Fathers

I don't remember much about my biological father. I see him as an old faded Polaroid, an apparition from the past. He was the gloved hand of a thief that left no fingerprint... I am not sure what happened back then to split my family apart and it is probably irrelevant at this point. I don't hold any resentment, although I do have a hard time understanding how someone can walk away from their children. There is not much more to say about him.

So, this post is focused on my step-father, the one who in my mind holds the title of father for me. My early memories are pretty sketchy, which I am sure doesn't surprise the folks who know me well. One of the earliest memories I have of my father was him coming into my room late at night and telling me that he had been very lenient on me, but now it was time that he start acting like a father. I didn't understand what he meant at the time, but soon found out that it meant a regimen of labor, rules, and obedience. He was an intimidating and imposing man, so you didn't disagree or talk back, you just took your medicine.

Looking back, I was clearly the "step-child". I remember nights of praying and tears, hoping for a time where we could be the typical father and son duo. The time never came. The few times we did interact was mostly when I was of an age where I could work for him. At the age of 12 or 13, I was put to work at his job sites, cleaning up houses, clearing construction debris from golf courses, sweeping office buildings, and the like.


In high school, his behavior became even more erratic and his rules outlandish - DUIs, arrests, drinking on the job. His rules: Your teeth should never touch your fork or spoon when eating, your hands must be above the table when you pray before eating, entering the house must be followed by an appropriate greeting to the father, no sleeping past 9am, and I am sure dozens more that I have long forgotten. His arrival from work often exceeded 9 or 10pm if we saw him at all and when he was in the house, you could feel the tension in the air like a thick fog blanketing the house. The fighting was both unavoidable and never ending and he regularly blamed me for causing the marital problems. I dreaded report cards because it was always followed by long demeaning lectures and groundings. Near the very end, it escalated to a brief episode of violence. My mother, always the savior, made the hard decision to send me to Lubbock to live with my older sister a few months before attending college.

But the purpose of this post is not give a sob story, nor condemn my father, but rather embrace the experience. I have come to the conclusion that bad things happen in life for a reason as part of a greater plan. They represent challenges that test your perseverance, faith, and fortitude. For every arduous time, there is always something to be learned and how you respond helps define you as a person, for better or worse. So, the remainder of this post's purpose is to give my father some post-mortem forgiveness and praise. You see, even through all the difficulties, the fights, the anger, and resentment, there was good in him. He was a man who was inflicted with a horrible disease that he could not overcome. It was a disease that he eventually paid the final price for. It wasn't readily apparent to me at the time, nor did I have any revelations after I went off to college, but rather it wasn't until several years later I started to reflect on the positive influences he did have in my life. At his foundation, beyond the addiction, he held some fundamental values that I was extremely fortunate to have him pass on to me. For that, I am eternally grateful. I only hope I can do the same and pass these on to my children and I will list them here:

Value of hard work

Hard work helps you appreciate the little things in life and prepares you for the times in life that don't come easy. It takes endurance and dedication to get through the bumps in the road of life. And the best part of hard work is that harder you work, the more you enjoy the fruits of your labor. That is probably why I enjoy punishing myself so much when I go hiking. There is no better feeling than climbing to the top of a pass after 3 straight days of hiking, or reaching a breathtaking scenic overlook of the west Texas desert land after an all day hike in 100 degree heat.

Take Pride in Your Work and Do It Right the First Time

When you do something, do it 100%. This will help you go a long way in life as well in a career. I can't tell you how many things I thought were trivial in my job but turned out to be significant keystones to advancement within my career... A presentation I put together for an executive leadership summit, the small "low value" project team I lead, an application I wrote in my spare time.. sometimes it is the little things that get you noticed and it has proven to be extremely valuable to do these "little things" to the best of your ability because you never know who will be watching and what impression you will be setting.

Impression Setting

There were a lot of things in this category but I have named just a few below. It has always baffled me that these things work, but I guess it goes to show you how important the first impression is (and how superficial people can be sometimes!)

• When you give a hand shake, be firm.
• 
  Always look a man in his eyes when you speaking to him or listening to what he has to say
• Listen, think, then speak. If you do it out of order, you'll probably be putting your foot in your mouth more often than not.
• Dress for the job you want, not the job you have

Take responsibilities for your actions

This is a big one for me. It makes me sick when people blame the government, their parents, peer pressure, or authority figures for decisions that made and had absolute control over. Everyone makes poor choices sometimes so just own up to it, learn from the experience and move on. You'll never grow as a person if you continue to rely on others to make decisions for you or show you how to live your life. It is this reluctance of some people to admit wrongdoing that forms the root of so much human turmoil. An unforgiving, unrepentant nature, whether among individuals, families, communities or nations, is responsible for misconceptions that lead to animosity and hatred.

I am sure there are more lessons I have learned, but this blog is getting pretty long so I think I'll wrap up. I am not sure if they have the internet in the afterlife.. but Dad, if you are reading, thank you for giving me character, perseverance, appreciation, and integrity. I am forever in your gratitude and I hope you have finally found peace from your demons.

A Story of Addiction

So, I most certainly cannot write a personal memoir without discussing the topic of addiction. This is a story I wrote for a creative writing class in 2005. While a bit melodramatic and the wording is still a little "cludgy", I think it is a good way to get it started.

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Five days. I can’t believe it has been only 5 days since I made the wager with my wife. It seemed like such an easy bet – 30 days without a drink.

This drive home seems longer then I ever remembered it. All I can think of are the worms writhing inside of me, craving for a cold pint. They are eating away at my insides, leaving in their place a cold emptiness. Their presence comes and goes like the ebb and flow of the tide. Nothing seems to quell their hunger but time. Like a dog before an earthquake, I can feel when they are about to feast, but can do nothing about it. I can only wait.

This hiatus is ripping at the fabric which defined me for the last 10 years. I am often anxious and uncomfortable in my own mind trying to figure out who this person was before the drink. There is a lot more time in the day and I don’t know what to do with it.

But all of this pales in comparison to the demons that speak to me in my mind. They try to rationalize why I don’t need to torture myself. Their whispers send chills through my spine but I can’t seem to drown them out. The voices creep in at all times of the day and night, when I am least suspecting or prepared for them.

You are as healthy as an ox! A few beers aren’t going to kill you.

I started drinking, like a lot of people, in high school, although my drinking was not something I did at parties, but something I did to escape reality. In college, I drank because that’s what you do in college - weekend binge drinking followed by Sunday morning coming down. In college, I began to come up with new reasons to drink. Thursdays become the 3rd day in the weekend. Monday night football with the guys always needs a good supply of beer. The years are punctuated by holidays drowned in bloody marys, margaritas, and eggnog.

You are still young with lots of life ahead of you! Don’t waste the time you have now.

The addiction creeps into your life like a malign cancer. You never see it until it finally erodes your soul bare. I guess I am “lucky” that I have been surrounded by drunks my whole life, so it makes it easier to smell when the addiction rolls in. My father, grandfather, a couple of uncles, and I have suspicion that a few others have all had it. I grew up knowing how to mix a drink. I have been good in previous years of catching when my drinking got excessive, and had successfully cut back. “Only during the weekends” I would tell myself. Then it became “only every other day”. Recently, I have given up giving myself rules. It wasn’t until my wife and I had a conversation about the last time I went a day without beer. I couldn’t think of one. I was regularly drinking a six pack a day during the week, and volumes more on the weekend.

You have a good paying job, a good family, and a happy home despite drinking. What’s the harm?

Cirrhosis was the cause of my father’s demise. Sadly, this did not curb my drinking, and in fact, the first thing I did when I learned of his death was to sit on my back porch and drink Shiner. I knew his death was coming, but I was surprised that it took him so soon. He was only 50. After his death came the task of cleaning out my mother’s house. There we found hundreds discarded liquor and beer containers throughout the attic and his car. It was only then that we truly knew the extent of his drinking. I had caught him once or twice drinking at lunch time when he would come home from work. It was likely that he was doing that every day. I am amazed that he could hold a job for any extended period of time, but I guess he grew accustomed to that state.

You don’t drink anywhere near as much as your father! He is the one who had the drinking problem. You never drink before or during work.

My world is now under a barrage of temptation. As I work my way home, I am constantly reminded by my old haunts - Plucker’s, Crown and Anchor, Posse East, Trudy’s. Their signs seem bigger and brighter then ever, trying to seduce me into succumbing to my demons. My car is flooded with tunes that remind me of alcohol. I have come to realize that most of the music I listened to made references to beer or getting drunk, or parties, or paradise.

You are the life of the party when you drink!

I am ashamed that I am having such a hard time with this endeavor. I have been successful in changing just about everything in my life, when I put my mind to it. But this is different beast. Each day is a roller coaster and I ride it white knuckled and tense. I have no idea how I am going to make it through this weekend without anything. This will be the first weekend I’ll be in dry dock and on top of that, the biggest game of the season is this weekend.

It’s Friday! The work week is over. You have to have a beer to celebrate!
Everyone has a beer or two after work to unwind.
You’ll just have a couple.

Five days was a good run, but I can’t do this for a month. A few beers won’t kill me this weekend. I have worked hard this week and could use some congratulations. What if we win the big game this weekend? I’ll have to celebrate, right? What if we lose? I only have two beers in the fridge so I’ll just drink those. I just won’t go get any more this weekend.
I pull my car into the garage and I can almost taste the beer. Man, what a long drive that was. My mouth is salivating like a mangy dog. Oh how good it will feel going down! I’ll put some music on. Some blues, no, wait, I think some country will be better. As I open the door to my house, I am greeted by my two retrievers and my wife, glowing with happiness to see me. My wife’s eyes dance wildly and her smile melts my heart. She throws her arms around me. I can feel the dogs making figure eights between my legs, waiting for their turn to get some attention.

One more day. We can wait one more day.