Category: parenting

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.

Deflection

Saw this on my FB feed today.
“Nobody grinds harder than the man who’s tasted failure, pain, rejection, loss, disrespect, loneliness, and heartbreak at a young age.
Use all the pain as fuel.”
Author unknown.

I was at a function recently and was presented with an award by my peers. It was an amazing gesture of thanks for an event that I had sponsored for a distressed brother. I was honored, but visibly uncomfortable with the public accolades. After the dust had settled, I was talking to a Brother whom I respect greatly. He said, “It’s okay to be recognized, Bill. You do a lot for people.”
I replied that I don’t do things for acknowledgment, I do them because I can.
“It’s because you’ve been through some shit, and you know how it is to be down.”I suppose it’s true. My past comes through when an opportunity to help someone arises.

I know how this sounds. As I write this, I am painfully aware that I am opening myself up to charges of hubris. I swear on all that matters to me that I am not about that. I have reached a unique point in my life. I am really not about me anymore. I like my life as it is, but I’ve gone as far as I can. I’m in a acceptable rut. I have my routine and the things that make me happy. The rest of my time is for my fellow man.

My old life was marked by constant errors in judgment, poor decisions, and struggles in interpersonal relationships. Then came the illness. At the culmination of my illness, I hit the ultimate place of learning: Rock Bottom. From the depths of that pit, I experienced despair and loneliness. I felt hopelessness, dependency, and isolation. I also faced failure, pain, and rejection. The loss and heartbreak were overwhelming. The prospect of an early conclusion to an unfulfilled life terrified me.

My friend Eric recently started dialysis. He told me, “Situations such as this reveal to you who your friends really are.” That resonated with me profoundly. While I did have some very solid support while sick, I dealt with my situation mostly alone. I learned some hard life lessons. I discovered a great deal about who I was. I also realized what I wanted out of life. I vowed that if I were to get better, I would do better. In particular, to channel my own experiences to help others.
Then I got better.

For a few years, I talked about my experience. Maybe too much. I was so happy to be on the right side of the dirt. I shared my story with anyone who wanted to hear it. I believe that everyone has something to offer. Different perspectives inspire new attitudes. Sometimes it only takes a reminder that, no matter how bad you have it, someone has it worse. I utilize the charitable nature of Freemasonry as a tool to help people. Masonic charity is true charity; often done anonymously, and always done without expectation of accolades or anything in return.

Now, in this phase of life, I rarely even talk about my illness. I’m not the sick guy anymore. But I walk with all of the memories of him. The lessons of my past life have changed my perspective. When someone catches my attention, my mind turns to the adage “Be kind. Everyone is fighting a battle you know nothing about.” It keeps me grounded. It’s what causes me to deflect compliments and accolades.

My oldest daughter wrote the following in my Birthday card in July. “Dad, you are the most selfless person I know.” I have been very clear in stating that I don’t like or need compliments. But that one I’ll take as fuel to grind even harder.

Mulligan

I love Golf. It’s a wonderful outdoor activity. It’s good exercise. It’s challenging both mentally and physically. It involves dexterity, precision, and muscle memory. It’s also maddening. Don’t let the Pros on TV fool you. There is nothing harder than to hit a little white ball straight and far. If that isn’t challenging enough, there are obstacles of sand, water and trees to make it more interesting. It’s an unforgiving game in many ways.
Just like life itself.

The key to Golf, unless you’re a professional or in training, is to not take it too seriously. Golf is like sex, you have to do it a lot to be good at it. But people who don’t have sex often still want to be good at it, and the same applies to Golf. There are those who are great at it but don’t take it too seriously. And then there are those who suck and get angry when they reveal said fact. And then there’s everyone in between. The happiest golfer plays to their strengths. They know their limitations. They break down their game into 3 categories. Good swings, bad swings, and Mulligans.

I don’t have to explain the good swing in detail. It’s the one that went where the player wanted it to. It’s the one that makes you come back. Even if the day was otherwise full of bad swings. Bad swings are the ones that don’t live up to our plan. It was either a miss, a slice, a shank, or a dribbler. They are maddening. Sometimes they require a “Mulligan.”

A “Mulligan” is a free swing. A do over. It’s named after a real person. He made a bad shot, and his peers deemed that he could hit it again. While it is not allowed in professional play, the regular “duffer”, or hack player, often utilizes one or more during a round. If the challenges and intricacies of Golf are a metaphor for life, that’s an interesting twist. Golf, unlike life, occasionally allows you a do-over.

I have embraced the Mulligan in life. I have been mercilessly unforgiving of myself for most of my life. I hold myself to a standard that nobody can achieve and the beatings I give myself are also on a next level. But occasionally I think about playing a round with my Son on a beautiful summer day. We’re out playing for the camaraderie. We’re playing to escape the daily grind. We’re only being slightly competitive; mostly, we’re trying to just enjoy the moment that will become a memory. I just hit a bad shot off the tee. It’s the first bad shot of the day, and we’ve been enjoying the close play. My boy tosses me a ball and says, “Do it again”. It’s an allowable do-over. No questions asked. I set up the ball, take a deep breath, and swing. The shot is long and straight, landing and bouncing past my boy’s ball on the fairway. I feel good again, I made good on a mistake.

Life doesn’t allow Mulligans. Every tee shot you take in life needs to be played from wherever it lands. No exceptions. I’ve been hitting out of the woods, behind trees, and out of sand my entire life. Some shots sailed onto the fairway, others fell short or got lost altogether. I can’t erase them. But if I can’t forget about them, at the very least, I can forgive myself for them.

Some days I hit some good shots. Most days I hit a few bad ones. The bad ones have been keeping my mind racing at a frenetic pace. They keep me up at night and ruin otherwise peaceful moments. But each day I get up and swing again. The new day is the Mulligan. It is not a continuation of the last round. If I can remember to look at each day in this vein, my life is sure to get better.

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.

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.

Reminiscin’

I was recently asked what was my favorite memory of my Father. One immediately

I will just start by saying my Dad was a god to me when I was young. Unfortunately, I feel that I worshiped at arm’s length. Later in life, I would understand the small gap of air between us. What I thought was reserved was actually his “Dad Hat”. My Dad was determined to be a good father. Committed to give me a good childhood and to make sure I had enough of everything. 

Because he had a lousy childhood and was given nothing, he was ending the cycle. 

What I refer to as reserved was just him trying too hard. I wish he had learned to just be himself around me. He eventually would, and when he did all was good. We enjoyed a very nice relationship in his later years. Nevertheless, Parkinson’s reduced him to a shell of his former self. He died in 2013.

I connected with my Dad through common interests. I made myself interested in things to spend time with him. When he was working on the house, I would hang with him and help out whenever possible. When he was under the hood of the car, I poked mine in as well to see what he was doing. When he watched Sports, I sat with him. I ingratiated myself to get close to him. And I’m so very glad that I did because my love of cars and sports came from him.

But what I love most from my father’s influence is my passion for motorcycles.

My Dad rode motorcycles as far back as I can remember. Motorcycles have an obvious allure. Aesthetically, the sleek styling, shiny chrome, and loud pipes appeal to the senses. The idea of them and what they represent excited the hell out of me. Freedom, danger, independence and (let’s face it) a badass vibe came to mind. That excitement has yet to wear off, but it is rivaled by the sight of my Dad pulling up the driveway on his bike when I was young.

It was agonizing on so many levels as I waited to be deemed old enough to ride on the back. When that day finally came, I was jumping out of my skin with excitement. I can still remember putting the helmet on and watching as dad made sure it was fastened properly. I remember the pre-ride speech about staying still and not making any sudden movements that may throw his balance. I vividly remember as we rolled down the driveway for the first time.

I wasn’t scared. I trusted my father to the moon and back. We went to our favorite place in Salem, MA. We ate pizza and Ice Cream as we watched the people scuttle about. It was a magic day and the place became our place after that day.

The only memory greater than that, my absolute favorite of all, involves the day I met up with my Dad. I was on my own bike to embark on our first ride together. We went to our place in Salem, MA, our place, and ate pizza and Ice Cream. This time, it wasn’t just the destination that mattered but the journey there and back. 

That is how I like to remember my Father. When I bought my first Harley after he had passed on. As I fired her up for the first time, I looked to the Sky and wondered if Dad was proud of me.

The Evolving Role of a Dad at Christmas

It’s Christmas Eve and I am very excited about spending time with my family tonight. With my children now grown adults, the dynamic of the Holiday has transformed greatly. Permanently etched in my mind are the Christmases of old. It was always a huge ordeal at my house when I was a kid. My parents loved Christmas and were very generous. My Dad was so dedicated to my mother that he truly could not stop getting her gifts. Sadly, I think it was insecurity masked by generosity but it was certainly based on his love for her. The exchange of gifts was borderline excessive. But I was always provided for and I enjoyed the Christmas holiday.
I enjoyed it less and less as I got older. I began to see it for the rampant and crass commercialism that it was. When the kids were young, I enjoyed it through them. As they got older, I smiled and acted happy. Holidays would become a major stressor for my wife, and consequently on me and I soured on most all of them. But I suppose that is a story for another day.

I did enjoy Christmas Eve. Christmas Eve was always a great night at my house as a kid and remains a fond memory. The house was full of family and friends imbibing in drinks and snacking on holiday treats. It was a zero pressure evening, the gifts were already wrapped, the toys were assembled, there was nothing to do but enjoy the calm before the storm.

Christmas now consists of a party on Christmas Eve, and everyone goes their separate ways on Christmas Day. I love this transition. It reminds me of the old days. But it is much to my ex’s chagrin that hosting duties have been passed on to the kids. She wants to still do it. I think she misses the Holidays when the kids were young. I suppose it’s a natural reaction to aging.

My oldest daughter has hosted for the last few years. It is such a great time. I look ahead to it all year. The kids, their spouses, and significant others gather. A smattering of family friends and new in-laws join for drinks, a nice meal, and then games.
I missed it last year. I had COVID. I was miserably sick and depressed about missing it.
This year, my oldest boy and his Fiance welcomed us all to their nice new apartment. Just reading his texts and emails are warming to my heart, they are so excited to host us all.

This is a small chapter in the “How to be a parent to adult kids” manual. My role of the father has evolved. While my children would disagree with this, I would argue that my children don’t “need” me anymore. It’s not that I don’t have a role, it’s that I’m not depended on by them anymore. This is troublesome for me because that is something that I miss in both my personal and professional life. I was always an integral part of things. Now, I have a support role.
To put a positive spin on this, it is a victory of sorts to be in this situation. During the days of family turmoil, there was a lot of arguing and resentment. I often worried that my children would resent us. I feared they would not have need for us once they were on their own. I now believe that we made the repairs in time. By acknowledging that fear and being proactive about repairing those fractured relationships.
My role now is to be there when they need me, otherwise to sit back and beam with sheer pride at how magnificent they all really are. It’s not about taking credit, it’s just gratitude that it all worked out.

I am so excited about tonight. Still, I harbor a fair amount of sadness. My youngest daughter and my ex are still not speaking. As a result, my daughter will miss yet another family event. This I hate, so many magical moments have happened recently; a wedding, engagement, the birth of a beautiful little baby…she’s missed them all. I can’t say if she is bothered by it but I sure am.

It’s difficult to enjoy a holiday while missing someone. I miss having her around. I need harmony in my life. I guess you can’t always get what you want.

Everything must go

I’ve been struggling lately. I am reluctant to say that I have been sad, but I have been isolating more than usual and feel like I’m searching for something. Despite my lack of physical activity this past week, the mental energy expended was triathlon level. I have been evaluating everything, challenging my own viewpoints and beliefs, and wondering why someone with such a fulfilling life can feel such despair.
I sought the advice of a friend, which is hard for me because I don’t tend to share the very personal with people. I tend to laugh off, minimize and generally suppress that which gnaws at me. To my amazement, after hearing about my funk, he asked me if I ever properly processed the difficult events in my life.
I scoffed at him, it’s what I do.
He was ready for that. He knew that was what I do. So I thought about it, and I wasn’t happy with what I came up with. I may have handled the situation(s) but I never dealt with them.

Yes, those who know me may assume that the myriad of health problems that I have experienced would be the most traumatic experiences of my life. They would be wrong. Health is easy to deal with. With illness, it may take a while but you deal with it. You accept it, if you’re smart you will follow directions and maybe change some habits, and leave the rest up to fate. You either live or you don’t, the very “out of ones hands” nature of illness makes it that simple. The only obstacle is pain, but you get used to that as well.
What I never dealt with is the emotional trauma, which goes way back, of everything from the bullying in school to my failed marriage and everything in between. It was a nice revelation but I am clueless to how to act on it.

Enter one of the things that I do like about myself, my persistent tendency to always be on the lookout for a sign. I believe in signs. It is my belief that the universe communicates with those in tune through signs. I actively look for them everywhere and in everything; by studying my surroundings with an open mind and heart, in my choice of shows or movies, even in interactions with others. I have been inspired by the smallest of things and in the most unlikely of places. Today, I found great inspiration and even some answers in a Will Ferrell movie, of all things.

Everthing Must Go is a sleeper movie that slipped under the mainstream but caught the attention of a few respected movie critics. It is the rare Drama done by a comedian considered to be out of his depth that surprises you. Not unlike Reign Over Me with Adam Sandler and Moscow on the Hudson with Robin Williams. Of course, Robin Williams would go on to be a respected dramatic actor but you get the point.
In Everything Must Go, the main character loses his job and marriage on the same day. Both due to his chronic alcoholism. He returns to his house to find all of his belongings in the front yard, door locks changed and his bank accounts frozen. With no funds or other means to do anything, he chooses to live with all of his belongings in his front yard. In the ensuing days he endures a crash course in confronting the issues of his life. As expected, what unfolded was a painful emotional roller coaster. One that I related to almost to the point of tears.
He was forced to deal with his alcoholism, his choices, his accountability for his role in the failure of his marriage and career, and I was held in rapt attention. The familiarity was staggering. The impact of alcohol on his life was particularly poignant. The failure of his marriage was downright painful. All of it was just too close to home. And it proved to me that my friend was SPOT ON correct that I never dealt with my marriage, my choices, my place in life and my deeply repressed emotions on ALL of it.
Watching the movie unfold, I felt the despair, the frustration, the longing, the pain as if it was my own. And like my life, the story did not have a happy ending. Yes, I know my life is not over but I’m not expecting great things in the future.
The only positive takeaway I have is that it was a movie. I still have time, not to recover that which was lost, but to finally deal with the trauma of my past. It’s critical to mention here that my use of the word “trauma” is a rarity. I tend to downplay, even be derisive, of people who use the word. But it’s time that I face up to it, finally.
Being minimized at work and home, being forced to tolerate rampant abuse by employers who knew that I needed the job and could do nothing about it, being a mere roommate to my wife, and then finally having the chewed-up carcass of what was left of my life spit out by chronic illness nearly destroyed me.
That is trauma. The fact that I am still standing notwithstanding, it needs to be dealt with.

I may have to focus on that for a while.