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Sunday, October 12, 2008

The thing I admire about Hitler is he never took any shit from magicians.

That line is from Larry David and I write it because it's 3:48 a.m. and yesterdays post and dead relatives have me awake. I simply think it's brilliantly funny, and after yesterdays post, I could use some laughs.

The dead relatives? I've heard that between three and four a.m. is when most spirits are active and for most of my life, if I wake in the middle of the night, it is during that time frame. So, if they want me up, I can assume it is to finish what I started yesterday, and not zone out in front of a Chuck Norris infomercial. (Chuck Norris has no chin under his's another fist.)

I stayed with her for a while and I have a vague recollection of the incident repeating itself but the memory is locked away. The first memory seems to be doing all the heavy lifting anyway.

She would talk to my Dad in Dallas on the phone, and she would hand it to me with tears in her eyes. He would tell me he loved me, and call me Tiger and tell me I was going to come live with him. As he was playing at the Baker Hotel and living at the YMCA in downtown Dallas, I thought that rather exciting. I stayed with him there on weekends before my Mother and the fish grease smelling cook absconded with me to Vegas in a small, white Chevy Nova.

(He failed to mention that all his money had gone to child support, of which my portion amounted to cheese sandwiches, and legal fees, having my Mother declared unfit was apparently expensive and exhausting- the staying with him part would have to wait-filling in the gap would be my Aunt and Uncle and my five cousins. I found this out when they picked me up at Love Field in a giant, gas guzzling station wagon.

I remember driving to my new house in this behemoth of a car and seeing a white Chevy Nova. I hid on the floor boards of the car and no one mentioned it. Either they were letting me work it out, or were too stunned to say anything. But they became my first real family and I learned what it meant to survive in a loud, sometimes violent, fiercely loving, Irish Catholic home.)

I remember leaving Las Vegas, dressed in shorts and a white dinner jacket, with a note on my lapel giving my age and name-now that I think of it-more of a brief menu description for an airborne pederast than anything else, and my first commercial flight went off without a hitch, minus the ketchup episode on the dinner jacket.

The funny thing is, I don't remember saying anything at all, just being this big eyed, long haired, (the haircut of the day in 1966 was the burr for boys my age, so my shoulder length locks were a topic of conversation among the space waitresses minding me on the flight) silent, little boy who left town without saying goodbye to his Mom. (I found out when I lived with her as an adult it took her two weeks to notice I had left...)

I wasn't scared or excited.

I just knew I wasn't going back to the trailer. And that was enough for me.

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...