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Thursday, September 25, 2008

Memory Lane is often filled with vacant lots...

I borrowed money from my boss for the airplane ticket. I took the red-eye.
Bad coffee and Valium made for some interesting observations at thirty-two thousand feet.

Of course I was thinking of my Father, after my addiction was calmed. The little yellow pills certainly helped with the whips and jingles that not drinking had caused and slowed things down to a manageable crawl.

My Dad. The first thing that came to mind was his smell. Pipe tobacco and after shave. Funny. You'd think it would be the his anger was white hot and spontaneous. But no, I remembered crawling onto his lap, nuzzling in to that smell, and feeling safe.

After all, he was the only one I was truly afraid of.

My first memory oozed into view as shadows fell across the seat in front of me and I remembered the bars of my crib.

My room was dark, and light from the hallway threw a pie shaped wedge onto my crib. I was standing, clutching the bars and crying, terribly afraid.

A friend of my parents stood just outside my reach, his arm in a cast.

I could hear them in the other room. Screaming. Glass breaking. I didn't know what the guy in the cast was doing...I just wanted my Mom and Dad to stop. I wanted him to stop hitting her and I wanted her to stop egging him on, begging for him to do it again.

Fast forward to me and my Mom. I'm five and my Dad is on the road. We are alone and she's drunk and that's not good when you're epileptic.

She would seize, and fall to the hardwood floor, her heels beating a tattoo on the wood as she convulsed and passed out.

I recalled mustering up all of my five year old strength, pulling the mattress off the bed, struggling and slowly rolling her onto it, because I was a good boy, and good boys took care of their mommies.

The stewardess shook me awake.

I had been crying.

My new disclaimer...yeah I know.

Okay, the old disclaimer was tired. The ideas were outdated and keeping me stuck in a place I don't want to be now for something more refreshing.

I have recently changed my views regarding women. Seems I had some issues with the fairer sex due to past pain and self- centered fear. (Yes...duh applies.)

I'm done with that.

Being in recovery has helped me change my entire life, perceptions and attitudes. I cannot change my history but I can change my today and my future.

I recently realized that the women I know in recovery are some of the strongest, bravest, most gentle and kind teachers I have ever had. You exemplify integrity and spiritual growth, and I hope you know who you are.

Some may know of my past marital and relationship history and been a participant in them as well. It's past and that's where it the past.

I own my part in those failures but claim no more responsibility in any misery you may be experiencing. I am sorry, but it's time to get off the cross. We need the wood.

Thank you all...