From Hopeless To Fatherhood

Not too long ago, it was not uncommon to be in my presence and hear things like: “This is fuckin bullshit! That bitch can’t do that shit and get away with it!” or “You know what? I don’t give a fuck! How bout that?”

I spent a huge part of my life trying to be something I didn’t want to be, but rather what I thought I should be depending on the situation I was in. If I was around someone that I was trying to impress, I would act a certain way. If I was around someone I was trying to scare, I would act a different way. If I was around someone that I was trying to get money from, I would act an even different way. I was always so busy acting, I lost sight of who I really was. As a matter of fact, it got so bad, for so many years, that eventually…I had no idea who I actually was.

Let’s keep in mind I have a child whom is almost nine, and I have only truly found myself in the last year and a half give or take a few months.

So, when it was time to go home, I had to turn off the tough guy image, the “Look mother fucker, I’m so desperate for some dope, I’ll cut your bitch ass” image……..and be a father.

This was not an easy task however, I will say that when I was trying to be a daddy, that was when I felt the most genuine. Or when I was kissing my ex wife, or she was holding me, that was the closest I could get to being me. To being comfortable. But never, and I’m not proud to say this, but never was I completely able to be me. The real me. Something would happen and one of the multiple characters I had grown so accustom to playing, would surface. This usually happened at the most inopportune times. I really had no control over it. If you, including my son and step son, did something, even the smallest thing that I didn’t agree with, you were at risk. I would beat you one way or the other, verbally, physically, emotionally…whatever I needed to do.

After that, after I made you feel like a piece of shit, I felt like a piece of shit. I would never admit that, no. I would justify my actions for days usually. But since I felt so horrible, I got high. And then I got high again.

So who am I? I am someone who tries his best to be a good person. I try to be who G-d would have me be. I very rarely lose my temper today, and it would take an awful lot for me to put my hands on you. If I do something that causes you harm, I try to make it right. I don’t need to act a certain way either. I am a certain way. I’m not a tough guy, I’m not a womanizer, I’m not a psychopath or desperate. I am a child of G-d.

This realization is comforting. I am not who everybody wants me to be either. In some people’s eyes, mainly those who have eyes that saw me at my worst, eyes that saw the monster I once was, eyes that shed tear after tear due to my actions, I am still that man. This is the way life goes. Just because I got better, just because I live a certain way, a principled lifestyle…doesn’t mean that those whom I hurt are required to accept that. I am ok with that today, because I can not control people. That is one role I will never attempt to act out. Because that duty, belongs to G-d.

It’s amazing how easily I can go from one extreme to the other. It’s equally amazing how difficult it can be to go from one extreme to the other.

I was in the DMV yesterday with a friend. I needed to get a license because I lost mine and the lady who was working there let me look at my last 6 driver’s license pictures. WOW! It was disgusting to say the least. From long hair to short. From messy to manicured. From having a beard to clean cut. From foggy eyes, to bright eyes. I explained to my friend, and the lady behind the counter, that I was actually homeless when one of the pictures was taken, I think I needed a license to either pull off a scam of some sort or get a check cashed or something. The point is, I could see with my own two eyes, the change from hopeless to fatherhood.

When all the pictures were taken, I had a son. But it’s only the last two that I have been showing up as a father, as a daddy, as a friend and a teacher. It has been a long hard road to get to where I am. But the difficulty, and the time it took were a direct result of my actions. Or to put it better, my lack of action.

I spent a solid 40 minutes the other night sitting in my backyard. Alone. It was late and I felt as though I needed some alone time with G-d. I take time everyday to just be alone with Him, and often really devote myself to just breathing and being in the moment. But with the temporary absence of my little boy recently, I have experienced some major discomfort. This discomfort has been here before, it’s not new, and it’s not circumstantial. In fact, the specifics of its birth mean nothing. The emptiness that I feel has nothing to do with what’s going on in the world around me. I’m not uncomfortable because I’m homeless. I’m not uncomfortable because I’m broke. I’m not uncomfortable because she doesn’t love me anymore or because I lost a job, or I got locked up, or because I’m without my child. I’m uncomfortable because of a disconnection from G-d. And when I reconnect, I get centered again.  Just like that.

Sure I’m going to be bothered by certain things. A wise man told me once, “If you didn’t feel the way you do, then I’d be worried.” I pass that bit of awareness down the ladder to guys I work with often. It’s simple but puts things in perspective.

But today, when I am feeling down (which means I am just thinking about myself or that some sort of fear has moved into the number 1 position) I don’t have to go out and shoot dope and I don’t have to hurt myself or anyone else. I can just remind myself that G-d is with me through all of this, and He is the shot caller. Not me, and not you. Only Him. And I can sit quietly and breathe. I can go see where I can be helpful. I can pray. This works for me, someone who has a disconnection from G-d. I can just reconnect. I can be patient and trust that He knows what He’s doing, and that He always has. And within a matter of minutes, I can go from one extreme to the other. I can go from disconnected to connected. I can go from my own worst enemy, to a loving father.

So I’m all by myself right now. My son and his cousin are  visiting with my father and step mom for a week at the beach. I have more down time than I would ever ask for. Usually, on a day like this, a day that I don’t have to work, we would be packing up toys, water guns, lunch, drinks and towels to go to the pool. I’m thinking of this because I have walked past my swim trunks, neatly folded up by the beach towels about 5 times today. Each time I notice one thing…they are there alone. The little blue, monkey faced, striped swim trunks that would normally be way too small for an 8 year old but fit my son perfectly are absent.

So what do I do? I have adopted the role of a daddy, and willingly and gratefully threw away my previous life. That’s right, I threw it away, meaning, I know longer choose to live that way.

It used to be that my heart would hurt, or I would feel so broken over things that you couldn’t imagine. Things like missing a vein. Things like getting burned on a drug purchase. Things like the owner of the pawn shop giving me 15 dollars shy of what I needed to be comfortable. Today, my selfishness, that I never said was completely gone, surfaces in a different way. Today, I get upset from walking past a lonely pair of swim trunks.

This is way more temporary than when I would feel discomfort from having to rip off a friend, or having to lie to a family member to get money. This discomfort lasts only a minute, and usually only seconds. Why? Because just as quickly as I realize my swim trunks are all by themselves, I realize where their normal partnering swim trunks are. They are being worn by a little boy enjoying the company of other people that love him. Other people that rarely see him. He is on the beach, digging for sand crabs, testing his endurance against the waves, showing off for his cousin. And based off of my experience, constantly making my Dad and step mom “Look at this!”

This thought fills me up. It’s not the same as when I see his joy first hand. It’s not the same as creating memories with him. It’s not the same as showing him that although I was absent, I’m back now forever. But, my heart is joyous for him because he is having fun. Because he is in a safe environment, at this moment, he is at peace. He is loved.

As a father that has no idea what I’m doing, all I really want for him is to be happy. I want him to learn. I want to teach him. I want him to laugh. I want him to sleep soundly. I want to shield him from the evils of this world and shelter him from situations that are not safe. I want to show him what G-d can and has done. I want to live with him, grow with him, squeeze him and kiss him. I want to show him he is my friend, my brother, and my son all in one little bundle. I want to paint with him. I want to let him lead me through the woods, for him to show me where to go. I want him to have that satisfaction. I want to give him everything that I can.

I want to wear my swim trunks when he’s wearing his, together. It’s the least I can do considering that I was who I was for most of his life. I am thankful that it will never be that way again provided I continue on this path towards G-d.

Recently I have been forced to make some very difficult choices. I have made many life changing decisions since I have had interest in changing my life, but in hind-sight, they haven’t felt this big…this important…this difficult.

As a father who has spent most of his child’s life making self serving decisions, while trying not to injure his child, it’s not easy to now make decisions regarding my child’s well being without seeing how he’s been harmed in the past. This is torture for me. I wake up and breathe and think only of him for the most part. I do think of myself, I’m not G-d. I am a human, but I am a human who has been taught to see where I can be of service to others. My son, who has gotten a raw deal for most of his life, seems to always come before anyone else. Including myself.

So when issues come up, that I allow to become problems, and my son is in the middle of these issues that are now problems, they seem big. They consume my every thought. Every move I make throughout the day seems to be secondary to the problem of the day. When the whole day revolves around the problem, how can I be of service? Am I truly trusting G-d? Then the problem carries over to the next day, and the next, and the next.

I got off of work the other night, and went to hang out with some of my friends from work. I had to follow them in my car because I live in a fairly new area to me. I would’ve been lost if I didn’t follow them close. While driving, I felt a pebble in my left shoe. I quickly tried to maneuver my foot around to get the pebble to the side…but it didn’t work. I tried to reach down and get it out with my hand, but I was following someone, and couldn’t pay attention to both. The pebble was becoming more and more uncomfortable as I drove. I would try to speed up so that I could buy some time and just coast my car, since it’s a stick shift, then maybe I could take my shoe off, and get the pebble out quickly before I needed to push in my clutch again. It wasn’t working. I tried to sit longer at stop signs, but then I wasn’t keeping up with the car I was following. This pebble was beginning to get more and more bothersome.

When I finally got to the destination after frantically trying to get this pebble, which felt like it was the size of a boulder by now out of my shoe, I got it out. I looked at it.

It wasn’t even the size of a grain of rice.

I smiled. I laughed to myself. My problems can seem so big when I am in the middle of them. When I am trying to control the problem, knowing full well that my primary purpose is to be of service, to remain G-d reliant, problems seem huge. And what I should be doing, is allowing Him to handle the problems I can’t control. I was so consumed with this rice sized pebble in my shoe the other night, I paid no attention to where I was going. I couldn’t begin to tell you how I got from point A to point B. Only to find out later, that this very cumbersome pebble was the teeniest, tiniest, little thing ever.

I need to trust G-d. I need to always remember that He will handle the things I can’t. I need to stay focused on the task at hand. Or I will be lost, and I will repeat the same mistakes I always have. And worst of all, I will not fully be there for my son.

I’ve never had much luck with people, including my son, before living the way I do today. Back then if you were hanging around me, you can bet I was getting something out of it. Not necessarily something materialistic, but at the very least I was stealing energy from you, or I just didn’t want to be alone so I was with you. I never, from what I can remember, was around you to see what I could bring to the table, how I could enhance your life. So, in turn, people didn’t like me at first. It took awhile for people to warm up to my sarcasm, to my arrogance…..to my selfishness. On a smaller level this is still the case, but not nearly as bad.

I never went into a friendship or a relationship thinking: “Let me see what this person can give me.” You see, I didn’t need to. I was on auto pilot, that shit just came to me as naturally as breathing. That way of life never got me anywhere. Loneliness bread more loneliness. Fear turned to anger and rage. Frustration turned to violence. Constant battles with being “ill” lead to an eventual contentment of hopelessness. Eventually that magic moment happened. You’ve heard it before, we call it “the gift of desperation.”

This feeling of desperation that hopefully everybody with a spiritual malady experiences at some point, on some level, lead me to make a decision. It appears in many forms. It could be legal troubles. Or it could be your family not wanting to be around you in the condition you’re in. Not seeing your children. Snapping in violent rages at the drop of a hat. Losing jobs. Your health deteriorating. Losing all your friends. Being a slave to the drink or the needle. Or doing the things you swore you would never do and were never even capable of.

With me, it was all of those things and more.

I struggled for almost a decade swerving in and out of G-d’s light. I would get a taste of relief, a break….G-d’s Grace, and I would take advantage of it. I wouldn’t cherish it. I wouldn’t share it. I would just abuse the gifts I was given, and eventually throw them away instead of passing them on.

My son would be a part of this. He saw the ups and downs. I was someone who appeared to be Bipolar, schizophrenic, depressed, adhd, it looked like I had an anxiety disorder and anything else you want to add. I was even prescribed medicine for all those things. ALL OF THEM. There was a point when I convinced myself that I needed the medicine too. All these people were telling me that I did, and I took the medicine, and it worked…so I thought I was doing the right thing.

I can report to you today however, that I needed none of that, and I still don’t. The pills I was prescribed were just another fill in for G-d. So, just like every other fill in, they never truly made me happy and I eventually relapsed. Sure they made me feel better, but I never felt like I was living right. I was never properly pure.

This can be a touchy subject, but this is my experience. Not yours. I’m just saying that It was only when I let G-d handle everything about me, and I did my very best to share how that happened with as many of my brothers and sisters that I could, did I feel pure.

The gift of desperation didn’t come to me easily. As a result, my son didn’t have a father when he should’ve. Today however, he does. And I owe every moment we spend together, every smile we share, every laugh, every meal, every experience, every answer to his insightful questioning, every drawing we do, every song we sing, every game we play, every single bit of strength I have, and every salty tear of joy….to G-d.

I dread these days. I wake up lonely, I slept like a wild animal, kicking, bucking like a horse….my bed soaked with sweat. I had nightmares, I had hallucinations, I swung my fists and elbows wildly all night. I think I didn’t get to sleep until I cried myself there. The clock was checked every seven to ten minutes, frantic that the morning would come too fast. And now it’s here. What am I going to do with it? I know I don’t want to get high, but I know I don’t have a choice.  The searching for ways and means to get money, the desperation, it’s too much to bare. But I know I can’t go back to sleep. That hour and forty five minutes that I was asleep is not going to hold me. I look out the window to see if her car is outside, as my hearing is faulty due to sleep deprivation. I’m disoriented at best. No shower, no teeth brushing. No talking. I gear up, strap on boots, a hoody, baggy jeans, gloves and a bubble vest. Knife in pocket.

On the road, my gas light is on and I am easily disturbed at the glares I get from other cars. My paranoia will not allow me to drive my car to the block anymore and I’m not about to spend this cash I have on gas. There is a burn mark of a tire on my driver’s side front door from a car that tried to run me off the road on Park Heights two weeks ago, they didn’t catch me though…I know that area, the short cuts, the alleys, the dead ends, like the back of my hand. I know where the narcos will be and where the rollers post up. I avoid them like the plague.

So I park at the Metro where I’ll ride the train in. There’s a stop right on my block, Coldspring. Before I board the subway I check to make sure I have everything. Two needles are stashed in my dip (the slot I cut out of either the fold where my zipper is on my jeans, or the flap on the fly of my boxers) I got 18 dollars cash (my boys will take a short, I’ll be fine) I got my knife, a book bag filled with a jacket, a half filled bottle of water and some random trash from days prior.

When I get in town, I cop what I need to get well, pleading with one of the many dope boys I know, and that know me, that if they could just cuff me an extra bag I’ll be back shortly. “Come on dawg, you know me, I’m on this block every mother fuckin day, I always come to you first, and I always come back. And shit son, you still owe me for that PSP I traded you last week, you only gave me ten bags for that and it was supposed to be fifteen. Remember?” He agreed, he gave me three extra bags on top of the two I paid for (one of which was 5 dollars short since I spent 3 to ride the train).

I hike to my boy’s house off Wabash. I scoop enough out of each bag to get well with, but leave enough to still sell the bags. They’ll be dimes to most, but if someone stumbles in to this shooting gallery either stupid or sick, I can sell them as 20’s, claiming that that’s the size of em out there today. “And what yo, you gonna go cop your own? Nah son, you’re  not allowed on that block and you definitely ain’t going in the hole where I copped these at. They don’t let white boys in there.” This was true for the most part, they really didn’t. So that’s how my days went a lot. Either hiking or biking back and forth from the shooting gallery to the dope hole and back. Shorting everybody on every sale, and staying high.

Yesterday however, I was not in any dope hole. I was not on any block. I wasn’t on a subway. I wasn’t dirty, desperate or sleep deprived. No body pissed me off on the road and I didn’t need to beg anybody for a favor.

I woke up on time, from an alarm clock, left the house on some personal business picking up someone on the way, got some good news, then I went and picked up my son who spent the night at his cousin’s house. I grabbed both my son and his cousin and went to the pool. It was very nice out. My mom was at the swim club when we got there. I sprayed the boys with sunscreen and relaxed. Watching them, and all the other people. If I slow down, and just observe the people. I see G-d everywhere. Especially in the littlest of children. They are so pure. So we spent a few hours there until my son caught a shot to the mouth from a wayward kick-board in the water. His tooth was already loose but it was bleeding now. I consoled his tears away, down played his agony but still let him know that I felt his pain. Then we left and stopped off to get pizza on the way home.

During dinner I had a blast. It was the best meal I’ve had in a long time, not because of the food, no. Because I was in the moment. I was centered, everyone was laughing. And then it happened. Right in the middle of having a mouth full of pizza while talking, my son stopped mid sentence, “WHERE’S MY TOOTH???”

I hopped up, ready to relieve him of choking on his tooth, when I looked down at the pizza on the plate, and saw his little front tooth jammed in the cheese of the pizza. We all had a good laugh at that. Then we made funny faces at each other and I took the boys on a hike through the woods.

After finding a rabid fox baby, and calling animal control to come get him, I went from being an adult to an 8 year old again, playing and joking in the woods with my son and his raspy voiced cousin. I love that kid’s voice, he sounds like The Godfather but eight years old.

When my son and I got back to the house after dropping off his cuz, we had root beer floats and then went to bed. I played the tooth fairy for the first time in my life. It probably meant more to me, than it did him. But I’ll never tell, not until he has his own child. This morning he was thrilled, and I in turn, went outside, had a Newport, and thanked G-d, feeling just as thrilled as an 8 year old little boy who just scored from the tooth fairy.

There are plenty of different kinds of people in this world. I mean, no two people are exactly the same. And whether you can relate to someone or not, feel someone’s pain or not, even if you have experienced on some level the same thing as someone else, your perceptions may have been different of that event.

I have not only damaged myself through my actions, but I have polluted the lives of my family, friends, and my son. It’s true that my family “went through” what I “went through” on some level, because they love and care about me and just wanted the best for me. But even they will never know what it was like. The emptiness, the suicidal thoughts, the frantic internal struggle for some sort of peace, the constant feeling of being lost….the hopelessness.  My son suffered because of my actions, and he too saw so much that he never should’ve seen, forming his own opinions about me, alcoholism and parenting based off of what I did. The only thing I can do now is try to show up, sober and centered for him and everyone else that I hurt.

So, although it feels good to “be good”, I haven’t really been at it too terribly long. I still miss the mark as they say on a daily basis. Maybe not to the extreme that I did before, but it still happens. I try though. I learn from my mistakes, and do my best to prevent the same mistakes from occurring when I can.

Recently, the biggest example of  my poor decision making has come to light in the form of financial problems. I am basically being taken care of right now for the most part. My bills are very minimal. This is good because my income is just as minimal. I don’t go out and buy myself anything really, but I haven’t been saving the money that I do make either. You won’t catch me with new shoes on, but I buy myself an energy drink and cigarettes and my son candy and drinks every time we stop at the gas station. I buy him toys and tee shirts,  and I really struggle with telling him no.

One of the hardest things I have to do today is tell him no. When he asks me for something, my brain starts replaying all the times I spent money on some brown or grey powder that should’ve been spent on him. All the times I pulled up to the pawn shop, sitting in my car sweating, trying to talk myself out of going in….and failing. All the sick and twisted lies I told him about where this or that was run through my head and I have to say yes.

I could be more frugal with my money that’s for sure, but I don’t see me trying to buy his affection. That’s not the case, in fact, he would much rather go for a walk or play with toys than go to the movies. But occasionally the guilt of my past shows up, and I spend money I don’t have.

I’m about to take him with me on a mini vacation, nothing extravagant, just a little get-a-way. I envision us watching the sunrise on the beach, playing in the ocean, laughing and just having a good time. And I also see me having to tell him the same thing I used to tell him when I was drinking and getting high, “No, I can’t afford that. Maybe another time.”

“Another Time” is what he always heard, and I’m sick of saying it. And I’m not scared that either one of us will go without anything that we need, that fear has been far removed. It’s just that sometimes, I want “Another Time” to be right now.

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.