Month: June 2010

Back in the day it seemed like nothing was easy. The alarm clock would go off, and instead of being responsible and waking up, I would just incorporate the annoying chirp, bell or ring into a dream. The truth is, this still happens today once in a while, but not nearly as much. I would run off of 3 hours of sleep and think I could get up early. It never happened, but I always thought it would. I would stay up running around doing my thing, come home, and get high and drunk, watch The Wire non stop on Comcast On Demand, and fall asleep on the couch leaving my wife in bed alone. Then I would get up in the middle of the night, like 4am, because my body needed more, handle that, then go to bed believing that my wife wouldn’t know that I didn’t get in bed at a decent hour. That never happened either. So the alarm would go off (when I did have a job) and I would “snooze button” the shit out of it until I could get up. Then I would get high, and drag myself around like a zombie for the rest of the day. At one point I was handling the biggest financial transactions a family would make in their lives all while nodding out at my desk. I watched “Boiler Room” and you couldn’t convince me that I wasn’t Giovanni Ribisi. I would stand up in my cube, talking slick to these people about why they didn’t want to do things their way, and why they did want to do things my way. I certainly never told them that my way put a few thousand dollars in my pocket and their way saved them forty thousand dollars over the life of their loan.

I snuck out at lunch if I had too. I made pit stops on my way home if I had to. I got faded once I was home, then I did it all over again the next day. I also would never understand why things weren’t going my way. Why I continually got speeding tickets, why it seemed like everybody was mad at me, why I couldn’t pay bills when I made more than enough to do that. I would get in bar fights, I would get arrested, I would make stupid mistakes at work, I made broken promise after broken promise and worst of all….I never parented my children properly, and never was a good partner to my wife. This I can never take back.

I had a flash back of this today. My son and I had some time to kill, so I asked him if he wanted to go help me vacuum and wash my car. He seemed to be overly excited about saying yes. So we left, stopped at the gas station to fuel up and get change for the machines. I filled up, went inside and paid with the only cash I had on me. Then I realized I should’ve bought the gas with my card, and saved the cash for the machines. So we went to my bank to withdraw some cash. My son reminded me from the back seat “But Daddy, we already went to the bank today.”

When I took the money out, the receipt said I had $100 less in my account than I should. I pulled up to the window and asked the girl why. She told me that the check I deposited (which was drawn off of the same bank) wouldn’t clear right away. I said that’s fine but usually it clears right away because its the same bank. She disagreed. I said ok, and carried on. So we finally made it to the car wash, and the machine only accepted ones, fives and tens….not twenties which was of course what I had. It was very hot and my car doesn’t have air conditioning and I was getting a little bit bothered. I told Canaan to hop back in the car because we had to get change. When I went to pull out of the car wash, there was traffic going both ways. When we finally got the change, and headed back to the car wash, I wiped the sweat from my head and turned around to my son saying “You know Canaan, nothing’s ever easy!”

He smiled at me. He was perfectly content to disagree and softly spoke: “Ya ha Daddy, saying ‘I love you is easy’.”

I used to struggle internally with where I had to be. I have painted a picture of what I used to be like, but even then, at my worst, I still had a sliver of love in my heart. I firmly believe that everyone has a fire inside of them, and no matter what they do, it is never fully extinguished. No matter how many people they hurt, no matter how close they get to the dark side, there is still a fire. I am no exception. However, my fire diminished to the equivalent of a lighter with no gas, I just had a frustrating faint spark left in me. But it was enough. The smallest and weakest of sparks has the potential to burn your house to the ground. The house I was in for years was “hopelessness”. And right now, I feel like its a smoldering pile of soot that needs to be cleaned up. That is the task at hand.

So that little spark (G-d) I had  inside of me before, had me wondering why I couldn’t be happy at home. Why I couldn’t be the father I knew I had the ability to be, and that my son deserved. I would drive to north west Baltimore to post up on the block, and cry the whole way there. I mean I would be passing cars on the shoulder, pedal to the floor, misusing merge lanes, hysterically crying until I got to an area where I might be spotted…then I would stop. But only on the outside. Only the physical tears would stop running, the steering wheel punching, the screaming at cars and the frantic calls of “WHY?!?!?!” directed at no one in particular would subside. But inside, that’s where the real torture was taking place. I wanted to be at home. I wanted to be a daddy, a step father, a husband, etc… But I couldn’t. I had lost the power of choice. I lost the battle every time, and the only relief I could find was inside of a needle or intertwined in the copper wire stuffed into the end of a glass pipe. But I assure you that the spark was still in me, waiting patiently.

I love, absolutely love being around my son today. And I don’t need to fake anything. The laughs we share are genuine, the tears I have today are a result of overwhelming gratitude and amazement of what G-d has done for me. The only struggle I have today for the most part is when I have to leave my son to go to work or to a meeting, and even then it’s not that bad because I know it’s all part if being a good dad. And I don’t know if I’m trying to make up for lost time, and frankly I don’t care. I just know that I am here right now, at this moment  doing right. I am full of love, and today I have no delusions about where that comes from. And as much as I’d like to say that  all of these blissful moments I have with my son are because of my son, I can’t. Because without G-d, I wouldn’t have any of this. I have the luxury of being his dad. I have the privilege of being in my son’s company. He is everything to me, but I will not put him before G-d ever. I won’t do this because with G-d in the number one slot, I am given all these gifts. With G-d anywhere else, I am your worst enemy. I am an absentee father, a scum bag, a thief, a liar, the list could go on for days. My problems today are luxury problems, nothing more. There are no big deals in my life today, and I assure you that I haven’t shared on here half of what is “on my plate”.

I’ve been doing a lot of thinking, praying and waiting lately about what my role is as a father. It’s not as cut and dry as most parents would think. And speaking of most parents, I was thinking of mine and how I’m certain they have read or do read this. I was specifically thinking about my step mom and what she might think. I have been fairly graphic about my actions and thoughts prior to getting sober, and I thought about how bananas I must appear to “the outside world.” People that haven’t had experience with the level of hopelessness myself and those closest to me have had, will never truly understand. This is both a blessing and a hardship. So even though I display the behavior of a loving, caring, altruistic human being most of the time today, it wasn’t always like that. And someone “on the outside world” may read my words and think that what I’m doing today is what I should have always been doing and that it’s not something I should be talking about like it’s such a big feat, and frankly, they would be right…and that’s not what this is about. Well, if that is the case, and I’m not saying that it is, and this is directed towards no one, please understand that there are men and women (parents) who are still behaving like I once was, and maybe they just might get some small amount of hope that there is a better way if they ever stumble across this.

So back to my initial thought. Where do I fit in as a parent? I have not been a disciplinarian since I have been put back in my son’s life. I have been more of a friend who has experience to share. I have lessons I have learned and I am obligated to tell my son about them. I know from my own experience, that sometimes a “don’t do ‘this’ or ‘that’ will happen” talk isn’t always the best. I know that as a very fearful child, I didn’t feel comfortable talking to my dad about certain things and never did because I viewed him as a disciplinarian. I also viewed him as a teacher and a hero, but the consequences of me doing bad had me see more of the disciplinarian than anything else. The funny thing is, is that I haven’t had a need to be the bad guy yet.

Back when I was “gettin it in” as they say, I was always the bad guy. I did the things I swore I would never do. I screamed, I mean SCREAMED at the top of my lungs when things didn’t go my way. When my kids were just being kids. And more often than not, I expected my step son to behave like a teenager who should’ve known better when he was only 7. And as I said before, he got the worst of it. I hope one day I will be able to make that up to him. I mean really make it up to him. I hit him. Not hit like closed fist hit, no. But walked away with my hand stinging. Walked away and felt as though I needed to be punished for the way I just behaved. I walked away so ashamed of myself that occasionally I contemplated checking myself in somewhere. Only to repeat the same behavior the next time he “acted up” which really meant “acted like a child his age should have.”  I was so sick. I punished them both. I remember one time they got punished from a game system and I ended up pawning it. I was all about me, and my boat not being rocked that I rarely spent anytime thinking about them. And I firmly believed I loved them the right way. I neglected them. I robbed them. I tortured 2 innocent little boys.

So right now, I’m basically starting over. I’m not saying there isn’t going to be a time when I need to put my foot down, but it hasn’t happened yet. My son just does the right thing so much, that when he doesn’t, it’s barely noticed. I spend time walking and talking with him. The key word there was “with”. I have learned from my experience working one on one with new guys coming to me for help, that it is much more productive to talk “with” someone rather than “to” someone. I basically just live my life, and do my parenting like i constantly have a little 8 year old “new guy” following me around all day looking for guidance. And you know what else? This little new guy I have, is the most willing new guy I have found to date.

With G-d directing my thinking, I think differently than I am wired to. I use my heart more. I can put myself in your shoes. I don’t always need to be right. And I do not need to yell or put my hands on my child, that type of parenting is for someone else, not me….and not my son.

The most minor of tasks as a father were once completely painstaking and often avoided by me. I tried to creatively come up with excuses to avoid doing what should have come naturally to me as a dad, as a husband, etc… We need to go food shopping, but we’ll do it tomorrow because it’s raining. We should go to the park or something, you know, get the kids out of the house, eh, I need to go help my cousin at his house instead. And you can forget about doing laundry before it was ceiling high, or cleaning the bathroom before it looked like that scene in “Trainspotting”. But the worst part was, the thing I didn’t realize and never truly understood until someone helped me discover how full of self seeking, selfish, fear driven motives I was, was that I deprived my son of time. He didn’t need the XBox that was pawned, the Wii that was pawned, the money I made that ended up in my polluted blood stream, no, he needed time. He needed and still needs some quality time with his daddy.

Now, I am by no means setting the world on fire financially, the truth is, if it wasn’t for my mother, I wouldn’t be able to be doing any of this right now. And you know what? It’s ok. I don’t need to pretend I’m something I’m not anymore. I also don’t need to buy things to make my baby happy. Of course he would love to be playing xbox right now, but more than that he enjoys drawing with me. Showing me every new pencil mark he puts on paper because “Daddy, look at this. This guy’s arrows have ice on them, and when he shoots them, Daddy, it freezes the guy all up.” He would rather play with toys with me rather then park himself in front of the tv (which by the way was my stand by baby sitter before).

He said something to me the other day that warmed me up inside. He said “Daddy, I bet other kid’s daddies aren’t like you.” In my head I was thinking (Yes, I’m sure they’re not, they probably have a 401K and benefits) but I was intrigued and asked why. He responded “Well Daddy, I bet other daddies don’t go and play the games we play, like when we pretend we’re secret agents Daddy. I bet you’re the only Daddy like that.” It’s comments like that, that have me hide my watering eyes. I have a natural ability to be a kid at heart. I’ve been told I’ve always been like that. This is a good thing today.

This morning my son climbed into my bed, I was cleaning up a bit and saw I had left a glass of water next to my bed with about an inch of water in it. He was sitting right next to it. Now before I got sober, that water would’ve been used to fill a syringe, or would’ve been kicked over on the floor and forgotten about, but I just calmly asked him to hand it to me. “Daddy be careful, it still has a little bit of water in there.” I gave him a puzzled look, “Are you sure? I don’t think it does.” He handed it to me proudly, “See Daddy, it does.”  I quickly snatched it, inspected it, and flung the remaining water right back on him while he was sitting on my bed. “OH MY GOSH DADDY!!!! WHAT THE HECK????” We both fell over laughing. I mean we were dying! To think that I could throw water on him, while he was in my bed, HA! It was just too much. It started our day properly.

I’m not going to miss these opportunities ever again. He is my best friend, and I his. And yes, I maybe go too far with the kid stuff, but he seems to know when I’m being serious. And can I just say, that when my son laughs, I mean when he really laughs from his guts, when that smile takes up his whole face, his eyes close, then he reaches out to me motioning for a hug….The world stands still. It’s absolute magic.

I’ve always felt like I was a loner. Not a loner in the sense of I preferred to be alone, or that I only hung out with myself. No, more like in a room full of people, I was the only one like me. It’s really odd too because I never thought I was different in a bad way. It was more like a “All these girls want to be with me, and all these guys want to be like me” kinda way. This only changed when I had a child and wasn’t equipped to take care of him properly. Actually, it didn’t change until I REALIZED that I couldn’t take care of him properly, which are two totally different things. So when it did change, it went from what I mentioned before, to a “Nobody who has kids is as bad off as me” kinda way. With that on the forefront of my brain during the day, it was an easy decision to make when the option arouse of “Should I get fucked up before returning home?”

I was already a complete piece of shit anyway, and at least if I was high or drunk  I would be more active at home. I had an opposite effect with most drugs, heroin got me amped, coke slowed me down. The drink could go either way. So I stayed wrecked all the time. I never enjoyed anything in retrospect. I remember thinking my neighbors liked me, they probably just acted like that to keep me on their good side.

I just had a shifty way about me. People in general had it out for me, and in turn…I had to be on the defense. So I went from thinking I was the hottest shit on the block, to feeling like, well….that I was just another piece of shit on the block. Nothing I tried was working. I mean it would for a little while, then ultimately it faded into destruction. Picture that old cartoon with the road runner and the coyote. I was the coyote, and life was the road runner. I could never get ahead and I would try anything even if I just got blown up trying it last Saturday morning.

Today, I recognize that I need other people. Not in the sense of I need to get things from them, no. I need to interact with them and see where I am needed in their lives. The only problem with that is, is that sometimes I beat myself up a bit when I can’t do what I want for them. I would love to buy my father a boat, but I struggle keeping my car gassed up sometimes. I would love to put my mom on a cruise to somewhere, but I also need to get a bit more independent. My grandmother needs to get out of her house, she’s there all alone and far too old to be, but there is nothing I can do about it. And every once in awhile, I forget what my primary purpose is, and I beat myself up for not spending enough hours sitting down one on one with someone talking about spiritual principles. My son also needs me though, I am in charge of showing him how a man should live. I can’t do that if I’m beating myself up. I can’t be a good trustee to my son if I’m worrying about anything actually, I just need to keep putting one foot in front of the other, and in turn show him where to put his feet if he wants to live right.

I forget how my G-d judges me. I forget I’m not in the results business. G-d judges me on my effort and not my ability. My  job is to do my best and show up. When I do that, you aren’t on the other team. We are not different. No matter if your G-d has 8 arms, is blue, has you eat his flesh and drink his blood, or will turn you into a cow after you die, we’re all the same. And no matter what, when I am moving my feet in the direction of G-d, I am never alone.

I have about 3 vague memories from father’s days past. One of which goes like this. I was living in a town house with my son, step son and wife. After waking up, or being woken up rather, I believe I snorted some  kind of powdered opiate (as I hadn’t found the needle yet, because that was for junkies) and we went to the New Town diner in Owings Mills/ Reisterstown. It was packed. Families were lined out the door, sitting on the vinyl covered benches, little kids parked on their mommy’s and daddy’s laps, local children’s artwork from the kids menus posted on the wall of the waiting area….and me. I reluctantly gave my name to the thick accented hostess and went out for a smoke. It was raining, and I posted up right by the front door, under the awning exhaling smoke with no regard for the families that were forced to walk through it. The noise of the restaurant escaped the heavy front doors every couple of minutes obligating me to turn and look to see if our name was called.

When it finally was, we were escorted to our seat and I asked everyone what they were getting, but really didn’t care. The waitress came over, also from another country, and asked us what we wanted to drink. When I told her a Yuengling, my wife got embarrassed and laughed it off, but I was serious. It was definitely before 11am. She brought the beer in one of those mugs that was made to look like it held a good bit, but I knew better. I directed my family’s attention to the fact that if I wanted to, I could pick that mug up, chug it in one gulp, and put the defeated glass mug on the table in about 5 seconds. I knew this would get a reaction from my son of “No way Daddy.” Which it did, and I quickly responded with a smile and produced an empty mug as promised. The waitress returned to take our food order, and I ordered another one, and another one, and another one. I don’t remember anything after that. I don’t remember what we did, if it was fun, where we went, if I called my dad…nothing.

This morning I woke up, my son was sleeping. When he opened his eyes, I stuck my tongue out at him, and he smiled and in his typical early morning raspy voice said simply “Happy Father’s Day.” I thanked him, kissed his soft lips tainted with his morning breath which didn’t bother me at all, and went outside for my morning routine.

I spent the day trying to do what was best for my son. I helped him see his mommy. I picked her up, and the three of us went to the harbor, to Port Discovery, to the comic book store, to the park, to her mother’s house, to a meeting and then watched the sunset. I remember every single detail of every part of the day. I remember how good it felt. I remembered to call my father. It is very gratifying to be of service. I don’t just get relief from helping those who are afflicted with the spiritual malady I have, I welcome any opportunity to be of service. And if that means forfeiting a day that is typically devoted to dad so that I can help my son and his mother, than that is what I am to do. It’s not an option for me to pick and choose where to be helpful. I don’t have that luxury, I need to be grinding out as many chances I have to practice principles or I will find myself in the gutter again.

I spent so many days thinking of myself, doing what made me feel right, that I would be a damn fool to think that I could forgo an opportunity like the one I had today. The trick is, I never once let my son, nor my ex wife know what I was doing. I just let them enjoy the day, while G-d let me enjoy mine.

In writing this blog I realized something. For every memory I’m making with my son today, I probably have 50 bad ones I’ve made in years prior. There was a point in my life where this realization would be depressing. However, it was not. It was actually motivating. To me, going back to the way I lived before isn’t an option. Some people would say that it’s bad to think that way. Some would say that it’s dangerous. I respectfully disagree. Don’t get it twisted, I’m not saying “I got this.” I’m simply saying  provided that I continue to do what I’m doing and hopefully more, G-d does. G-d’s got this. So the reason for my motivating discovery is this: There is going to be a point when the numbers of good memories I’m currently making are going to surpass the number of bad memories I’ve made provided that I rely on Him. HA! How do you like that?

I spent countless hours in doctor’s offices before getting sober. I did this for a number of reasons. One, and the obviously most important, was to re-up on meds. I could not function without them. I was on the kind of medication that if I ran out, suffering in bed wasn’t an option. The option was to manipulate my very kind, loving female doctor into writing me another script. If that didn’t work, the option was to cop some from the many people I had met who got the same or a similar script to sell me some. It’s weird like that, when I’m doing dirt…I meet dirty doing people. When I’m living by spiritual principles, (or at least trying my best to) there are 2 kinds of people I meet. People with whom I have the experience to help, and those who have the experience to help me. Both of which are vital to my self preservation. The third option, was to go in the hood and cop the much cheaper alternative. You may be puzzled as to why this wasn’t the first option. It’s because I viewed me taking Oxy Contins as acceptable because I have a legitimate back problem, and whether I was taking the amount I was supposed to, or the method that they were designed, or even if I was obtaining them in a legal fashion was irrelevant. I had a tendency of lying and telling so many half truths that I believed my own lies. Today, I take no medication at all.

I used my son as an alibi to get more pills. I would fabricate tears, I could do this because my back hurt so bad  and my heart as well. I was the shell of a man, completely broken down. I hated you and myself. So I would cry to my doctor “Yeah but you don’t understand. You have kids, could you imagine if your son fell down and was screaming crying and a hug and a kiss would heal his ailments and you couldn’t bend over to pick him up? Well, that happened the other day.” She was scribbling a script moments later. This didn’t last forever though. Eventually I was going to several doctors, getting better and better at manipulation.

My son caught some bad poison ivy on his neck the other day on one of our many walks through the woods. It is so peaceful walking with him outside. We both have very active imaginations and we utilize them for hours outside. Anyway, he got some poison ivy on his neck which quickly spread to his little nose, big lips and around his eyes. We went to the doctor today after the ointment I tried yesterday didn’t work. So, I was able to be there to help him. I was creating another memory that is good. We got the script, and went to Walmart to fill it. We had to wait, the lady said “It’s gonna be about 45 minutes. Is that ok?” My very extensive experience with pharmacies told me that just like the time quoted from the drug dealer, I was to add about 20 minutes to that. Even with that, I responded “Ok, that’s fine. We’ll find something to get into.”

So my son and I walked around, playing games, I took some pictures of him, we drank some soda, and before I knew it, it was time. We picked up the script and headed home. When I told him that the syrup that he was about to take was steroids, he responded very playfully “Oh daddy, I’m gonna paint myself green and Hulk out.”

That memory is one I won’t let go. That feeling I got when he said that, that smile I had, his little giggle, all of it is so important to me. This is why I can can comfortably say “going back to the way I lived before isn’t an option.”

You know how when you aren’t exactly in a good mood, but you’re not in a bad mood, and either the same person or multiple people ask you what’s wrong enough that you find yourself in a terrible mood all of the sudden? It’s like you don’t need a reason anymore to get pissed off. In fact, you find yourself getting homicidal at points throughout the day over things that wouldn’t even catch your eye any other time. Why is that? It’s the snowball effect. For me personally, I have mentally plotted, fabricated extremely vivid, disturbingly violent events that were to happen if only you did such and such one more time. You mother fucker, if you get that close to my bumper again, I’m jamming on my brakes, and not just to scare you (I buckled this seat belt for a reason.) And once you slide into my car, I’m hoppin out, grabbing this bat wedged in between my seat and the door, and braking your window, pulling you out, and splitting your mother fucking head open, getting back in my car and going home to cook dinner.

It was all about my comfort level. It was all about my fear. I resented you and myself so much, that I let THAT run my life for me. I was not about to let you disrespect me. Oh, and if you tried to in front of people, whether I knew them or not, some real bad shit would pop off. I’m no tough guy, but you’re gonna be sorry you disrespected me while you tend to your wounds. Please note, that I was this person when I was by myself, with friends, with enemies, drug dealers, drug users, strangers, coworkers and my son. He saw all of it. I hopped out of the car plenty at red lights with him in the back seat. “Let me get this straight, you’re putting my son’s life in danger, and think that’s gonna fly with me? Canaan, sit here, stay in the car…”

I would say this aloud while driving, right after I shot dope and coke, right after I snorted two 80’s of Oxy Contin, right after I polished off the last of the Southern Comfort. But I wasn’t putting my son’s safety at risk. No, I had everything under control. I always had it in control. Dope boys in the house, under control. Driving around with drugs and kids in the same car, under control. Blacking out drunk and waking up on the couch while the kids are sitting there watching cartoons hungry, under control. I cringe sometimes thinking about it. I am shocked that my child can even look at me in the eyes sometimes.

Today I woke up and made him some breakfast then we went to the arts and crafts store. I don’t remember having any problems at all on the road. I am certain I had no weapon on me. I wasn’t blasting vulgar rap music with my son in the back seat. We walked around the store, looking for something creative to do. We got some materials (and some candy) and returned home. (damn it feels right to say “returned home”) We started on our projects, while they were drying, we went to the pool. Now, you must know that I have dangerously red sunburn on my back, but we went to the pool.

We swam around, more like he jumped around in the water while I sat on the sidelines with a towel draped over my shoulders like I was James Brown. We ate some snacks, swam some more, and left. We went for a walk in the woods. We came to a place of shade, and took advantage of it, sitting in the grass talking and appreciating our surroundings. We pretended to be soldiers from another time. “Daddy, this is medieval times. Well, not really medieval times Daddy, but just the weapons from then daddy. Nobody has guns. Ok Daddy?” I agreed that this was not only an ingenious idea, but immediately went from being a 32 year old man, to an 8 year old sword (big branch we found on the path) toting side kick. My son, who was asked by me to lead the way, had a bow and arrow (again a stick with a natural bend to it, and a smaller straight stick). We went to the playground, where we found ourselves playing “eye spy” and my son found a wild blackberry tree where we snacked for 15 minutes, dying our finger tips purple.

My thoughts today couldn’t have been more pleasant. And no one felt a need to ask me what’s wrong. My son is sleeping right now, not me, and both our bellies are full. I’m going to go smoke, talk to G-d, and thank him for everything I can think of. Then tomorrow, I’m gonna do it all again. People, this way of life is not hard, at least it doesn’t have to be. It’s not a daily struggle. It’s much easier to see what I have rather than what I don’t. And damn if it isn’t more rewarding to give my time rather than take your peace of mind.

Eyes open. The pain sets in. The first thought of the day is “Did I remember to save some?” The thoughts of the night prior run through my head. I spent all the money I had to ensure I would have some for this morning, but the mental tape I just played of last night’s events proved otherwise. I’ll have to take a cotton shot. I find the empty baggies and vials, gather up whatever used cotton balls that were previously used to filter the dope and coke, and set up shop. Frantically scraping bags and using paper clips strategically bent a certain way so that I could get every last speck of drugs from their containers. I was an expert at this. Grab a spoon, preferably one my wife won’t miss. I put everything in the spoon. It’s a pitiful amount. Then spray the water in. The smell it makes when it’s heated makes my mouth water. The whole time I am doing this, I am trying to snatch the thoughts of “how am I going to get more?” from the jumbled mess of every other thought in my head. It is torture. I put the solution in my arm, and I’m off. I don’t think about my family, I don’t think about my health, I don’t think of my safety or freedom. I think about the task at hand, my primary purpose. Get to the hood, hopefully get a tester or two (The free samples of heroin they give out when a new package hits the streets) and get busy getting money for more. I know a few boosters (kids down to run in stores and steal shit to pawn later) that will surely need a ride around, even if my tags have been doctored and I have no valid license. These details meant nothing to me, they were as significant as what color socks I had on.

I was a monster. I only cared about one thing, and if you were in my way, I ran you over…but only after I got whatever I could get from you. My son included. I have to say, it’s not easy writing this, but it is the truth. And contrary to some people’s opinions, I have no reason to lie and hide anymore, so I do my best not to. A few people have expressed already that they appreciate this, and I have no intentions of stopping.

I told you that, the description of how most of my days went, to tell you this: I live a different way today. I experience no pain when waking up. I actually am thrilled to start another day. I find my direction, usually outside when I’m done my cigarette, and get busy being a daddy. “Canaan, good morning honey. Did you sleep ok? You know you were talking in your sleep right?” Canaan laughs, “Really daddy? What was I saying?” I pause and give him my most serious face to let him know I mean business. “You said something about wanting nothing more than to get a new Barbie playhouse, full of the most beautiful Barbie dolls and then having a tea party.” He drops his head in the pillow with laughter, “HEEYYYYY, NO I DIDN’T DADDY!” I confirmed that he didn’t and we both laugh it off. Breakfast needs to be made, and I think about if I were 8 years old, what would I want. So about 6 to 7 minutes later, I call him out and watch his face light up when he sees waffles with 3 kinds of syrup and Teddy Grahams arranged neatly in a circle around the plate. A child that acts as if he can never eat half of what is put in front of him regardless of the original amount on the plate, finishes in record time.

We play, watch tv, draw, go to the pool, laugh and carry on, hug and kiss, and we talk about G-d….Yes, that’s right, I talk to my son about G-d. I share my experience about G-d much like I do “the new guy” only in 8 year old language. And I am here to report that it’s working. My son equates saying thank you at night for everything he has to why he’s been sleeping through the night soundly. This is a blessing. I love this life. And furthermore, I recognize that I have something to offer, but only when I let G-d handle everything for me.

When I pray in the morning I ask for few things. I ask for direction primarily. You see, I feel that although I have been shown a path, a spiritual way of life, I still can suffer from blindness. I have such a high level of sickness, that I need to re-up on direction daily, and often a few times a day. I’m not saying that I am at risk of falling off my path, but….if I don’t do certain things, I am sure to revert to my old ways. Shit happens quicker than I prefer inside of me at times. One minute it seems as though the world is collapsing on top of me and the next it feels like the sunlight of the spirit couldn’t be any brighter. In the blink of an eye in the past I have shifted gears from doing the right thing, to stealing your car. SNAP! Just like that.

When my son and I were at the swim club the other day, the other very cloudy and eventual rainy day, we were swimming around with each other. He was laughing, I was laughing. There was little to no sunlight out, and the water temperature was tolerable at best. He teased me with the occasional splash, and the classic “Hey daddy, look at me”. A few mothers showed up with their kids and my son and I continued to play on our own. I noticed my son glancing over at the kids playing. I couldn’t help but think about my son’s half brother. And that he doesn’t see him nearly  enough. One of the kids had a bucket and let it drift to the center of the pool. My son decided he wanted it, and grabbed it. The mother of the bucket owner shouts over “You can play with it, it’s alright.” So my son thanked her and trudged back over to me.

He kept holding the bucket upside down and forcing it under water trapping an air pocket in the top (which was really the bottom of the bucket since it was upside down) and was quite proud of his new discovery. He did this several times, everytime just pushing the bucket under water, then pulling it up out of the water. I explained to him that after he pushed the bucket under water, if he slowly tilted the bucket to one side he could watch the air escape and the big bubbles from that air rise to the surface. He did that and was surprisingly pleased.

This reminded me of the transition from hopelessness to happiness and vice versa and how quickly it can change. You see, the moment I stop living as my heart screams at me I should. When I stop seeing what I can give, and start seeing what I can take, the shift will happen. When I stop relying on G-d for direction, the bucket starts to tilt. The love I experience starts to fade, the air escapes the bucket. The thing is, when the air escapes, when the G-d reliance and love escapes me, something else has to take its place. The bucket takes in more water and sinks to the bottom of the pool, away from my son’s grasp. And my experience has shown me, that when the love escapes me, when I shun the direction of G-d, I am immediately filled up with selfishness and fear. I start to sink to the bottom. And what comes along with that is loneliness, despair and hopelessness. And if I ever decide to take that path again, I am sure to be out of my son’s reach once again.

I refuse.