Today I found a miraculous weight loss program that can be accomplished in 2 hours. All you have to do is walk into an arbitrators office at the City Courthouse, answer a bunch of questions, agree to everything and sign on the dotted line. Boom! Divorced. I’m down 135 pounds. At least that’s how much I think she weighs, I haven’t touched her in so long I really don’t know.
That’s what I get for introducing her to a magic food that made her sex drive disappear 22 years ago…Wedding Cake.
This is my first installment of what I hope is a series of blogs on the what-ifs of life. Having addressed the topic of “If” in a previous post; “as if”, “if when”, “if only” etc., I realized that there were so many directions I could go.
Once I decided to explore this further, I mulled a bit over where to start. Given my heavy heart today, I will start with
“what if” we never got married?
I saw you yesterday. You look sad. That smile that once lit up a room is nowhere to be seen. Your best friend told me she is worried about you, that you may do something drastic. That’s not your style.
You are stuck on a rough patch. You are largely supporting yourself and our 2 youngest children. Money is tight. I’m not much help. You live with your best friend, the one that you picked over me as your number one many years ago. Despite her generosity in letting you live in her home, and despite your love for her, you have begun to fight with her and you are extremely unhappy. Without the scent of sour grapes on my breath, I ask you; shouldn’t she be the one to talk you off of the ledge? Yet she is calling me to tell me you are not doing well.
This may surprise you, but I never wanted this for you. I hate that you are struggling and I would do anything within my means to make this better for you.
It is bittersweet to think that I actually gave you an out before we began dating. Surely you remember the night we sat in my Mustang, staring at the lights dancing across the pond, just talking. We were about to start dating, openly talking about all of the complexities. I told you that I had personal demons, health issues, and limited earning potential. You didn’t care. You cared so deeply for me, there was so much pressure on me not to hurt you. It was a big step. Simply put, I told you, for your own sake, that I wasn’t good for you. I gave you an out. Do you ever wonder what it would be like if you took it?
Sometimes, when angry at you, I asked myself if anyone else would have married you. That is not to say that it is any great treat to be with me, or that you are not great in many ways. But you are difficult. You have admitted that you are bipolar, yet refuse to seek treatment for it. You are quick to anger, unreasonable and stubborn when you want something, and completely inflexible on some things. It’s fair to wonder how well another man would handle it.
As for me, I was no prize either and not sure I would have ever married. I was broken when we met. Reeling from a breakup, recovering from an accident, on “hiatus” from college and a functional alcoholic. I was stuck in a nowhere job, my vision extended no further than my next day off. Other than the occasional fling with a waitress, I wasn’t dating at all and didn’t want to. If I hadn’t met you for all I know I would still be there. You pushed me to finish school, supported me as I worked full time and carried a full class load. You saw potential in me. You thought I was smart and you believed in me.
Despite your youth, you were a little broken for your age. You had a contemptuous relationship with your mother. She was toxic in her lack of support for you. Despite claiming to have your best interest at heart she criticized all of your choices and no one in your life was ever good enough for you, and let’s face it, for her as well. I swear you married a pizza cook just to get back at her. You still have the same relationship with her today. It has always been a hard thing for me to watch.
Had you married someone else would you have a bigger house? A nicer car? Non-material things like fidelity, passion, honesty, fun, and laughs? We had all of those things once. Having had and lost is surely better than never having at all.
Had I married someone else would I have gone as far in my career? I pushed myself to the top of the heap out of financial necessity. but I still made it much further than I would have ever expected of myself. Or would I still work in the kitchen, stuck in a nowhere job that I didn’t know was nowhere until you pointed it out to me.
I don’t know if you would have had a better life had you not married me. I promised you that I would do the best that I could, but I was never able to assure you that it would be enough. It is of small comfort that I tried.
“What if’s” aside I do know that without our union, the world would be less 4 great children who are destined to do great things. 4 caring, smart, compassionate kids that, like me, are worried about you and want you to pull out of this. Even in divorce, I will never abandon you. Even though you have asked me for nothing in divorce except a promise to help if needed, I will always be there to give you whatever I have to see that you are provided for. “What if’s” aside, we did get married, I did promise to take care of you, and I will always want the best for you.
I’m not a conventional person. In fact, I go significantly far out of my way not to be. I always joke that I don’t think before I speak, I prefer to be as shocked as everyone else by what I will say. When someone says “I think I know you” it’s not uncommon for me to reply:
“Oh, do you watch porn?” or “Ever see Cops?”
Most people can handle it, I’m big enough to avoid problems if they can’t. Sarcasm is a wonderful thing but it can be lost on the weak-minded. More than one person has walked away from me shaking their head in confusion or disbelief. It’s harmless fun for me, I amuse myself while exposing the lack of sense of humor in others.
Today I volunteered at the local food pantry. I committed to the director when I moved here that I would do it every week for at least the winter and as often as I could the rest of the year. I am one of the only volunteers that work every week, the other volunteers have schedules like the 2nd and 4th week etc. Long story short, I meet new volunteers every week. Nice people, all townsfolk, all of them knew my father. Today I was with 4 complete strangers, and I was the only male. One of the nice ladies said, “you look familiar”. Without hesitation, I replied,
“you probably saw me on America’s Most Wanted.” She wanted to laugh, but couldn’t. Until another woman, who apparently knew who I was said to her
“This is ____ ___________’s son.” The startled woman said “Oh, I see. Well, that explains it. Your Dad was a smartass as well. Nice man though.” She was smiling so it was ok.
Sarcasm, tough love, finding humor in inappropriate situations, it’s a long family legacy that I embrace. I come from a long line of smartasses and it’s a proud tradition. We’re also a rugged bunch. We don’t grieve for long. We adapt to whatever happens. We can take a hit, get up and wipe the blood from our chins and move on to the next fight. My wife, on the other hand, is not at all like this, nor is her family. When we had children I knew that our parenting styles would be a constant source of disagreement. Fortunately, we found balance.
My sarcasm and inappropriate sense of humor would prove to be a dominant family trait. Despite my wife’s best efforts to suppress it, my children have warped senses of humor and are hopeless wiseasses. It really infuriates my wife. When my oldest daughter was in third grade her teacher said to her “Oh, I see you speak sarcasm young lady.” My daughter replied
“It’s my second language.”
Her teacher was not amused, based on the hot stare she gave us at the parent-teacher conference. My wife gave me the hairy eyeball.
My oldest son had a parent-teacher conference soon after. The teacher remarked that when she would tell a joke that was of a more adult nature in class, only my son would be snickering in the back row. She wanted to know what kind of household we were providing for our children. I immediately shot back, asking her what kind of jokes she was telling in class. Once again my wife gave me the hairy eyeball.
It wasn’t as if our children were raised at an Eddie Murphy concert. It was just our way of preparing them for the world. I believed in taking away the stigma of things by talking about them instead of sheltering them from it. I would make concessions to my wife and make sure to emphasize caution and be ready for the worst in people but at the end of the day, they knew what the world was even if it was through bad jokes.
One incident comes to mind, because I will never live it down, was when my youngest daughter (# 4) was 7 years old. We lived in a massive apartment complex and my wife and I was outside talking to a new resident. A very reserved woman with an obnoxious little dog. We were being neighborly, making small talk when my youngest ran up and said “Dad, can I go to the playground and meet Cassie?” The playground was well beyond our sight but she was a trustworthy kid so I said’
“Ok, but tell me what you do if a man pulls up in a white van.”
“Hold out for the big Snickers” she replied.
“Right. Have fun.”
I looked over and my wife was livid. Our new friend’s jaw was on the ground. I said, “Say what you want, she gets it.”
There are so many more examples but I won’t bore you. The point is that my kids have grown to be self-sufficient and strong people. And they are good citizens with solid values. They had the misfortune of seeing their parents struggle with money, go through a foreclosure and a bankruptcy, and their father seriously ill. But they learned from it and they make me so proud. I will help them with anything, but they don’t need it.
The other night a friend of mine asked me how my oldest was doing. I told him how well things were going for her. Graduated top of her class, new job, boyfriend and a new puppy… He cut me off. “Boyfriend?” What’s that like for him? I can’t imagine how scared he is of you.”
“You would think”, I replied, “but if he fucks up he should be more scared of her.” She is strong and tough and doesn’t need me unless her car breaks down. That’s how I want her to be. That’s how she was raised.
Last night she called while walking her dog. She had been fighting with her boyfriend lately so I asked her how they are getting along. She explained that it was fine, she wasn’t happy with how he’s acting but she’s being grown up about it. She told me if need be she’d take her puppy and move back in with her Grandmother. I told her that I was proud of her, that she didn’t turn out like the Disney Princesses she grew up with, helpless damsels waiting for a man on a horse to rescue her. Her reply was priceless.
“Nope, I’d tell him to get the hell off of my new horse.”
God, I love her. Even if she is just like me.
Today’s topic for Just Jot in January is pants. Considering I just got back from the wake for my often-discussed recently deceased friend Tony, I can think of no better topic.
The wake was as crowded as I had expected. Tony was a well-known and well-liked guy. The crowd consisted mostly of older people, not surprising given his age. Other than his family was an endless line of people who had worked with Tony at the restaurant over his 40-year tenure.
I had the good fortune to sit with some guys who I had only heard the legends of, from Tony of course, but never met until tonight. All they could do was talk about how miserable of a place it was to work. And I thought of all of the times that Tony, after a couple of Courvoisier’s would show his soft white underbelly and state, not complain, state his unhappiness at the hours of his life spent in that one small room while his kids grew up. He lamented the missed weddings and nights out with friends that occurred while he worked. But he immediately came down to earth, shook it off and convinced me, and himself perhaps a little, that it had to be done.
You see, in 1969, in a bad economy, with a pregnant wife and bills to pay you did what you had to do. Even though they didn’t have this expression then, he “put on his big boy pants” and didn’t look back.
Just one of the many reasons I will miss him.
I had the pleasure of having my youngest daughter with me for the entire school vacation week. We had a nice week. Since the separation, I haven’t spent a significant block of time with any one of my children so this was much needed and appreciated. Before the move, my youngest and I had a standing date every Saturday night with the sofa, Netflix, and a pizza. Of all of the things I miss from my previous life, one on one time with the offspring is the toughest one.
She and I had a nice week. There was no pressure to fill the week with activities, this house is her go-to spot for relaxation and to catch up on sleep. We spent a few nights catching up on some shows but it wasn’tas relaxing as before. In the last year, one thing has been added to her repertoire that I can’t compete with…boys. And all of the accompanying drama. The endless stream of texts, “snapchats” and FB messages made it impossible to just chill and watch our shows like we used to. I can’t compete.
Despite having all of the features treasured by the superficial, hormonal teenager, my daughter has always kept herself grounded and humble. She tells me that she has low self-esteem but the astronomical amount of “selfies” she takes indicates to the contrary. At some point in the last year, she has apparently come around to the possibility that she is attractive and now interacts pretty freely with the boys. To her credit, she is not drawing attention to herself, but she is still getting it. And some notoriety, if I am to believe the story that she rejected the captain of the football team last week, causing her stock to rise further. The only thing I know for certain is that, when it comes to the male gender, she is an enigma, wrapped in a riddle, deep fried in a puzzle. In other words a hot mess.
I raised my kids to talk to me so naturally, I heard all about the different hormonal messes, I mean boys, vying for her attention. While it is mostly a blur, here is what I have so far. She likes the bad boys but won’t date one. She likes nice guys but they’re not “hot” like the bad boys. She has rules about dating friends of guys she likes or has liked in the past. Apparently, one boy, who is friends with a former crush, has started drinking and smoking weed because she won’t date him. She feels bad that she doesn’t like this guy, she wishes that another guy liked her more. It goes on and on and on.
I wanted to help, but there wasn’t much I could do but listen to her. She showed me some of the posts, the boys seemed to be behaving themselves. She knows that if I see a Dick Pic someone is going to die but there was none of that. The temptation arose to tell her to “cool the drama” but I knew that I, as an adult shouldn’t do that. I have been there, suffered teen angst and had my heart broken. I needed to limit my participation to giving the best advice that I could. At the end of the day, I have tremendous faith in her decision making and her values. She does have a flair for the dramatic but it’s more a matter of her making up her mind as to what she wants than an actual crisis. Still, it’s tough not to administer the antidote when you know you have it.
Her dramatic phase will pass, eventually. After all, it’s for teenagers right? I’d like to think so. Then I saw an FB post from a 41-year-old female friend that said
“Grrrrrr so aggravated right now!”
Ah yes, the generic plea for attention while offering no context post. Soon to be followed by a string of replies imploring “what’s wrong honey?”, “are you OK?”, “Oh, you poor thing”. Drama, maybe it’s not just for teenagers after all…
#JusJoJan Daily Prompt – January 1st, 2018
Ever seen a dog chase a car? My first question was always “what is he going to do if he catches it?”
I made the mistake the other day of clicking on one of the “hookup” site links. I was feeling, well what the fuck let’s call it what it is, horny. My wife had told me earlier that day that even though we are not officially divorced yet if I wanted to “get back out there” she was fine with it. I guess that means she suggested it. I certainly don’t want a relationship so I entertained the idea of a casual thing. So I signed up, no credit card required appealed to me.
I instantly regretted it. I began getting bombarded with nude pics of really slutty women “near me” and very provocative messages. I immediately knew that this wasn’t for me. Despite how “delicious” I appeared to one lady; despite the fact that Paradise was the “only one who could take me there”; and contrary to Sexygodess17’s assertion that she’s “the one I’ve been looking for”, it’s just not my style. I deleted the account immediately. Like a dog, if I chose to chase this car, what would I do with it if I caught it?
I’m not a casual sex guy, never was. I like the idea of a Friend with Benefits. I have friends that have this. Just sex, no commitments of any kind. But I’m not wired for it. When I was a younger man I had many long-term relationships and a few one-nighters. I never felt right after the one-nighters. Laugh if you want but I respect women and felt dirty if I objectified them in any way. Even when they seemed perfectly fine with it I still needed two showers after. It’s how I am and if I have to choose, it’s a good thing.
I recently entertained the casual route because I’m not ready for the real thing. For a lot of reasons, none of which has anything to do with my wife, she’s actually the one that gave me the green light.
I don’t like how I look. I’m still heavier than I want to be even though I’m losing it. I’m very self-conscious of the swelling in my legs and how it would look to someone should I take my clothes off in a lit room. And, since I am a brutally honest guy, I only have one testicle. I had testicular cancer when I was 31 and lefty was removed. I was offered a prosthetic but I said no, it’s not like I was dating or planned to. I was with my wife. I regret that now. I think a woman might get freaked out about that. Do I bring it up ahead of time or do I let her find out for herself? Should be interesting.
Again, in the interest of complete and brutal honesty, I must also confess that I haven’t had sex in 8 years. My wife shut me off then and I couldn’t bring myself to break the vows of my marriage. Several opportunities arose, as did I, but I abstained. I have stayed in my marriage for the children and all I had was my honor. If I was unfaithful, my children would lose respect for me and that’s all I have. So, not having gotten more than a handshake in that long, I am very reluctant to ask my next potential suitor for an instruction manual for her vagina. And a kleenex.
Another issue is what do I have to offer? A woman my age would most certainly see that I have little or nothing to offer them. I can see the ad now:
Broke, balding, chronically ill heavy guy with one nut and a great sense of humor who lives with his mother for the foreseeable future seeks, well shit, ANYBODY. Confidence in the bedroom depending on how long it takes to turn out the light.
I really want to meet someone to spend time with. To walk and talk, read and watch movies, drink and hang out, and be casual with the pace. On top of everything else I don’t have, I don’t have baggage. I’m actually a pretty good guy and fun to be with if someone can get past all…that…shit.
At least Advil helps with the Carpal Tunnel.
I’m really not feeling the Christmas spirit right now. While I have made great strides in my appreciation for the inherent values of compassion, generosity of spirit, and of course humility, it is still not a day of joy for me. Having nothing to give my kids, driving a long way for a couple of uncomfortable hours of time with the soon-to-be-ex-wife and the kids, who are equally uncomfortable, in a house that I don’t own just reeks of awkward. The only bright spot about tomorrow is that I am planning on bringing my youngest daughter and her best friend back up with me for the week. That I am looking forward to.
Everyone says they want a white Christmas. Well, this year in New England that won’t be a problem. We have a shit-ton of it right now. And several layers of ice on top of it. Power outages from overweighted trees are everywhere. The roads are a mess. And we are to get another storm tomorrow morning. My wife called me this morning and we discussed the possibility of canceling due to weather. It’s not that I can’t handle the drive, the oldest two have a good drive as well and we worry for their safety. Also, the house we are going to has a tough driveway and no street parking. One pass of the plow and my Civic is blocked in until Spring.
I can’t believe I’m saying this but I almost think I wouldn’t mind staying in tomorrow, the house to myself and just get shitfaced. I’m at peace with things but I am definitely not in the mood to put on a happy face and pretend that I’m happy. I’m dealing. For now, that will have to be enough.
Merry Christmas to me as long as the ice machine is working.
For most of my life, Christmas was never a really big day to me. I treated it as a day off with family. A day to be nice to each other. A day to try to remain pleasant. A time of year to be charitable. It was a day for kids as far as I was concerned. My Christmases have evolved over the years.
My earliest memories were happy. My family didn’t have a lot but my father always showered us with gifts, especially my mother. He would shop up until the stores closed, it was never enough. The earlier he started shopping the more gifts he would buy. We couldn’t afford it, he paid for it all year, but he did it anyway. He had nothing as a child and he wanted better for his family. Dad would repeatedly ask my mother if she was pleased with her gifts. She always was, fortunately, because his happiness depended on it. He loved us, he loved the holiday. I have such fond memories of Christmas back then.
When I became a parent, we did the best we could to give our children an amazing experience. My wife did all of the shopping and wrapping. God bless her, I couldn’t do it. I was in charge of assembly, working late into the night after struggling to get 4 excited kids to sleep. We would be woken at 4:30 or 5 to the sound of them rustling under the tree, barely able to contain themselves. Exhausted but resigned to our fate, we would succumb and get up. Despite our best efforts to make the opening of presents organized and last for a few minutes, it was over before we knew it. My wife would help the kids move their presents to their rooms and clean up and I would start dinner and prepare for the arrival of the rest of the family. While doing this I would pour the first of many cocktails in preparation for the impending drama. I could count on my wife losing it over something that day, the big question was what.
When the kids were young, I did enjoy Christmas. As a father, the memories of my little ones tearing open gifts, barely waiting their turn for the next one, smiles from ear to ear are etched in my mind forever as the best part of being a parent. I felt their joy. As a husband, Christmas became one more day to dread. My wife ruined it for me. I will never know how someone capable of all of that preparation, organization, and detail with gifts couldn’t handle my mother and father coming over. After a few years of consistent shit storms, her being uptight, anxious and rude to my parents, I began to dislike the holiday. It was more than I could handle.
Now, the children are grown. We no longer have a house to put up a tree and we are far apart. We will get together for dinner and a modest exchange of gifts. I will be virtually empty-handed this year, I simply have nothing to give. They will understand, they are not toddlers anymore. I’m still dreading the day, I can only think of how it used to be.
Sadly, it took the events of the last year to teach me the true spirit of the holiday season. By reaching rock bottom I am forced to look up. By having nothing, I have a new appreciation for good thoughts and intentions. The weight of commercialism is lifted from me. I find myself light on funds but generous of spirit. I have love in my heart and a true desire to help anyone if within my means. I want peace on earth and I have goodwill towards my fellow man. It’s all I have. But at the end of the day, I think that’s the overall message of the season, isn’t it?
“Isn’t there anyone who knows what Christmas is all about” Charlie Brown famously lamented.
Fortunately, Linus bailed him out.
The Holiday season. I’m in the midst of my 52nd one and I still don’t know how I feel about it. It is so many things to so many people.
It is the celebration of the birth of a savior who I have always grappled with my belief in. It is also the source of division between people of different faiths and non-believers.
It is a time to show our love for each other in the form of giving gifts. But due to rampant commercialism and consumerism, the presumed spirit of love, generosity, and peace are replaced by excess, greed, and stress.
It is a time for parents to live up to expectations and give their children the “in” toy or gadget, to see the smile on the face of their children. It is also a time when struggling families are unable to provide any good gifts, because life is hard, and they have to endure the disappointed looks on their children’s faces.
It is a time to gather with friends and family, eat and drink and enjoy each other. It is also a time of year that is depressing for many who are alone, grieving, suffering or struggling who only want the season to pass.
Fortunately, underneath it all, it is still the one time of year when people can be counted on to be their most generous, loving, aware of others in their community and just plain nicer. You don’t need to believe in a loving God to appreciate the importance of kindness, the value of charity, and the rewards of giving.
My hope is that this year, happiness is not measured by the size of the box or the price on the tag, but by the love behind it. We need to be giving each other kindness, acceptance, tolerance, a cup of soup, a coffee, a sandwich, an ear or an encouraging word. Things that cannot be bought in a store and have no expiration date. That is to say, they should last all year.
Deciding to be more positive would prove to be less daunting than actually doing it. I was in a rough place. I was still jobless, broke and living with my mother. Not exactly the cover of Forbes Magazine. I decided that the first course of action would be to embrace my surroundings. Despite the hectic, chase- the-dollar-lifestyle I had been living (and dying from) I was always a lover of the outdoors, an avid reader and a fledgling blogger. I spent time outdoors, read voraciously and started this blog…often all while outside. I soon realized that this was where I was meant to be, I just got here earlier than I planned.
I also found myself thinking clearer and better than I can ever remember. I achieved a state of Zen in my thinking, I achieved presence. For the longest time I have felt that I was not living my life, but instead watching it play out in front of me. I had achieved clarity and a desire to be completely, brutally honest with myself. I looked at everything, the good, the bad and the seriously ugly in a harsh and unforgiving light. I sorted out what would never be possible again and cast it aside. I envisioned what I would be capable of and I game-planned it. I forgave myself for my mistakes and I asked God for guidance. I decided, as cliché as it is, that my two choices were to dwell on the avalanche of misfortune that had swept my life away or to move forward. My income would be modest, I would never have the career, lake house and garage full of muscle cars that I had been working for. But money has become less important to me. What matters to me is quality of life.
I decided that I would do whatever it took to get healthy and stay healthy enough to secure my legacy. I would master the one thing that I was able to do consistently, sometimes unknowingly and without effort…to inspire. With apologies to Steve Martin, I found my Special Purpose.
It might seem corny but I have always had an underlying desire to help others. My original Graduate school curriculum choice was counseling. I wanted to either be an underpaid social worker or a School guidance counselor. It wasn’t until I got married and my life became all about paying bills that I grudgingly decided that I needed a “real job”. I decided even then that I would always do what I could to help others, as a job or as a calling. I always felt as if I could do more. Now it appears that maybe I have.
The one thing that got me through decades of illness, bad relationships, and financial hardship was a hard-headed denial. I refused to acknowledge those things that threatened my goals and I was able to downplay and often shut out thoughts that were “downers”. Starting with my chronic illness, I loved when someone said: “you don’t look sick.” Well, that’s good I would think to myself that’s the goal. As I got worse, and more and more people knew about it, the more determined I was to not show it. My doctors would later say that my denial worked for me. By not acting sick I actually stayed healthier.
With regards to my marriage and the money problems, well they were one and the same. My wife would constantly attack me about the finances, asking me if I knew what was going on. If I knew how much trouble we were in? Of course, I knew, but I asked her if she thought it was helpful or healthy to dwell on it. Perhaps I should stay home? Give up? Not try at all to make it better? I suppressed it and went to work, it beats laying down and dying. As with the illness, when people found out how much trouble I was in they would marvel and say “you would never know it by looking at you.” Once again, that’s the point.
My children are grown. My miserable marriage is pending divorce. My health is relatively stable for now. I am debt free. My mind is sharp. Nothing is stopping me now from utilizing my special purpose except time. How much life is left in my years? I’ll know soon enough. But until then I am going to be the best person I can be, and hopefully, instill hope and inspiration in others. Not to achieve accolades, my end goal is so much simpler than that. I only want to be remembered as a good person. I think it’s doable.
I have already started the journey. I have forgiven myself and let go of my grudges and anger. I have forgiven some people that held more of a hold on me than they deserved. I tell people how I feel about them. I take time to say thank you. I find a way to help instead of an excuse not to. I volunteer at the food bank. And I just submitted an application for financial aid in order to study to become a Substance Abuse Counselor. I’m on a roll and nothing is stopping me now. If there is a way that I can make someone’s life just a little better and I have the resources to do it then I’m going to try. Someday, someone will say to my stone “Yea, he was a good guy.” That is all I want. To be the best friend, father, son, cousin, and human being that I can be.
And maybe I will have inspired others to do the same.
The Tao of Bill 