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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.

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Sean and Duncan Discover The Pixies — And More

I’m in the long car line in front of the kids’ school this morning. Stuck in park, I put in The Pixies Greatest Hits. The intro to “The Bone Machine” fills the car and I start drumming on the steering wheel.

Mood music:

[youtube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NJfCIQHwQT8&fs=1&hl=en_US&rel=0]

“Dad, how did you get so good?” Sean asks. I’m not very good, but to an almost 10-year-old it doesn’t take much to impress.

“I dunno. I guess it comes with listening to so much music all the time,” I tell him.

“Were you ever in a band?” Duncan asks. Yes I was, I tell him.

Both want to know what I did in said band. “I was the singer,” I tell them.

“Wooooow,” they say in unison.

“Can I tell my friends you were in a band?” Duncan asks. I tell him to knock himself out.

Sean notes that The Pixies’ Black Francis (or Frank Black, depending on what year it is) sounds “Mad.” Black Francis’s vocal style involves mainly screaming, which I personally find soothing.

“Were you mad when you were a singer?” Duncan asks.

“A little,” I tell him.

If they only knew how angry I was.

But the music that came out of that period served a purpose. I opted against the musician’s lifestyle. But it took my writing to the next level.

I enjoy it more now, because I’m not “mad” anymore.

But like Black Frances, I still enjoy a good scream once in awhile.

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Mister Rogers’ Mother Was Right

Say what you will about Mister Rogers. His speech and mannerisms may stop being cool after you hit puberty, but the lessons he taught are timeless and ageless.

My friend Olivia Gatti shared this quote from Mr. Rogers on Facebook awhile back:

When I was a boy and I would see scary things in the news, my mother would say, “Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping.” To this day, especially in times of disaster, I remember my mother’s words, and I am always comforted by realizing that there are still so many helpers–so many caring people in this world.

The man was so right.

I suspect Olivia had the earthquake and tsunamis in Japan on her mind when she decided to share, and it certainly fits. There’s been so much tragedy in the last decade, from 9-11 to the tsunamis of late 2004 to this latest event, and for many children — especially those with emotional disorders — it can be enough to terrorize to the core, no matter how far away they are from the given disaster.

I used to have an acute fear of current events that started early in childhood and lasted almost into my mid-30s.

As I’ve written before, fear and anxiety were byproducts of my particular brand of OCD, just like my addictions were a byproduct.

The fear meant a lot of things. Working myself into a stupor over the safety of my wife and children. An obsession with cleanliness, which was interesting since depression always meant my personal hygiene took a dive. It also meant a fear of world events. When that Nostradamus movie “The Man Who Saw Tomorrow” came out on HBO in the early 1980s, I was terrified by the “future” scenes.

Later, when Iraq invaded Kuwait, I thought the scene from above was playing out and it left me in a huge depression, one where I stayed in my basement with the lights off.

Similar emotions took hold on Sept. 11, 2001. Of course, those emotions took hold on everyone that day.

It fed a lot of my addictive behavior in adulthood and blackened parts of my childhood that might have otherwise been happy — even with the bad things that happened. Bad things happen to everyone. That’s life. But some people can maintain a certain level of happiness despite it.

Mr. Rogers learned a powerful lesson from his mother. I wish I had it in my head to focus on the helpers growing up. In hindsight, they were always there:

–The doctors and nurses who saved me from brutal bouts of Crohn’s Disease.

–The therapists who guided me through a diagnosis of OCD and showed me how to manage it.

–My family, especially my wife, and also my father and my mother, who tried to do their best for me. The help Erin has been to me is way too big to be measured here.

–My friends, who have always helped me make sense of things, made me laugh and done all the other things a person needs to get through the day.

–Many of the people in my faith community, who showed me how to accept God’s Grace, even if I still suck at returning the favor.

With the bigger events like what happened in Japan, it’s so easy to see only the calamity, death and sadness. It’s easy to get fixated on whether such a thing could happen where we live.

But when you look at it the way Mr. Roger’s mother suggested, it becomes a different picture altogether. The bad stuff is still there, but you also see that no matter what happens, there will always be enough kind souls to help the rest of us through to the other side.

When you can see the good in people even during the darkest of hours, it restores your faith in humanity.

I’m grateful for the reminder.

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Raising Sane Kids In An Insane World

Yesterday I was asked about tips for dealing with children who have OCD. Neither of mine have it (not officially, anyway), but our experiences with Duncan are leading us to some pretty all-purpose action items.

Mood music:

[youtube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xoGWe9l-OG8&fs=1&hl=en_US&rel=0]

As I’ve said before, my kids will be in a much better position to deal with mental ticks than I was, because I have coping skills to teach them that my parents didn’t have.

First, a few facts: Some of my quirks were definitely passed down to me from my parents. The OCD comes straight from my mother, and the emotional wall I sometimes put up to deal with it comes from my father. That binge eating would become the root of my addictive behavior should surprise no one. It runs deep in the roots of the Brenner family tree.

I see signs of my defects in Sean and Duncan every day.

Sean has more than a few OCD characteristics. When the boy gets into something, be it a computer game or Legos — especially Legos — he goes in deep and lets the activity consume him. In other words, he approaches these things compulsively.

Duncan, like me, gets a bit crazy when the daylight recedes. His mood will swing all over the place and he has the most trouble in school during winter time. To help remedy this, Erin bought me and Duncan happy lamps— essentially sunshine in a box. Despite the skepticism Duncan and I shared over it, the things actually work — to a point.

Having Duncan evaluated has been a real eye opener, and that’s the first thing I’d suggest if you think your child might have OCD. Our pediatrician, who specializes in behavioral issues, had me, Erin and Duncan’s teacher fill out an extensive questionnaire, then had me and Erin come in to go over his conclusions.

We didn’t walk away with a diagnosis, because at 7 Duncan’s still a bit young for an accurate assessment. But the doctor did send us a detailed, 20-point action plan.

Yesterday, we met with Duncan’s teacher and the school principal to go over them. One thing we’ve set in motion is some occupational therapy to help Duncan with his fine motor skills, which are currently underdeveloped. This will be huge, because Duncan having a better grasp on the pencil will allow him to express himself a lot better, which will help him be sane.

We’ve decided against medication at this point, because while Duncan shows all the signs of ADHD, he could also have other things going on, like OCD or bipolar. The drugs for ADHD work well if that’s what you have. But if you have something else that simply looks like ADHD, medication can actually make things worse.

Meanwhile, the pediatrician suggested Duncan see a therapist, so we’ll be doing that.

So with all that said, here’s my advice for dealing with kids who might have OCD:

–Get ’em evaluated ASAP, and be prepared to fill out some extensive paperwork.

–Once the evaluation is complete, set up a meeting with the teacher and principal to carve out a game plan. 

–Be patient, which is something I admittedly need to work on.

–Just keep loving your kid, and have faith.

Mental disorders are not a prison sentence. Help is always available, and your children can still grow up to do great things.

That’s what I’m learning, anyway.

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A Visit to Duncan’s Doctor

Monday Erin and I visited with the head doctor at the medical office we’ve taken the children to since they were born. The subject: Duncan’s behavior.

The boy has a heart of gold and a razor-sharp wit, but as I’ve written before, winter messes with his mind as badly as it does mine. He’s always had his quirks, as we all do. Some of them are disruptive enough that we decided to have him evaluated. My family history alone was reason enough to do it.

The meeting was fascinating, frustrating, confusing and illuminating all at once.

The doctor asked Erin about her family history, then turned his glare to me. Apparently the paperwork I filled out set off most of the alarm bells in this process. I knew it was coming. I expected it.

He asked about my brother’s death, my childhood illness, the state of my parents’ mental health back in the day and how it all shaped the addictive behavior and OCD I would struggle with as an adult. My sister’s struggles also came up.

After that line of questioning, the doctor calmly told us Duncan fit all the textbook criteria of someone with ADHD. He also has some serious trouble with fine motor skills, which helps explain his penmanship.

We’ve long had our suspicions on both counts. But to hear it from a doctor’s mouth was something else.

We talked a lot about how family dynamics could really shape a kid’s struggles and how various mental disorders end up manifesting themselves. My family dynamic growing up took the mental ticks in my head and molded them into something very dark.

The doctor talked about medication. The good news: The stuff they prescribe for ADHD is extremely effective in correcting the brain’s wiring. For a few minutes, I thought that would be the road we were taking.

I wasn’t afraid.

I’ve been on Prozac for four years and know better than most that it works without wiping away my feelings and personality the way I once feared it would. One of our relatives recently worried aloud that medication would kill Duncan’s personality and turn him into something of a robot.

It’s a fair concern, but I know better. I’ve done my homework and used myself as a test case.

But what the doctor said next shattered any idea of medication — for now, at least.

He said that Duncan’s ADHD-like symptoms could also be the very beginnings of something much different — bipolar disorder, depression, maybe even OCD.

ADHD medicines can make those other things much, much worse further down the line.

The suggestion that he could have some of those other things milling about inside him really shocked me for a second. The feeling passed quickly, though.

Duncan may have his struggles. EVERYBODY HAS THEIR STRUGGLES. Tell me you’ve never had a wave of depression or been addicted to something and I’ll tell you you’re full of shit.

But Duncan is not me.

He’s his own person. And so far, his childhood has been much different than mine was.

He also has a phenomenal mother. God, I love that woman. I wish I did a better job of expressing that feeling to her more often. Between her strength and goodness and the skills I’ve picked up on the road to recovery, this kid is going to do just fine.

It won’t be easy. It never is.

Our next step is to take Duncan to a specialist. We’re also going to get him help for the motor skills problem. That may seem like a separate issue, but it’s not. He needs those motor skills to express what he’s feeling. If he can’t do it with writing or art, he’ll be tempted down the road to use his fists.

I’ve done that, and it doesn’t work.

Monday night, Erin and I talked about the appointment. Was I troubled about how my family history plays into all this?

Not really.

I never like to hear it from a medical professional, but I’ve known for a long time that this is how it’s going to be.

It’s not just Duncan, either.

Sean has more than a few OCD characteristics. When the boy gets into something, be it a computer game or Legos — especially Legos — he goes in deep and lets the activity consume him. In other words, he approaches these things compulsively.

I don’t curse the fact that the kids inherited some of my oddities. As far as I’m concerned, those quirks are part of what makes them the beautiful, precious children they are.

Here’s the thing: I don’t want to purge this stuff from them. I just want them to know how to control it in ways I never could at their age.

To that end, they have a lot going in their favor: First of all, the traits they’ve inherited from their mom will be priceless weapons in whatever fights are before them. She has given them — and me — a spiritual foundation that can’t be broken.

The other big win in their favor is that I’ve gone through a lot of the pain and hard work so that they hopefully won’t have to.

I’ve developed a lot of coping tools to manage the OCD, and I can pass those skills on to them.

There’s also not as much stigma around this stuff as there used to be. There IS some, to be sure. But my kids won’t be written off as behavioral problems and tossed into a “C group” like I was. I won’t permit it.

There are no certainties in life except that we all die eventually. I can’t say Sean and Duncan will never know depression or addiction. A parent can put everything they have into raising their children right.

But sometimes, despite that, fate can get in the way of all your hard work.

It’s not worth worrying about those unknowns, though, because you can’t do anything about it.

All I can do is my best to give them the tools I didn’t have at their age and pray for the best.

I’ll end by telling you all something you already know:

Duncan is a great kid and I love him more now than I ever have before.

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Some Days, I Don’t Have My Shit Together

A lot of people read this blog because I always try to put a silver lining on tough stuff. But some days I fail to live up to the image. Yesterday was one of those days, when I let a 7-year-old get the better of me.

Mood music:

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mX8n5IiSB-8&fs=1&hl=en_US&rel=0]

You see, Duncan is like me in that too much winter messes with his mental balance. He’ll get goofy, sad and every emotion in between at the drop of a hat. And he has a terrible time focusing.

We’re not sure what it’s about, but since it happens every year between December and March, it’s not a stretch to conclude there’s a winter-related cause.

Like father, like son.

Yesterday he was unfocused when he needed to be getting his homework done. He had a Cub Scouts meeting early and that put some added pressure on us. When he does his homework, you really need to stand over him. But I always struggle with this, because the OCD pushes me to do seven things at once, especially on a tight schedule.

So Duncan kept fooling around and doing his homework in an excruciatingly slow manner.

So my voice started to get a little louder every few minutes. And Duncan still stayed all over the place.

So then I really snapped at him.

I didn’t hit him. We don’t believe in hitting our kids. But I yelled. A lot.

I nixed his going to the Scouts meeting. That was appropriate, since he still had too much homework left and that comes before the fun stuff.

To some or most of you all this may read like a typical afternoon with children. Kids get a little out of control and the parent in the room has to open the can of whoop-ass.

But to me, it was a loss of control. Worse, I feel like I should be A LOT more patient with the boy, since he’s under the same spell I’m under.

Whatever it was, I didn’t feel good about it.

I am thankful for a few things, though:

–We’re getting Duncan evaluated by a medical professional to see if he has any disorders. Whatever the verdict, we’ll get some direction on how to help him along.

–Duncan is a sweet boy, and it’s impossible to stay mad at him for long. Especially when he gives you a big hug and apologizes for being difficult.

–Erin was a calming presence, reminding me that this is a particularly bad winter and everyone is on a short fuse because of it. 

–At the end of the day, I kissed my wife as she was leaving for a school board meeting, I tucked Duncan into bed and got some one-on-one time with Sean.

–There isn’t the thick, stinking cloud of rage hanging in the air. Love wins out over anger.

Because of all these things, this family is going to be just fine, thanks.

Even if I can’t always get my shit together.

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Good Day

It’s a good day when the two boys and their 2-year-old niece pull me out of bed at 6:30 a.m. Some would say that’s early, but for me that’s sleeping in.

Mood music:

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

It’s a good day when I can spend the morning doing house work and grocery shopping without feeling bitter or cheated about the lack of laziness.

It’s a good day when one of your best friends comes over with his kids for lunch and, while the kids play upstairs, we hang out in the living room watching music videos and dozing off.

It’s a good day when you get a little time to watch Star Wars with your kids.

It would be a better day if Erin didn’t have to work. But she’s working hard and I’m proud of everything she’s accomplished this last year.

And we’ll have a good night when the kids go to bed — even if we’re just laying on the couch watching TV. Of course, Erin watches TV. I fall asleep.

But it’s still time well spent.

Feeling grateful.

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Stuff My Kids (and Niece) Say, Part 4

Parenthood is painful at times, especially when one or both parents has had a mental illness that makes the smallest things seem like calamities.

Addictive behavior isn’t good for parenting because it makes you selfish. A selfish parent is a disaster.

Mood music:

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9RZXaoaK8NI&fs=1&hl=en_US&rel=0]

I’m constantly worried about the kids inheriting my genetic disposition toward mental disorder. But Duncan helps me out, as does Sean, and, increasingly, their cousin Madison. In between the various meltdowns, the three children let loose with a lot of witty words that lifts my spirits.

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.

And now for Part 4…

“The sequel to “Throw Mama From The Train” is being made at Brenner Manor. It’s called “Throw Daddy Under the Bus.” Me, after the kids gleefully told their mom that I showed them the South Park J-Lo Taco songs.

“Tormenting your kids, pt. 54: Release a loud cackle as your children get out of your car and into the school they hoped would close today.” Me, an hour before finding out that the kids were being sent home after only 90 minutes of school.

“You are the picture of evil.” Sean, after I made them do homework on their snow day.

Duncan: “Daaaaad… Sean kicked me.” Sean: “What? We’re playing ninja. Ninjas kick a lot.”

Duncan: “Daaaad, Sean spat on me.” Sean: “I was doing sound effects. They produce spit. You should have had the sense to get out of the way.”

Duncan took a swing at Sean after Sean told him: “You’d be the perfect child if God gave you everything but a mouth.”

Duncan just told me that I’m a “pain in his bum-bum.” He’s not amused that I’m amused by that statement.

“Hanging out with you is challenging.” Duncan, after I wrestled him to the floor in a good-natured game of rough housing.

Early one Saturday morning: Is it bad that I’m letting Sean use scissors in the dark? He says he “can see perfectly fine.” In fact, he says, “I cut better in the dark.”

Sean, pretending to be a clone trooper from Star Wars: “I hate this job. I don’t get MLK Day off. Crap, I didn’t even get Christmas off!”

Duncan, twirling his toy lightsaber: “You can call me Jedi Bob.” Sean: “I’d rather call you an idiot.”

Me: “Come on, kids, come help me fold laundry.” Sean: “Dad, can’t you see I’m in the middle of a thought outburst?”

Erin: I’m always surprised at my children’s ability to read a long-winded, gross joke once and repeat it verbatim.” Me: “I’m less surprised. They’re wearing my genes.”

My 2 yr old niece eats her “cakies” when Duncan walks in, says they’re “pancakes” and walks away. The niece asks: “What’s wrong with him?”

The niece: “I ate all my blueberries. I ate all my blueberries. I ate all my blueberries. I ate all my blueberries. I ate all my…”

“Wow, the pilots really eat their words in this movie.” Sean, after the x-wing pilot gets blown up after bragging about locking on target.

Me to Sean: “I have a thought.” Sean: “There’s a 50-50 chance I’m gonna protest it.”

Sean: “Duncan, how many kids do you plan to have?” Duncan: “20: 10 girls, 10 boys.” Sean: “I can’t watch all those kids. Scale it back.”

Duncan, regarding his brother: “Sean is a moron, loved by all for his moron-ness.”

Me: “Stop throwing snowballs at the neighbor’s dog, Sean.” Sean: “What the heck for?”

The mournful groan that just came from Sean almost makes the niece’s request for “Calliou” worth it. Almost.

Sean regarding my last comment: “Caillou must die-you.” 

Duncan on Santa: “If you don’t believe you don’t receive.”

Sean’s 9-year-old reaction to news that Uncle Brian is getting married: “Oh yeah? Whatever.”

Duncanism of the day: If the inside of my head was empty, I’d be light-headed.

Sean’s reaction to the Duncanism of the day: “Duncan, you infuriate me.”

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Message for a Young Friend

Two old friends have a son who’s been through the meat grinder too many times in his 12 short years. Some think he should settle in for a lesser life than he’s capable of. I say bullshit.

Mood music:

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b6a9WmfFKs8&fs=1&hl=en_US&rel=0&color1=0x3a3a3a&color2=0x999999]

My young friend’s name is Mark. He lives in a city on the North Shore of Massachusetts. That’s all I’ll reveal about his identity. But his parents will know this is for him and will hopefully share this with him:

Dear Mark,

Because of the mental and physical challenges you face, some grownups think you should set your sites low. They think you’re not cut out for college or a career as, say, a scientist.

They mean well. They know what you’ve been through and they don’t want you to get hurt. But if I’ve learned anything in my own journey through hell, it’s that you can’t always hide from hurt and disappointment. Life is hard. But it’s supposed to be.

It’s how we find out what we’re truly made of.

Item: Franklin Delano Roosevelt was a pampered child whose world view changed when he was crippled by polio in 1921. A lot of people would have given up right there, but he rebuilt his life, became a mentor to other polio victims and was the longest-serving president in history, dealing with war and economic calamity that could have broken the spirit of healthier leaders. Through it all, he carried on an outward cheeriness that put people at ease.

When I was a kid there were plenty of roadblocks. I missed a lot of school because of Crohn’s Disease and lost a brother when I was only a year older than you are now. My studies suffered, and I was put in a lot of the classes where they put the problem children.

Things worked out, though. I got married and had two kids that are much smarter than I was at that age. I have a job that’s allowed me to do a lot of excellent things (excellent to me, anyway).

You shouldn’t settle for anything less than the life you want.

Item: Abraham Lincoln suffered crippling depression his whole life and lost two of his four children, all in a time before anti-depressants were around. He led the Union through the Civil War and ended slavery.

There will be setbacks and those can be discouraging, but you CAN survive them with the right perspective.

Item: The drummer from Def Leppard had an arm ripped off in a car wreck. A lot of people thought his career was over. Twenty-six years later, he’s still drumming.

So just keep trying, and never give up on yourself. Nobody can hold you back. Only YOU can hold yourself back.

One more thing: Having a good life doesn’t mean you get to live without the bad stuff from time to time.

It’s easy for people who fight mental illness and addictive behavior to go on an endless, futile search for the happily ever after, where you somehow find the magic bullet to murder your demons, thus beginning years of bliss and carefree existence.

There’s no such thing as happily ever after.

That’s OK.

I believe in you. Your parents certainly believe in you.

The rest is up to you.

–Your friend,

Bill

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More on Kids and Divorce

Yesterday’s post on children and divorce hit a tender nerve for a lot of you, so I feel a few clarifications are in order.

Mood music:

http://youtu.be/kJHFaU0lpZ8

Here’s what yesterday’s post WAS NOT:

–A rebuke of single parents. I know a lot of single parents who bust their ass and give their children a lot more love than some of the married couples I’ve met in my day.

–A plea for people in troubled marriages to stay together for the sake of the kids. Actually, as one reader correctly pointed out, it can be more damaging to a child if his/her parents hate each other but stay together anyway. If that’s not a recipe for addiction, abuse and a passing of demons to the next generation, I don’t know what is.

–A suggestion that you’re a lousy parent if you can’t keep your marriage together. It takes two people to make a marriage succeed or fail. And sometimes things beyond your control can damage a marriage. That doesn’t make you a less loving parent. And sometimes, you find someone else to marry who turns out to be the best thing that ever happened to the family. Bottom line: A bad marriage can’t go on. My parents were smart to divorce in 1980. A lot of bad things followed, but things surely would have been worse had they stayed together.

It WAS:

–A reminder that kids pick up on a troubled house immediately and they need constant love and reassurance.

–A big “fuck you” to parents who use their kids as pawns to hurt each other. Doing so just makes you mean, and your child is probably better off without you around.

I mentioned two troubled marriages yesterday, but I have to be honest and tell you that I was particularly fixated on the second case I mentioned.

I also need to admit — again — that I’m only seeing one side of the drama.

But since I’m keeping the names of the players anonymous, I’m just going to roll with the one-sided version of events and say a few things:

1.) It is NEVER, ever OK to tell the other parent you took the child one place for the weekend when you were actually someplace else. It’s one thing if you’re shielding the kid from someone abusive. It’s quite another thing if that parent is not abusive and you’re just doing it to be spiteful. Parents need to know where their kids are at all times because we live in a dangerous world. You lied about a child’s whereabouts, and that makes you a punk. And, contrary to what you may think, it does matter.

2.) When it comes to deciding who gets the child and when, it’s about what’s best for the kid, not you.

3.) Not living at home doesn’t free you of certain responsibilities, like helping to pay the bills. You may not live there anymore, but the kid still does. And like I said, it’s about the child, not you.

If this sounds like a rant that veers too close to a temper tantrum, I make no apologies. The scars from my childhood fueled an adulthood ripped apart by mental illness and addiction.

In the final analysis I made a lot of bad decisions and most of what I’ve been through can’t be blamed on everyone else.

And the difference is that in my case, everyone else did their best, even if some things took a sour turn.

When I see a parent who isn’t trying, I get angry. If a child is dragged through the mud when the parents are trying to do it right, just think of the damage done when the parents aren’t trying.

You’re not trying, my friend. And for now, I wish I had more middle fingers for you than the two God gave me.