Category: Uncategorized

More cracks than I thought

I posted a few days ago about my Mom’s boyfriend and how, as his familiarity increases with our home he has begun to show a “further side” of his personality. Some folksy racist comments, inserting himself into situations that don’t concern him and trying to influence decisions my mother makes. It is bugging me a bit, but as I stated before it is her life and if she’s happy then so am I. I’m also a guest in her house right now and I know my place and will not exceed my boundaries, provided they jive with my sensibilities. That is a big ol’ gelatinous statement because my “sensibilities” constantly evolve.

A little history will provide some more context.

My father died of Parkinson’s in 2013. He battled the insidious disease for 8 years. As the disease systematically reduced the once unbreakable, honest and strong man to a mere shell of existence my mother was forced to care for him almost unassisted despite the fact that he was a veteran and a Teamster. Caring for him took a terrible toll on her, the stress of seeing her only love fade before her eyes and the physical toll of tending to his every need was miserable for her. His death was a relief for everyone, I imagine even for my father. I was living in MA and was 100 miles away so I was of little help but when he passed I spent as much time up here as I could to keep her company.

Six months passed and Mom called and said: “we need to talk”. She had a boyfriend. A local guy, a retired MA transplant who worked part-time in the schools named Frank. I had mixed emotions. Part of me screamed “too soooooon!” but the other, more reasonable side of me liked the fact that she wasn’t alone. I would meet Frank soon after and I liked him. My family not so much. My wife, the pinnacle of virtue apparently, got all judgy about how fast it all happened. My children were unhappy because they hadn’t seen their grandmother at all as she cared for my dad and now she was busy with someone else and they were again on the back burner. I found myself playing the middle, a role I hate.

Frank was a clinger, a Velcro boyfriend. He had come from a miserable marriage, he was crazy about my mother and he never left her side. I pulled mom aside and told her my concerns, she was aware but not worried about it. It became a problem for me when I brought the family up one night and come bedtime, instead of getting in his truck he began to put his pajamas on and headed towards the bedroom. The same bed my mother shared with my father. I wasn’t cool with that at all. My kids were here, they wanted time with her and he couldn’t give her one night without humping her leg? And she couldn’t ask him to leave?  I did it for her.

“Hey Frank, if it’s all the same to you…you know I like you right? If it’s all the same to you when we’re at breakfast tomorrow I’d rather not see you come out of this room scratching your balls. Would you mind going home tonight?” Mom was not happy but she knew I just had a conversation she couldn’t. Frank was pissed. But he skulked out and I told Mom that she needed to reign in his clinginess. How did they think that it was ok for the grandkids, who just lost their grandfather, to see that?

Eventually, Frank and I came to an understanding and we ended up liking each other a lot, although Mom said he was intimidated by me. I’m glad I liked him because he proposed in July of 16. They were now living together and their old-fashioned values left them feeling uncomfortable with “living in sin.” They were married in January of this year.

He died 3 months later. What started out as a cold turned out to be lung cancer. He lasted 10 days from diagnosis to the morgue. My mother was crushed. But bounced right back.

She gave it 6 months, and around the time that I moved in she began to get the itch. She wanted to date again. After several failed online experiences, she met Dave. Dave is the guy I recently posted about. He is almost but not quite as clingy as Frank.

The other day I asked my mother how things were going with him. I had my opinions but I only offered them when asked for. We talked for a bit about the aforementioned stuff. I recommended that she be the one to be in charge of the relationship. She needed to remind him that she just lost a 2nd husband and that the situation needs to be how she wants it. I assured her that he would be fine with whatever she does. I then mentioned to her some of the things I discussed in my previous post. Most of which she agreed with. Then she said, “there is one more thing, he needs to stop grabbing me. You know…sexually”. The top of my head almost blew off! I was furious. I needed to know: how bad, how often, what did you do about it and what happens now?!?!

“Like what”, she said, “I told him I didn’t like it. That in my entire life I’ve never been groped”.

“Umm Hmmm…and what, pray tell was his response to that?”

“He said that I should be flattered.” He sounds like Fred fucking Flintstone.

“Maybe I shouldn’t have told you”.

“You’d better do something or I will,” I told her.

I’m glad she told me. I am now planning my move. Something will be said. This is my Mother! What is he, a teenager? Is she hot? I’m not backing off of this.

I’m fine with her dating. It’s not even up to me. I wish she played the field a bit instead of falling in with these “nesters” but it’s not my call. I tolerate the fact that he may be plowing my mother in my father’s bed but he had better respect her and she had better insist on it. Retired state trooper or not, I’ll put him out the door without the benefit of opening it first.

A 70-year old man groping a woman like a teenager. You can’t make this shit up.

 

You don’t look sick…part 3

Revealing to my wife and family that I needed a kidney transplant was a turning point. My children were confused and upset. I told them everything would be fine. My wife painted a much more grim picture. I was furious with her for being so negative, at one point during an unfortunate argument she blurted out “it’s ok kids side with him he’s going to die and you’ll be stuck with me”. It was a brutal comment and hard to bounce back from. I explained to the kids that the best case scenario was a transplant, the worst would be dialysis. Not ideal, but still alive. I kept to myself the attitude that dialysis is the WORST option, giving me zero quality of life. It was a stressful time, only being compounded by the weight of mind-boggling debt and pending foreclosure. Which is historically great for blood pressure.

The backlash on me was partially deserved. By minimizing my condition I did help myself cope, but I alienated my support network. By avoiding being doted on and being treated differently, and most importantly having my family worry about me, I forced them to come to grips with something in a short amount of time, that I have had most of my adult life to deal with…that I may lead a short life. But at that point, I still couldn’t tell people how I was feeling.

At work I couldn’t escape the attention, it was a big story. In late 2009 I was hospitalized for a serious infection that was renal-related. My manager came to visit me on a Saturday with a stack of magazines for me. He said, “looks like you’re going to need a donor soon, huh?” I nodded in agreement. “What if I told you that we might have one? Deb approached me yesterday and wants to be tested”.

I was of course thrilled. She would prove to be a match and, well you can guess the rest. The company made a story out of it. The local CBS affiliate station came to do an in-office interview with Deb and I. For weeks, complete strangers would approach me and say “Hey I saw you on the News! How are you feeling?” People who knew me at the auction and other areas of my life would say “Hey, I saw you on the news. I never knew. You don’t look sick”. Heavy sigh…there was no escaping it now.

After the transplant, it was the new normal. I am blessed to have so many people care about me. The outpouring of support was amazing from friends, family, social media and company connections. My company threw a huge fundraiser for me, everyone knew my story. It truly renewed my faith in people. But post-transplant I was riding a wave, I felt great and I wanted to put 15 plus years of feeling like shit warmed over behind me. I worked out, I hiked, I bought a bike and then a mountain bike. I found a group on Facebook of local mountain bikers and I showed up. I made a bunch of great friends. One day, after a particularly grueling ride I peeled my sweat-soaked shirt off to change into a dry one and there was my enormous scar for all to see. One guy inquired about it and I gave him the brief breakdown. “Hey, I saw you on the news. That’s quite a story. You look great man!” Now that’s what I was going for.

Now let me refocus for a moment. This series is not about being happy or glad or grateful if people ask you how you are. It is about being known by your illness. When your illness defines you. When people think of how much it sucks to be sick…they think of you.

So when I constantly reference the times when people say “You don’t look sick” or ask “How are you feeling” it puts a very particular set of reactions into place. So far in this series, I am describing the birth of Superman as a coping mechanism. As opposed to the earlier-in-life Superman that tried to save the day and fix everything. He was born because I simply couldn’t afford to look sick and I could never actually tell anyone how I actually felt.

My family relied on me. I needed to be the Dad and husband I promised to be. I needed to be strong. So I covered it up, in a way I denied my illness. For them and for myself. When I was really sick, I had to say no to a 10-year old and a 9-year old who asked their Dad to play football in the front yard with them. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t get off of the sofa. The look on their faces haunted me. After that, I forced myself to do it or I found a way to avoid it. They didn’t need to know so I didn’t tell them.

With my employer and co-workers I couldn’t answer the “How are you feeling?” question without committing career suicide. It may be against the law to discriminate in the workplace against a person with illness but it doesn’t offer much advancement. I had a huge job that other people wanted and a salary that I needed to maintain. So if my Manager said “How are you today?” there was no reason to give it a logical progression to “How are you feeling?”

I lied, I denied. I feel great thank you. I don’t look sick because that’s the point. It’s a whole lot safer than answering like,

“Well thank you for asking. This morning I barely made it to work on time because I was up all night with spasms that no doctor can diagnose. I threw up in the shower this morning and I am wearing a pair of shoes 2 sizes larger than normal because my feet are so swollen I can’t get the others on my feet. I am really fatigued right now for no reason and I am hardly in the mood for your fucking bullshit but here I am…AREN’T YOU GLAD YOU ASKED?”

to be continued

 

lofty standards

I am a quirky guy, that’s as nice as I can put it. I have certain expectations out of life. In addition to the sun rising each day, I expect electronics to work. I expect passwords to be accepted 2 times in a row. And I expect people to have an acceptable level of intellect and courtesy. I have lofty standards in some categories, others I have come to accept that we’re now grading on a curve.

The areas that I have learned to look the other way in are how people dress in public, personal hygiene, manners, tolerance, acceptance, lack of respect for personal space, attention spans, lack of respect for elders and an abhorrent lack of knowledge in civics and history.

The areas that I continue to have lofty standards in are respectful discourse, eye contact, professionalism in the workplace and doing your job well. As a manager of large staffs in several fields, I know when a person is good at their job. When I encounter someone, ranging from a clerk at a 7-11, a food server to a bank teller, if they have an attitude problem I am severely tempted to tell them to just quit already and make room for someone who gives a fuck. See, that’s my minimum requirement in life…give a fuck.

As a former sales professional, I am highly critical of those in sales. Particularly automotive sales. I did it and was damn good at it. Thorough, courteous and knowledgeable, I knew how to take care of my customer. Consequently I expect the same type of experience every 5 years or so when I buy a car.

This week my Mom got the itch to get a new SUV. She has had hers 5 years and she never keeps one longer than 5 years. A local dealership sent a notice about a recall, she reviewed it and asked me if I would go with her when she dropped hers off, in case she saw something she likes.

We saw a very nice one in a funky blue exterior, black gut and loaded. We asked for a salesperson to show it to us. Quite the opposite of the usual experience of being hounded when you first walk in, they had to find someone to help us. We were introduced to a nice guy, about my age. As he attempted to start the car he found it to be dead. Considering that is was 11 degrees with 30 mph winds it wasn’t alarming. He escorted us inside, jumped it and joined us inside as it warmed up. In conversation, as we made small talk as the car warmed up, I tossed it out there that I have been in “the biz” for over 2 decades. This serves to put a guy on notice that there will be no shenanigans today. He was pickin’ up what I was throwin’ down.

We went out to the now warm car and he asked us to get in. My mom got in the driver seat and he began to attempt to wow her with the center console. The one that wasn’t working. He was a little flustered but we got past it. The Nav screen, audio display and bluetooth set up was down but I assured my mother that I knew what it looked like and it’s very impressive. The salesperson was grateful for my save, and we drove it. Long story short, she loved it.

We went inside and asked to see some numbers. As he made small talk and drew up a proposal I played with my phone. He may have thought I was on Facebook but I was going to be his worst nightmare. I was running market reports on her trade and regional cost analyses on the new vehicle to see what others are paying. I knew there was 12% markup in domestics and quietly showed my mother what I came up with. Surprisingly they only came up 1000 more total than I wanted to pay. We got what I wanted. Easy, great deal, nice people and a good experience overall. We agreed to pick it up Monday night.

Last night was as cold as Friday was. But the car was ready, had a new battery, clean and warm. With a still-broken center console screen. Oooops. SMH. My mother was annoyed, the salesperson was flustered. He screwed up and he knew it. I asked what they were going to do and he asked if we could bring it in the next day (today). I told my mom that I would drop her off at work, bring it for her and wait for the work to be completed.

I did this as planned, waited 3 hours for them to tell me that it needed a part that they didn’t have that needed to be ordered. I told the salesperson that my mother wasn’t happy. He didn’t say anything. Here’s where I got annoyed. I said, “Really, that’s your answer? Do I have to spell it out for you?” He didn’t know what I meant. “What are you going to do for her because we’re going to be getting a little survey soon asking how you did. Do you feel me?” Crickets.

Finally, I spelled it out for him. I want you to do something for her! By the time I was done we had a promise of the first service free, a loaner when I drop it off on Friday, a full recon and a full tank of gas. Of course I had to spell it out for him with crayons and colored construction paper.

It’s difficult holding people to your own standards. It’s even ok to not be that adept at catching the sarcasm. It’s another altogether to not recognize that someone needs something and you need to give it. As a consumer I deserve it and as a person I expect it. Unfortunately, common sense is a plant that doesn’t grow in everyone’s garden.

Since when is knowing your shit a liability?

You don’t look sick…part 2

“How are you feeling?”

I ended the first installment by recalling my brief bout with Testicular Cancer in the late 90’s. It was a formative moment. During my recovery, albeit a short one, I did some serious soul-searching and eventually re-evaluated my entire life.

I decided to explore the job market outside of my little comfort zone. I envisioned all of the upcoming moments with the children that I would miss due to my schedule. The restaurant life was indeed getting old, my back and legs were my livelihood and the benefits were abysmal. When I was forced to take a weeks vacation to recover from Cancer surgery it became painfully obvious that I needed a job using my mind and my degree that also had decent benefits. While rehabbing, I applied for and eventually achieved the job that would be the stepping stone to the best job of my life.

I also realized that this was my second real brush with my mortality. If you have been following my story, you know that I have kidney disease. I have never mentioned my motorcycle accident.

Just ten years before I was hit by a drunk driver. I was hit on the left side and pushed off of the road. I went off the bike, over the bars into a guardrail. I broke 3 ribs and fractured 4 vertebrae. My only memory of the incident was gasping frantically for breath and blacking out. My next memory was waking in the hospital. I had gone into shock. I spent 3 weeks in the hospital, followed by wearing a back brace for 6 months, and I was unemployed. This is the event that led me to the restaurant. Now 9 years in, I was “Billy one-nut”, still dealing with back issues from crashing my bike, and beginning to experience regular symptoms of my burgeoning kidney disease. It wasn’t debilitating at this point, but it was becoming a part of my daily mindset and not just an “episode” here and there. It would also be the beginning of the “how are you feeling”? phase that we with chronic illness deal with.

First, and I think that I speak for most of us with chronic illness, let me say that I honestly appreciate someone inquiring as to my well-being. It beats the living hell out of the popular greeting of “’Sup?” any day. It shows consideration and familiarity. Speaking only for myself, when people routinely greet me with a “how are you feeling”, it’s official. I’m the sick kid. By my logic, which is admittedly questionable at best, my illness has defined me. I was not going to let that happen. I kept at it at the gym, I (politely) dodged questions about my health, walked upright even when hurting and eventually it went away.
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It worked for me. My stubborn, bullheaded nature allowed me to fool my kids, appease my wife and keep my job. The family knew but didn’t dwell on it because I didn’t give them a reason to. My boss didn’t know until it was revealed in 2008 that I would definitely need a transplant.

IGA Nephropathy is a rare kidney disease, and like me it is an unpredictable smartass. It lays dormant for years on end, giving you the illusion that it’s not a big deal and then it pops up, robs you of a huge amount of function and says “remember me”? My esteemed team of physicians had done nothing up to this point other than manage symptoms, for IGA is so unpredictable they really didn’t know what would happen. In 2008, when it was confirmed that I would definitely need a transplant I had to tell my family and my employer.

My wife’s reaction was priceless. True to her personality, the “how does this affect me” gene reared its ugly head and she accused me of deceiving her. I have forgiven her since but I will never forget her response.

“If I knew you were that sick I never would have married you.” Normally a stalwart person, that one stung me. She apologized but it was too late. Her rationale was that I was going to die and leave her a widow with 4 heartbroken children. I reminded her that I had warned her when we began dating that I had an uncertain future health-wise.

My employer was very supportive. In fact, they embraced it. They would prove to be one of the only bright spots of the entire ordeal. The downside…everyone knew what was going on, I was now the sick guy. The day had come where every greeting was the default, dreaded

“How are you feeling?”. Here we go

 

To be continued…

crack in the foundation

My mother’s new boyfriend has become a weekly house guest. Because he lives almost 80 miles away his routine is to show up on Friday and leave Monday morning. He originally stayed in the guest room but now he’s in her bed. My father’s bed. Heavy sigh. Let it go.

I like him. He’s a big, polite 70-year-old Vietnam Veteran and retired State Trooper. He’s nice to my mother and he and I get along well. Even if we didn’t it doesn’t matter I’m not shagging him my mother is.

Predictably, as his familiarity and comfort level increase, he is showing some additional sides of his personality. A few telling comments containing “folksy racism”, unwelcome input (my favorite), and indications that he thinks he is a bigger part of this household than he really is. My mother is noticing it, is ok with things for now, but I am comfortable that she will handle it if she decides it is a problem. As for me, I am always waiting for the other shoe to drop.

This morning he made a mean comment about our dog to me. Big mistake. I even said “you’re in the wrong house then big guy”. “You’ll go before he will”. He asked if I was serious.

“Hell yea I am. We love dogs in this house.”

I can’t help but wonder what Mom’s reaction would have been had she heard that? I have a feeling that this is only a matter of time.

“you don’t look sick”…part 1

I went to my local hospital yesterday morning for some bloodwork. I have a “standing order” for the same tests monthly to monitor my kidney function, or as I call it the “how much have I lost this month” tests. The laboratory waiting room was small and crowded, I swear the room was built as an afterthought. I checked in, surveyed the room, saw a lot of sniffling people and the germaphobe in me chose to stand in the doorway until called.

When called, I trudged through the sea of inconsiderately outstretched legs, carefully dodging the onslaught of germs that I sensed were targeting me as if I had disrupted a wasp’s nest. After my blood was drawn I was led to the door and the Nurse said, for all the waiting room to hear, “ok now head over to Oncology they’re expecting you”. All eyes were on me. As I again navigated the sea of people standing between the door and my exodus an elderly gentleman softly said to his wife,

“he doesn’t look sick”.

I thought about responding but decided against it. Maybe it was the word “Oncology” that threw him, he didn’t know that my iron infusion was administered in the Oncology lab. After I checked in to the Oncology clinic, I sat down and reflected on a similar incident many years ago.

I was treated for Cancer in 1998 at age 31. At that time, I was the proud, doting father of an 18-month-old little girl and my wife was pregnant with my son. I was working full time at the restaurant at night, my days consisted of playing with my daughter and hitting the gym during her morning nap. I was in great shape, the best of my life. I was training for power at the gym, moving a lot of weight for at least 90 minutes a day. One day I was training legs and I attempted a press of 1300 pounds. It was a lot of weight, the kind that requires a guy on each side of the machine to bail you out if your knees pop off and stick to the ceiling. I completed 3 reps, rolled off of the machine and immediately threw up all over the floor. The pain in my core was excruciating. I called my doctor immediately. After I was examined, my doctor asked what my plans for the afternoon were. I told him I was going to work. “Call in sick,” he said and suggested that I call my wife next. I knew it, Cancer.

That nagging pain in my groin was actually a golf-ball sized tumor. It was my favorite, “Lefty”. “Lefty” had to go, regardless of whether it was benign or malignant. My blood work had already indicated that it was malignant. I was asked if I wanted a prosthetic Lefty, I declined. I was married after all, who is going to see? As an aside, I would like to borrow Mr. Peabody’s time machine right about now.
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The surgery was scheduled for 10 agonizing days later. To know that you have something inside that is silently trying to kill you and having to wait 10 days to have it removed is torture. I was incredibly aware of it, as if the creature in Alien was planning its moment to pop out of me and wreak havoc. In the meantime, I went to work and acted like everything was just fine. I told one person what was going on, my boss, because I needed to schedule the time off for surgery. He told some people and sure enough, it got out. People started treating me differently. As the kitchen clown, I was a lightning rod for jokes and abuse. My days were always full of banter, it made the day pass. We were all like that. Now, everyone was being so fucking NICE to me I couldn’t take it. I was now the sick guy. People get like that when they hear the “Big C”. There’s nothing they can do and they don’t know what to say. I let them do their thing and I did mine, I deflected it and moved on.

The surgery was successful. And timely. The words “Just in time” were used in conversation. Now in a specimen jar, Lefty was indeed malignant. I would not need chemo, only a long steady regimen of Radiation therapy to my abdominal region.

The Radiation therapy would prove to be a breeze for me. My Oncologist was noticeably shocked at how well I handled it. He would tell me of how patients had to stop treatment due to fatigue and nausea. I was going to the gym and then work after a mere week after my surgery.

Work would prove to be difficult, but not for the reasons you would expect. My strength wasn’t there but I was able to do my job. If they let me. My co-workers, who normally abused me were offering to help me lift things, giving me easier assignments, asking me if I wanted to leave earlier. The worst thing of all is they were being so nice still. No abuse of any kind. I couldn’t take it so one very hot August night I decided to put end this nice stuff.

We were all sweating, it was 95 outside and we were inside a kitchen with 8 ovens, 4 fryolators and 12 saute stations going full tilt. I was sweaty and miserable and I knew I had to pick my moment. I walked into the back kitchen area during a lull and they were all there. I dropped my apron to the floor dramatically and said, “Jesus, I’m sweating my BALL off here!” They erupted in laughter, the tension instantly disappeared. My buddy Joe looks at me and says “so it’s on?”

“Yes, it’s on. Stop tip toeing around me I hate it!”

The abuse was rampant and apparently retroactive. “Billy one-nut” was born. And I loved it, things were back to normal, finally.
cancer joke

One day soon after, as I was leaving the radiation center, I hugged my dear nurses’ goodbye and walked through the waiting room. As I passed an elderly couple, the husband leaned in to the wife and said: “he doesn’t look sick.” I stopped, turned to him and said’ “that’s the idea”.

To be continued…

no soup for you

It’s hard to be in a good mood today. This is one of those days that my “invisible illness” is pretty goddamn out there for the world to see. My transplanted kidney is going through another “nephrotic” episode. Loosely translated, it leaks. The end result is my legs are swollen. So badly that you can see it through my pants (insert your own bad innuendo here). It makes even walking difficult. But I’ll Foghorn my way through it.

My doctor told me that I don’t need to limit my fluids, that only 1% of my kidney function is dedicated to processing exceed fluid. I have to limit it anyways, at least until this passes. Instead of drinking a gallon of water I may as well just strap it to my leg.

Time to watch my diet even closer. Really limit my sodium intake and be selective. Bland, boring foods until further notice. Bottom line, if it’s scrumptious then I can’t eat it.

https://lindaghill.com/2018/01/30/jusjojan-daily-prompt-january-30th-2018/

unforgettable night

I had the most amazing experience tonight.

I was having a burger and a beer at the local watering hole and I was approached by a very attractive woman, about my age. She initiated conversation and I gladly played along. Could my dry spell be coming to an end?

After a couple of drinks, she picked up her purse, smiled slyly at me and asked if I was up for a little fun. I played it cool on the outside but on the inside I’m thinking “does Kevin Spacey like little league games!? Yea I am! 

“Have you ever had a mother/daughter 3 way?” she asked me, finger playfully toying with her lower lip.

Of course, I said no, even if I had it wouldn’t have been the right answer. She motioned for me to follow her. I quickly paid the bill and followed her out. I found her in the parking lot, car running and that finger, oh that finger, beckoning me to follow her. I jumped in my car and after 5 minutes of winding roads, we pulled into the driveway.

We walked into the house, she kicked off her shoes and motioned for me to do the same. “Ready?”

“Let’s do this” I replied as convincingly as I could.

She walked over to the staircase and yelled up

“Maaaaa, come down. I’ve got one!”

Me and my shoes were out of there.

did I getcha?

smile

 

 

America’s team?

jjj-2018

I admit it, I’m a football fan. After all of the kneeling controversy earlier in the season, I was caught up in the moment and thought seriously about boycotting the sport. As a strong supporter of the military with 2 folded flags on my mantle, handed to my family graveside by a grateful nation I struggled with the anthem protests. But I reluctantly acknowledged that being American is to be supportive of peaceful protest even if I don’t agree with it. I hate that I was caught up in the jingoistic Nationalism that consumed us, loving your country means loving all of the people in it, not just those that you agree with. Open-mindedness prevailed.

I love football. The strategy, the athleticism, the fact that every game matters, that it is never over until the last minute. David can slay Goliath any given Sunday. It is a team sport, all must bring their best, one mistake, one play can decide a game. Coaching, play calling, cardio training and pure balls all play a role in a win. And no one does it better than the New England Patriots.

Are you groaning, about to hit the back tab? I know, everyone hates the Patriots. Perhaps everyone is sick of us winning. I didn’t feel that way about the Cowboys of the 90’s, “America’s team”. I rooted for them anyway. They were awesome. The Pats don’t have the same level of respect. It’s a shame, because the rest of the country needs to see what we see.

Our coach is constantly compared to the Landry, Shula and Lombardi era. Yet they never coached in a 16 game, salary-cap, 32-team free agency environment. It was a very different game. Despite injuries, constantly rotating personnel, a lack of major name talent and contract issues Bill Belichik continues to find people to fit his system. Players that were nothing on other teams become stars in New England. It is a business model, one that guarantees success. Bill is hard-nosed, demands excellence, favors no one and is the first one in and the last one out. Like a CEO, excellence is his product. And their manager of consistency…the GOAT (greatest of all time) Mr. Tom Brady.

Tom Brady may be the handsome face of success now, modeling expensive clothes and sporting 5 huge rings. But he wasn’t always. He was a very low draft choice, underestimated by everyone. The Patriots picked him as a backup. Little did they know the fire inside. In 2001, when our starter was knocked out for the season we saw the beginning of an era. The man is all about hard work, winning and constantly improving. Now 40, having shattered almost every record for a starting quarterback, he is on a plane on a quest for his 6th Superbowl victory.

It’s more than football. It’s a life lesson. Let people underestimate you, there will be an opportunity to prove them wrong. Hard work equals success, always. Humility allows for continued growth. He never takes credit for the win, he knows it takes someone to catch the ball that he throws and a defense to keep them in the game. He never settles, the best ring is the next one. Team first, he has taken pay cuts to stay with the Patriots. It has been a pleasure watching him.

I know what it is like to be a long-suffering fan. We weren’t always like this. Previous to this remarkable 18-year era we were a consistently bad team. Now, I will admit that we are spoiled. We expect them to win. This will not last forever. We will lose Bill, Tom will retire and we will rebuild. I can take comfort in knowing that I have witnessed one of the most fantastic, https://lindaghill.com/2018/01/29/jusjojan-daily-prompt-january-29th-2018/  surreal eras in sports history. One that I will speak of for decades. Being a fan is a good thing, being a loyal fan is great. Being a fan of this team is a joy.