want to stand proud despite all of the efforts of the Universe to break me. I want to be the best person that I can be without the use of “excuses” of hardship. I don’t want to be “The Sick Guy” anymore. I want to be the “I can’t believe you were sick, look at you now” guy. My story has been told. I am strong and healthy. I am supporting myself and thriving. I have made a comeback. I don’t want to talk about my illness anymore, unless asked. If my story can inspire, then I will gladly tell it. But it will not define me.

My attitude, my strength, my humanity, and my faith now define me. I know, in my heart, that my continued existence is not an accident. I have defied the odds given by doctors. I have been given the strength to fight myself back to health (physically at least). I have been blessed with the resolve to continually strive for self-improvement. I need to credit my Creator for all of it.

I always struggled with the notion of “turning it all over to Christ”. Or, as they say in AA, our Creator as we understand him. I always thought it was wrong to not give ourselves credit for our accomplishments. I openly pushed back on that. However, I now understand that what it really means is that God gives us the strength to overcome. If we are humble and emotionally mature enough to ask him for help.
I am amazed that, as a Believer (was I?) this never occurred to me.

I have run from religion most of my life. I eventually embraced Spirituality. Not as a copout, but because I struggled with the mainstream concept of religion. But my real issue lies in my issues with people I have met in religious settings. I have had several memorable (traumatic?) incidents with sanctimonious, disingenuous, and dangerously self-righteous people. I have been exposed to feigned superiority through the veneer of their faith. I have witnessed racism, victim-shaming, and unadulterated condescension in the name of religion. As for hypocrisy, well I don’t have the time to list all of the examples. So I rejected religion.
Now I ask myself, why do these people differ from others? Why can’t I treat them as I do other people I encounter in life that rub me the wrong way? If I meet someone at the Gym, work, Post Office, etc., that annoys me, I think,”It’s their journey leave it alone.” Why can’t I do that? Religion is like anything else in life. There is good and bad. Where there are people, there is hypocrisy. Yet, I closed myself off to an entire component of my life, the spiritual.

This is for you, my beautiful Lisa. I may never be a person who gushes publicly with religious fervor. However, I will walk with the surety of a man of faith. I will not only take comfort in believing that I have a purpose. I also have peace of mind in the Divine bodyguard beside me as I fulfill that purpose. I’m turning it over to God.

I was once told that I walk like a “Proud Peacock”. It was meant as a compliment. My walk exuded confidence and self-assuredness. Only I knew that it was largely an act. A defense mechanism to cause people to leave me alone. By embracing my faith fully, it is no longer an act. I know I was put here, and saved several times for a reason. It’s time to go out and boldly find and work towards that purpose.