Posted on

To Sean on His 10th Birthday

Sean turns 10 today, and this is my birthday message to him.

Let’s start with the appropriate mood music, a song you are very fond of:

[youtube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SpOxjOj0zhk&fs=1&hl=en_US&rel=0]

You entered the world on Earth Day, 10 years ago. Wow. A full decade.

As I wrote to you last year, you were graced with a beautiful Mom and a Dad with just a few kinks in him. I would always try to hide my OCD, depression and addictive behavior from you, but I wasn’t always good at that. You didn’t seem to mind. In fact, you helped me get well.

I’ll try to avoid the history lesson for the rest of this letter, though I’ll probably cave to the urge to compare you at 10 to me at 10. Those who want more of a history can read the note I wrote for your birthday last year.

Today, I get so much joy from this stage of your life.

I take delight in your Star Wars fascination, because I had the same fascination when I was 10. Come to think of it, when I was 10, “The Empire Strikes Back” came out.

That makes me pretty old.

But your interest in all things Star Wars makes me feel young again.

I’ll tell you something else: The Star Wars Lego sets you’ve been collecting are far more elaborate than anything that was available when I was your age. In fact, Legos were just a bunch of blocks from what I remember.

I had quite the collection of Star Wars toys at your age. It’s a shame I eventually destroyed those toys, because it would have been fun passing them along to you. But that’s OK. These Lego Star Wars sets are far more interesting.

The fact that you have to build them is perfect for a kid like you. You’re a natural engineer. You put these things together at the speed of light.

There are some things about you entering the double digits that’s hard for me to adjust to. For starters, you no longer like all the cute nicknames I tend to give you. Cute is no longer cool. Especially if we’re anywhere near your friends.

For a guy who shows affection by needling people, that’s not going to be easy for me to adapt to.

But I will.

One of the cool things about you being 10 is that you’ll probably get to see a couple more PG-13 movies. A while back, when Duncan was at his cousin’s house and it was just me and you, I let you watch “Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith” and you declared it the best day of your life. Who knows? Maybe this year you’ll get to see the Indiana Jones movies. You already know the stories, because you digested the book adaptations in just a couple days.

You know what else I love about you at this age? You’re taking a liking to my music. I think it’s the coolest thing that you want to hear the bands I listen to. I’m especially tickled that you like Thin Lizzy, because to like that band is to exist at an advanced level of coolness.

I’m also proud of the job you’re doing as Duncan’s big brother. Sure, you guys fight a lot. All siblings do. But when Duncan is in pain, you’re always right there comforting him. You gleefully share all your interests with him, and he sops it up like a sponge.

You were far less enthusiastic about joining the local Scout pack than Duncan was, but you’re warming up to it and I’m happy to see that.

What’s not to like about camping on a battleship for a Scout activity?

You used to be afraid to try those things. I remember when you were reluctant to go camping with your grandparents.

Now you’ll try just about anything, even when you don’t think you’ll enjoy it.

That’s called facing your fears. You conquer your fears with each new experience, and words can’t adequately describe how proud of you that makes me.

I’ve always been proud of you, of course.

But on your 10th birthday, I wanted to tell you so again.

I doubt you’ll mind.

I love you, kid.

Your Dad,

April 21, 2011, 6:45 a.m.

Posted on

Stuff My Kids (and Their Friends) Say, Part 5

Welcome to another installment of Stuff My Kids Say. Life is full of daily struggle and it can be hard to stop for a moment and appreciate one’s blessings. Fortunately for me, my kids are good at pulling me back down to Earth. And, I realized this past weekend, so are their friends.

Mood music: Primus, “John the Fisherman”

Parts 1, 2, 3 and 4 of this series were based on random moments around the house and in the car. You can read part 1 of the series here, part 2 here and part 3 here.

I think you’ll walk away feeling that life isn’t so tough when you’ve seen it from a child’s perspective.

This episode is brought to you by our weekend Scouts camping trip to Battleship Cove in Fall River, Massachusetts, where we spent the night on the battleship U.S.S. Massachusetts.

Duncan, seconds before being "offed" for being a Nazi invader

One of the challenges of hanging out on a battleship is that Duncan just wants to run around unencumbered by his old man. He likes to hang out with his older brother and his friends, who don’t always want to hang around with him. They are 10 and he’s 7. To a 10-year-old, it’s just not cool to let a 7-year-old hang out with you.

So off Sean goes with his buddies, Jack Dalton and Lukas Rouleau. Sean considers Lukas to be one of his best friends.

Describing Lukas’ value as a buddy, Sean says:

“The thing about Lukas is he turns every party into a war game.”

The three run off and Duncan goes to follow them when he’s pulled back by my hand on his jacket.

Annoyed, Duncan says, “I don’t understand why I can’t run around and why I have to hang out with you, Dad. The camp leaders did say ‘enjoy.’ You’re not my idea of enjoyment.”

He gets over it quickly enough, and we make our way to the top of the ship, where he settles into the captain’s chair on the bridge.

Then, in his moment of glory, Sean, Jack and Lukas appear. The three have been searching the ship for Nazis to kill. They look at Duncan and decide he’s one of the evildoers they’ve been looking for.

Jack puts his thumb and finger into the shape of a pistol and executes his Nazi catch at point-blank range. Satisfied, the older boys run off in search of more bad guys.

Duncan, looking like someone just pooped on his birthday cake, lets out a mournful protest.

“Daaaaad! Those morons shot me again!” he bellows.

I decide to help him get over it by crawling down to the lower decks. Somewhere along the way, he sees a repairman crouched into an opening in the wall, hand reaching for tools.

“Dad, why is he making repairs to the ship?” Duncan asks, adding, “He’s wasting his time. The war’s over.”

Later we reunite with the older boys. Lukas has been on this adventure before, and knows where the bombs are hidden. He warns his friends:

“No one should sleep in one of the bunks above Jack’s dad.” Something about wind.

Later, just after lights out, Lukas warns that there are additional wind problems.

“Guys, Jack’s gonna fart and we’re all gonna die,” he says in a matter-of-fact tone. I understand his concern. It’s pretty tight quarters with nowhere to escape from the random clouds of gas.

Sean checks out the our bunks, where we will later be at the mercy of some ill wind

I don’t sleep a wink, but we all survive the night. Just after 6 on Sunday morning, we hurry back to Haverhill with the Dalton boys. Sean and Jack have to be at church by 8:30 because they’re both in the “Passion Play” at the children’s Mass.

We stop at Dunkin Donuts for coffee and breakfast. Jack asks for a coffee Coolata and is shot down. Sean says to me, “Dad, I’m going to need a lot of energy today. Can I have a Mountain Dew?”

Ten years old and he’s already relying on Mountain Dew. I shudder, then tell him no.

John Dalton, the other dad on this adventure, warns the kids not to get chocolate all over their faces, which would surely reveal the breakfast choice to Mrs. Dalton, who would be none too pleased.

I’m more stoic about the whole thing. Sean and Duncan never keep such things from their mom. They tell her they got doughnuts at the earliest opportunity, because they want her to know that they won.

The kids do a great job at Mass and we go home. A few hours later, the house is full of family for one of Sean’s two 10th birthday parties. Compared to the rest of the weekend, this is pretty tame.

At bedtime, I read Duncan a book about how to deal with your feelings when you’re angry. One page notes that it’s OK to get angry with God for life’s unfair twists, as long as you keep praying and get over the need to blame Him for everything.

Duncan says something stunningly insightful for a 7-year-old. Or, perhaps, he’s just proving again that kids have a clearer picture of the world than we grown-ups have:

“Dad, I don’t see how people could get mad at God,” he says.

“Why not?” I ask.

“Because while we’re all busy getting upset down here, we have no idea what God is doing up there.”

That’s probably the best way I’ve ever heard someone explain that God has a plan and we have no idea why things happen the way they do.

But Duncan is pretty certain about one thing God’s not doing up there:

“I know this much,” he says. “God’s not picking his nose, because he doesn’t like that.”

Posted on

The Pink FEAR-ies Strike Again

Since Duncan’s favorite color is pink, I get pretty pissed when I see stories about the high-and-mighty going nuts because they mistake a color for a gender or sexual orientation.

Mood music:

[youtube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fwQ0fVShIZk&fs=1&hl=en_US&rel=0]

The latest example is this J. Crew ad, where a mom is painting her son’s toe-nails hot pink:

People have been going absolutely crazy over this, suggesting that the boy will be scarred for life and need thousands of dollars of counseling when he gets older.

And then there’s the fear that — shudder — the kid will grow up to be gay. American society will decay around the edges, and we’ll all be dope-slapped for this on Judgement Day.

I always knew nail polish was nothing but trouble, a bottle of sin dropped on our laps by Satan himself.

Here are a few bullshit comments from an article in Yahoo’s Lookout blog:

“Yeah, well, it may be fun and games now, Jenna, but at least put some money aside for psychotherapy for the kid—and maybe a little for others who’ll be affected by your ‘innocent’ pleasure,” Dr. Keith Ablow wrote in a Fox News op-ed. “If you have no problem with the J. Crew ad, how about one in which a little boy models a sundress? What could possibly be the problem with that?”

Erin Brown of the Media Research Center took the criticism a step further — after being sure to remind readers that J. Crew is a fashion favorite of First Lady Michelle Obama — accusing the company of exploiting young Beckett to advance the cause of “liberal, transgendered identity politics.”

Good fucking grief.

There are more reasoned comments in that article, stuff that I agree with:

Sarah Manley, who set off a similar firestorm last Halloween after posting photos of her young son dressed up as his unconventional idol: Daphne from “Scooby Doo,” said of the J.Crew ad, “If the roles had been reversed and the photo…had been of a little girl playing in the mud with trucks, nobody would have batted an eye.”

You know what? she’s absolutely right, as is  Jeanne Sager, who wrote the following on the parenting blog The Stir:

“So go back and look at that picture in the J.Crew ad, will you? What do you see? Do you see pink nail polish on a boy? Or do you see a little boy named Beckett, with beautiful blond curls, and a mom who looks like she is impossibly in love with her kid, in the very best way? Because that’s what I see.”

That’s what I see, too.
This is one of those issues where Duncan has taught me a lot. 
He has a pink winter hat and a pink knitted coin pouch. When a priest saw him wearing the hat last year, a look of concern came over him. “Well, I guess there’s still time,” he said.

One Sunday, Duncan showed the school principal his coin pouch. “That’s an interesting color,” she said. The pouch was stuffed with coins Duncan couldn’t wait to put in the poor box.

I once asked Duncan why pink is his favorite color. His answer: “Because girls like pink. And I like girls.” Innocent words from a 7-year-old boy.

And yet there are those who try to tell me this is dangerous. He could grow up gay.

This is how you start a child down the path of social anxiety, pain and dysfunction. You take something as innocent as a color choice and start suggesting there’s something wrong with him.

When I was a kid, I got hassled over the more old-fashioned stuff, like being overweight. I also kept believing in Santa Clause longer than the other kids my age. Being fat meant being damaged, unworthy of the same respect everyone else got. In high school, I used to watch teachers belittle students who dressed like hippes. The kids were drug-injecting wastoids as far as some of the teachers were concerned. I knew some who were, but I knew others who were not.

Make a kid feel stupid over how they look or what they wear and after awhile they’re probably going to start believing they are damaged goods.

Don’t get me wrong. I think the pink fear crowd have their hearts in the right place. They just want children to be happy and grow into “normal” and happy adults.

But their thinking is flawed.

Here’s my take on the J. Crew ad: It looks like a typical fashion ad: over the top, depicting people with overly big smiles. But it’s harmless.

Hell, I remember painting my own finger nails red as a teenager because I wanted to look like people in the glam metal bands that were all the rage in the 1980s. It was harmless. And trust me, it did nothing to dampen my enthusiasm for girls. I was having no luck with the opposite sex in high school, mind you, but nail polish had nothing to do with that.

As for Duncan, he can like whatever color he wants to like. If you have a problem with that, you can come talk to the boy’s ugly, still overweight Dad.

I’ll probably tell you you’re being shallow and judgemental. I might even tell you you’re being a dickhead.

You’ve been warned.

Posted on

Back Where I Belong

I’m sitting at the airport in Ft. Myers, Fla. waiting to board a plane that’ll take me home. I like to go on these trips. But it’s always better to go home.

MOOD MUSIC: “DRIFTAWAY” BY MOTLEY CRUE (the Corabi album)

Ever since I shook myself free of the fear and anxiety that came with my earlier form of OCD, I’ve had a craving for these journeys, perhaps for the simple reason that I can go through an airport and onto a plane without feeling like nails are being hammered into my intestines.

I think there’s also a high I get from going to a security show and kicking ass with my writing (I wrote eight posts in my security blog at this latest conference). Writing conference stories used to leave me harried. No more.

But on my last trip, to San Francisco in February, something went wrong. If you look at my OCD Diary posts from that week, you could see me coming unhinged. I wrote about discomfort I felt as everyone told me what an honest guy I am because I’m not always so honest. In fact, that week a lie was eating away at my conscience.

I came home to a wife who was understandably angry with me. I was also sick as a dog, burning with fever. We worked through it, but it woke me up to the fact that I can’t do it all, 24 hours a day like I sometimes want to.

I needed to find the middle speed, which is hard as hell when you have an obsessive-compulsive mind and an addiction or four to keep in check.

I re-realized that I had to be truer to my top priorities: God, my wife and children. I can’t stop doing all the things I do. My life has evolved this way because, I think, I’m meant to give a part of myself to helping others. At the very least, it’s payment for the second chance God gave me.

But, to use corporate business-speak, I need to do it smarter, and be willing to drop it altogether for family. That’s one of the truly sick things about OCD: You know who and what you should be paying attention to, but the mental pull still drags you to less-important things that seem awfully important at the time.

That’s my blessing and my curse.

Right now, all I care about is seeing Erin’s face and holding her again. That may sound sappy but it’s true. I also want to hug the kids awake in the morning. I want lots of quality time with them and to take care of the things around the house Erin has been stuck dealing with on her own.

I want coffee from the fancy machine I got for Christmas. And I want to return to the routine that is vital for my long term abstinence and sobriety. These trips make it hard to hold that part of my life together, though I’ve managed so far.

I missed some things at home this week, including seeing Duncan get dressed up as a character from a pirate book he read for a class assignment.

He and Erin made the costume together.

Erin always makes the boys’ costumes at Halloween and that is just one element of her greatness: We could just buy costumes in the store and the kids may not mind. There’s nothing wrong with buying a costume.

But to Erin that’s unthinkable. For those kids, only hand-made reflections of their fertile imaginations will do. It’s the harder way, but to her it’s the better way.

It’s that kind of spirit that keeps me trying to be a better man. It’s what I should do. But it’s also what she deserves: a better me.

Whether I’m pulling it off or not, the important thing for now is that I’m headed home. And that makes me extremely happy.

In a couple weeks there’s another security show, and it’s right in Boston. I love going to SOURCE Boston and I plan to write several advance stories about it next week.

But unlike past years, I’m skipping this one.

The kids are on vacation and have activities galore. Sean turns 10 years old that week. And it’s Holy Week. We’re devout Catholics, and the stuff at church is going to come first.

I won’t lie: It’ll be hard to miss it. I’ll miss seeing people and feeding off the energy.

But in the grand scheme of things, home is where I belong.

My security friends will understand.

Posted on

The Time I Almost Left Revere

I sometimes wonder what kind of adolescence I would have had if we had followed through on plans to sell the Lynnway house and leave Revere in 1984.

Mood music:

[youtube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jbrF00Y4qE8&fs=1&hl=en_US&rel=0]

My father always talked about moving from Revere to Lynnfield, Mass., because he didn’t like the school system. At the same time, he fought for and won the Lynnway house in the divorce, partly on the promise that me and my siblings could continue to grow up there and not be uprooted. That’s how my mother used to tell it, anyway.

But by 1984, things changed and my father put the house on the market. My brother had just died and my soon-to-be step-mom, Dianne, and two step-siblings were now living with us. I think Dad and Dianne were looking for a fresh start, and despite my sister’s fierce misgivings, I was eager to leave Revere, too.

I was 14 and, three years into my parents’ divorce, there was still a lot of venom in the air. I was in my first year of junior high and hating every second of it.

There were also a lot of bad memories in that house, and I was hoping for a getaway.

There were the memories of me getting sick from the Crohn’s Disease and the Prednisone side-effects, of my mother beating the shit out of my sister every morning because inevitably one morning chore or another would fail to meet my mother’s standards; the fighting between my parents, and the fear of the ocean after the sea rose up and ravaged my neighborhood during the Blizzard of 1978.

There was always something strange about living there. One morning I woke up to find the kitchen table had been turned into a Ouija board. My mother used crayon to do that. It turned out she and some friends decided to have a seance the night before. That stuff was always happening. As an adult it wouldn’t have seemed all that odd. As a kid it was bonkers.

So I was happy in 1984 when Dad told us we were moving to Lynnfield. That was it: the new beginning I craved. They signed a purchase-and-sale agreement on a house in Lynnfield and we even got a tour of the place.

Then, at the 11th hour they backed out because of fierce resistance from my sister and step-sister.

I was devastated, and I think it fueled some of my rebellious nature from there on out.

By 1992 I was a grown-up still living like a kid under my father’s roof. My attitude about the Lynnway house had softened because I got to take over the basement apartment in 1987. It was my space, rent-free, and I took full advantage of it. I partied hard in that space. But in 1992 we did end up moving to Lynnfield.

Looking back, I’m glad we stayed as long as we did. I would go on to experience happier coming-of-age moments in that house, like the parties I mentioned in the last paragraph.

And, had I left Revere as a teen, I never would have made the friendships that would help define me as an adult.

It’s a good lesson for those who spend a lot of time dreaming of what could have been.

I think God puts us in certain places for a reason, and I was meant to spend my entire upbringing in Revere.

Posted on

Sometimes, I Take It Too Far

Most of you know by now that when I like a person, I tend to tease them a lot. Most people know it’s in good fun and give it back in spades. But sometimes I worry that I’m taking it too far.

I’ve written about it before in the posts “The Power of Sarcasm” and “Sarcasm or Gallows Humor? For me, sarcasm is a mental release that allows me to see the humor in some of life’s bigger challenges. The danger is that sarcasm can sometimes slide into outright cruelty, and I know I’m guilty of that at times.

Here’s how it works:

If people in the family, office or church community are butting heads, you can easily get caught up in what one person is saying about the other. After awhile, you can grow bitter and that will compromise your ability to do your job or be the family member you should be. That’s the danger with me, anyway. But the sarcastic, gallows humor in me will instead look at those situations and find the lightheartedness of it all.

We’re all dysfunctional to some extent and we all screw up. And let’s face it: Sometimes it’s fun to watch. If you can laugh at someone’s quirks and, more importantly, laugh at your own, it’s easier to move on to other things. Easier for me, anyway.

The alternative would be for me to grow bitter to the point of incapacitation. It’s happened before, especially after I realized managing a daily newsroom at night wasn’t fun anymore. I took every criticism as a knife to the core and my workmanship slid steadily downhill. A healthier sarcastic perspective back then would have helped me through that.

I’m sarcastic toward a lot of my friends and family, especially the in-laws. The truth of the matter is that I’m almost always sarcastic toward the people I like. Most of them get it and give it back in equal measure, including my father-in-law and kid sister-in-law, who probably gets the heaviest, most ferocious dose of my brand of humor. My brother-in-law is a regular target as well.

When I’m not sarcastic, family and friends ask if I’m feeling ok. A lack of sarcasm becomes a warning sign. For normal people, this usually works in the opposite direction.

Of course, sarcasm can sometimes work against you.

If you don’t catch someone on a good day, hitting them with sarcasm does more to hurt than to lighten the mood.

Sarcasm is also a root of dysfunction in other parts of my family. Several of my family members are equally sarcastic, if not more so. But I sometimes get offended by it because I feel like people are laughing AT someone instead of laughing WITH them. This has produced a fair share of strain on that side of the family, and I have to claim fault on my end.

If you can direct sarcasm toward someone but get offended when it’s being sent in your direction, that’s hypocrisy. It’s a hypocrisy I’m sometimes guilty of.

My wife once decided to go digging for the actual definition of sarcasm and here’s what she found:

“Sarcasm” is “a keen or bitter taunt : a cutting gibe or rebuke often delivered in a tone of contempt or disgust” or “the use of caustic or stinging remarks or language often with inverted or ironical statement on occasion of an offense or shortcoming with intent to wound the feelings.”

She pointed out that I’m not really a bitter person, and that my jabs are playful. So why bring myself down in the gutter and suggest I’m a bad person when I’m not?

But yesterday, she also noted the particularly sharp, dark edge to my teasing ways of late.

It’s been a brutal winter for all of us, and in my case too much winter weather depresses the mental faculties. So I tease even more, to the point where it can be hurtful.

That’s especially true when I start teasing the kids.

Sometimes I’ll take a picture of one of the sisters- or brothers-in-law in unflattering situations and shoot them up to Facebook. I did it yesterday to my sister-in-law Sara. We were dropping off Madison, who spent the previous night with us, and Sara had that just-rolled-out-of-bed look. I thought capturing her that way was funny as all hell.

But probably not to her.

I do these things because I love my family so much. But it gets to be too much for them.

It’s pretty whacked of me to translate affection into meanness.

Given my own experiences with that, I should know better.

So there it is: Something else for me to work on.

I don’t say that in self pity. It’s just a simple acknowledgement that I can always do better. We can all do better, can’t we?

I think so. I’m just admitting it.

Posted on

How I Can Be Happy Despite Myself

I see a lot of moody people out there on Facebook and Twitter these days. Though I try not to put random complaints on my wall, my darker moods often come across in this blog. But in the big picture, I’ve found ways to be generally happy despite myself.

Mood music:

Allow me to share. But first, a couple acknowledgements:

1.) I stole this post’s title from somewhere.

2.) I readily admit that despite what I’m about to share, my reality doesn’t always match up with my words.

That said, no one who knows me can deny that I’m in a much happier place today than I was several years ago. I screw up plenty today, but I used to hate myself for screwing up. Today I may feel stupid when I fail, but I don’t hate myself. I’ve also learned that there are plenty of reasons to appreciate life even when things don’t seen to be going well in the moment.

–If I’m having a bad day at work, I remember that I’ve been in jobs I hated and that while the day may go south, I’m still lucky to have a job today that gives me the freedom to do work that makes me happy. I also know that I have a wife and children that I love coming home to.

–If I’m stuck in bed with a migraine or the flu, I can take comfort in knowing it could be — and has been — so much worse.

–If I’m feeling depressed — and my OCD ensures that I will from time to time — I can take comfort in knowing it doesn’t cripple me like it used to and I can still get through the day, live my life and see the mood for what it is — part of a chronic condition.

–If I’m feeling down about relationships that are on ice, I can take joy in knowing that there’s never a point of no return, especially when you’re willing to make amends and accept forgiveness.

–When I think I’m having the shittiest year ever, I stop and remember that most years are a mix of good and bad and that gives me the perspective to cool off my emotions.

–When something really bad happens, I know that people are always going to show up to help, and that it’s an extension of God’s Grace in my life.

–When I’m angry about something, I can always put on headphones and let some ferocious metal music squeeze the aggression out of me.

–If I’m frustrated with my program of recovery from addiction, I just remember how I felt when I was in the grip of the disease and the frustration becomes a lot smaller.

–If I feel like people around me are acting like idiots, I can recognize that they may just be having a bad day themselves and that it’s always better to watch an idiot than be one.

I could go on, but I think you get the point.

shine on

Posted on

Change Is Pain, But Not Impossible

Last night’s 12-Step meeting reminded me of just how hard real change is. I used to measure change by who won the next election. I’ve realized that the only real change that matters is within myself. Naturally, it’s the hardest, most brutal kind of change to achieve.

Mood music:

[youtube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yqkxDgCIsOw&fs=1&hl=en_US&rel=0]

Last night’s AA Big Book reading focused on steps 8, 9 and 10:

8. Made a list of all persons we had harmed, and became willing to make amends to them all.

9. Made direct amends to such people wherever possible, except when to do so would injure them or others.

10. Continued to take personal inventory and when we were wrong promptly admitted it.

The first few steps were much easier for me. Admitting I was powerless over my addiction was a piece of cake. I was so desperate by then that the admission was the reason I walked into an OA meeting. It takes desperation to walk into a room full of people you’re certain are crazy fanatical freaks. That’s exactly how they came across. Then I realized I was just like them and was in just the right place. Nearly three years in, I’ve determined that we’re not crazy and we’re not freaks. We’re just TRYING to be honest with ourselves and those around us. It makes us uncomfortable and edgy because it’s much more natural for an addict to lie. People like us are weird and often intolerable.

Acknowledging a higher power was easy enough, because I’ve always believed in God. But this step brought me closer to realizing my relationship with God was all wrong. It was transactional in nature: “Please God, give me this or help me avoid that and I’ll be good…” Because of OCD that was raging out of control, I tried to control everything. I couldn’t comprehend what it meant to “Let go and let God.” Once I got to that point it got easier, though I still struggle with a bloated ego and smoldering will.

Still, that stuff is easy compared to steps 8-10. To go to people you’ve wronged is as hard as it gets. You come face to face with your shame and it’s like you’re standing naked in front of people who have every reason to throw eggs and nails at you. At least that’s how it feels in the beginning.

Step 9 has been especially vexing. There are some folks I can’t make amends with yet, though Lord knows I’ve tried.

I feel especially pained about my inability to heal the rift with my mother and various people on that side of the family. But it’s complicated. Very complicated. I’ve forgiven her for many things, but our relationship is like a jigsaw puzzle with a lot of missing pieces. Those pieces have a lot to do with boundaries and OCD triggers. It’s as much my fault as it is hers. But right now this is how it must be.

I wish I could make amends with the Marley family, but I can’t until they’re willing to accept that from me. I stabbed them in the gut pretty hard, so I’m not sure of what will happen there.

But there have been some unexpected gifts along the way.

Thanks to Facebook, I’ve been able to reconnect with people deep in my past and, while the need to make amends doesn’t always apply and the relationships can never be what they were, all have helped me heal. There’s Joy, Sean’s widow. She’s remarried with kids and has done a remarkable job of pushing on with her life. She dropped out of my world for nearly 14 years — right after Sean’s death — until recently. The contents of our exchange are private, but this much I can tell you: I was wrong all these years when I assumed  she hated my guts and wanted nothing more to do with me. I thought my old friend Dan Waters hated my guts too. But here we are, back in touch.

Miracles happen when you get out of your own way. But it sure can hurt like a bitch.

I’ve also half-assed these steps up to this point. There’s a much more rigorous process involved. You’re supposed to make a list and only approach certain people you’ve wronged after talking to your step-study sponsor. It hasn’t exactly worked out that way. I just started the Big Book study in January, so I have a long way to go.

It’s funny how, when we’re still in the grip of our addictions, we dream of the day when we’ll be clean. There’s a false expectation that all will be right with the world. But that’s never the case.

I’ve heard from a lot of addicts in recovery who say some of their worst moments as a human being came AFTER they got sober. 

That has definitely been the case for me. I’d like to think I’m a better man than I used to be, but I still screw up today. And when I do, the results are a spectacular mess.

But while I’m far from done with this stuff, I can already say I’m happier than I used to be.

Change is hard and painful, but when you can move closer to it despite that, the results are beyond comprehension.

I guess the old cliche — no pain, no gain — is true.

Posted on

Erin

Erin’s been on a business trip to Arizona for nearly a week and I miss her terribly. She’s due home today, and I can’t wait to see her.

Mood music (This was the song we danced to at our wedding):

[youtube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BHBvksGdhxA&fs=1&hl=en_US&rel=0]

I’ve written a lot about her in this blog. The best place to catch up on that is a compilation post I did a few months ago called “How Marriage Saved Me.” To say she saved me is not an exaggeration. She gave me two beautiful sons who remind me every day that this life is not all about me. I still fail to remember that frequently, but this family has without a doubt brought me a lot closer to salvation than I ever could have hoped for without them. She has challenged me to be the best person I can be. She never lets it slide when I act like an ass, and she is THE reason I found God. An old priest friend once said a married couple’s job is to get each other into Heaven, and she’s done more for me on that score than I have in return.

But you’ve heard all that from me before. Right now my thoughts are of the much simpler sort. I’m thinking about some of the adventures we’ve had in our nearly 13 years of marriage.

There was the honeymoon to Ireland. We flew into Dublin, rented a car and traveled all over the country, staying at various bed-and-breakfast places along the way. I was 280 pounds and a ball of anxiety who was always worried about finding trouble around every foreign street corner. But the trip was still a dream, and my quirks didn’t drive her away. We enjoyed some romantic dinners out there, including the night in Wexford when, in a restaurant, a little girl sitting a couple tables over puked all over the floor. As the puddle expanded and the air grew foul, the wait staff just kept delivering food to various tables, stepping over the vomit instead of rushing to clean it up. It was like that sort of thing happened every day. Maybe it did.

We were more amused than horrified. I was, anyway. And the food quality improved by the time we reached the west coast of the country.

We lived in Chelmsford, Mass. for the first two and a half years of our marriage, and it was a blissful time for me. It was a lull period between emotional meltdowns. We both made shit for pay at our respective jobs, but it didn’t seem to matter at that point. She switched jobs during the Chelmsford years and worked at IDC, part of IDG, the company I work for today. I used to drive to her office in Framingham for lunch once a week, never expecting that I would work just a couple buildings away years later.

Parenthood was a huge wake-up for both of us, but she handled it a lot more gracefully than I did. She was not as panicky as I was, including on the first night Sean was home. He screamed that whole night, and I felt like the world around me was going to explode. It got better, and while Duncan’s arrival was stressful in other ways, we had a better idea of what to expect from newborns that time around. I was reminded of all this today when me and the kids went to the hospital to meet their new cousin and my new nephew, Owen. I told my brother-in-law to expect a wild first night at home with Owen, though my first impression is that he’s going to be a much quieter baby than my boys were.

We eventually learned to get away now and then. A favorite getaway spot for us has been in the Franconia Notch region of New Hampshire. Another favorite has been Newport, R.I., which is where we spent our anniversary in 2009. We went to the Newport Folk Festival, where we were introduced to the awesomeness of Gillian Welch, The Avett Brothers and The Decemberists. Not the metal I’m usually drawn to, but music I love all the same. 

For our 10th anniversary we traveled some eight hours north to New Brunswick, Canada. I wanted to see the summer cottage of the Roosevelts at Campobello Island, which is where FDR was in 1921 when he was stricken with polio. It poured the whole time we were there, but we were so happy to just be together, away from it all. A couple years before that, I dragged Erin to Hyde park, N.Y. in the upper Hudson Valley because I wanted to see Springwood, FDR’s home. I’d like to think my affinity for history has rubbed off on her. My love of metal? Not so much.

Last year we had a getaway of a different sort. We put the boys in the car and drove to Washington D.C. for a private tour of the White House West Wing. We returned to the area a couple months later, though that time I was there for work. Both times we got to spend time with Erin’s Cousin Charron and her family in southern Maryland.

All these moments are what makes my life blessed, and Erin is central to it all.

I’ve said before that marriage is work, and that’s true. There are times when we get on each others’ nerves or cross the line (me much more than her). But you know what? It’s worth every second, and I love her more and more each day.

I can’t wait for her to get home.

[youtube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7TvHrzQJ0NE&fs=1&hl=en_US&rel=0]

Posted on

To My Nephew…

The family has been blessed with a new addition: Owen Patrick Coughlin, born last night. His mom is my sister-in-law Robin and his dad is my brother-in-law Tim. This is a letter to my new nephew. He won’t be able to read or understand it for several years, but hopefully it’ll serve him well when he’s ready.

Hi, Owen,

I’m you’re Uncle Bill, the one who’s going to show affection by teasing you a lot. I’ll do my best not to go too far. I listen to really loud and offensive music. I just can’t wait to expose you to that.

Your cousins have been eagerly awaiting your arrival. Sean, Duncan and Madison are going to love having you around. It won’t be long before the four of you are racing around my house, trashing the place. Your cousins Duncan and Madison are kind of like Godzilla and Tokyo when they’re together. Once I caught them trying to roll one of the living room side tables up the stairs. I usually put my coffee on that table, so I was not amused. At the same time, I loved their cleverness and went in the other room to laugh once I was done lecturing them on why rolling a table up a flight of stairs is a dumb idea.

Sean’s more reserved than that, but he’s already declared that you’re his boy. Expect to learn everything there is to learn about Legos and Star Wars.

You’re going to love your aunts. All three are amazing women who have been through a lot. They’re going to be a constant presence in your life, and you’re going to be better for it. Aunt Erin, my wife, literally saved your Uncle Bill’s life. Your uncle went through a lot of dark periods and she’s the one who brought him to a better place. She’s going to help you gain a love of books, and as you get older she’ll be the one who you’ll go to when you need school papers edited. Aunt Sara is going to be the one who cuts your hair and takes you on trips to the local farm with Madison and, many times, the boys, in tow. You’ll have a lot of fun sleep-overs in her house, too. Aunt Amanda is the youngest among us adults, and she’s very handy with the camera. She’s going to be your personal photographer. She’s also going to make you laugh a lot.

You have loving grandparents on both sides of the family, and Grandpa Bob is going to teach you a lot about cars, especially the older models. Grandma Sharon is a quiet, steady presence who brings peace and calm to wherever she is. That’s a quality you won’t often find in people, and trust me: You’re going to learn to appreciate it. Expect to go on many camping trips with them. Try to go easy on them. 😉

I’ve known your parents for a very long time, and I can tell you that you are one lucky kid. Both have gentle personalities and lots of love and patience. When your computer breaks, your dad will fix it easily. When you’re upset and in need of comfort, your mom will help you along. Both of them will. You’re in good hands. Your mom has a lot of your grandma in her personality. Did I mention that you’re one lucky little man?

Life won’t be easy. You’ll go through plenty of ups and downs. But let me share a little secret with you: The key to getting through the down periods with your overall happiness intact is to simply recognize up front that life is supposed to be hard. It’s what helps us grow. And there’s no such thing as never having a care in the world. Some folks still reach for that state of mind and they’re almost always crushed when reality fails to meet their expectations.

If you want, I can help you navigate through that stuff. I’ve developed some coping skills along the way. You’re going to screw up along the way. Don’t worry about it. We all do.

One more thing, my young friend: If you ever want to do something big in life and those around you tell you it can’t be done, ignore them. You can accomplish anything if you put your mind to it. That’s a cliche of a statement, but it’s the truth.

As I write this you’re only a few hours old. Sean and Duncan can’t contain their excitement and we’re all dying to meet you. I’m looking forward to that.

You’re going to be great, kid. Welcome home.

–Uncle Bill, March 18, 2011, 7:30 a.m.