The smartest man I ever knew...

                                           At one time in my dads life, he could speak a handful of languages and write in almost as many. He learned English in a school that had no one there that spoke his native language, Polish...

                    Or any of the others...

                             But he managed to learn this language and went to college for electrical engineering.

                       In a lot of ways we complimented each other,  as I was growing up.

      Me, I would find his tools and disassemble our lawnmower or TV...

        He...well, he would come home from a long day at work and an hour long commute to attempt putting them all back together.

                             Not happily, mind you. In fact I do not believe that these father/ son bondings were one of his favorite group of activities, at the time.

                                      Once or twice, I'm sure he made that clear...

                                                         Extremely clear.

                    He did not know that I could hear him at my little league practices, telling the other dads in the stands about his crazy son. He surely did not know that I saw a sparkle in his eyes and the smile that he managed to hide from the rest...

                         If he'd known, he would have put on an ever familiar frown and lecture me that nothing was funny about destroying expensive tools and appliances.

                                          

                                                So I never told him I knew...

                                       

                                               Next year my dad turns eighty. 

                       It has been more decades than I care to admit, since those early days. I remember most how careful I had to be, back then, in my sneaking...

         Nothing got past him. He seemed to have a nearly photographic memory and could tell immediately if anything had been moved 1/4 inch...

                          If the gate was not in the EXACT same position from when he'd left the house, he knew. If the garage door was twenty thousands of an inch ( I'm not kidding. He has been in quality control in a machine shop for fifty years- he can still notice minute distances) he knew. If the rear of our shed was covered with black smoke residue and part of the lawn was a different color, that did not slip by him, either...

                    OK, most parents would catch those; but the rest, you have to admit, should have been able to slip past...

                            These days, more often than not, he misses most all those things. I don't know if it is because he doesn't have to fix them anymore, he doesn't care,  or that he's lost that power of precise observation he'd always had.

              My best guess would be a combination of the three. What scares me most, though, is that the majority is in the latter of the trio...

                          And that the smartest man I've ever known, is slowly metamorphosising into someone a little slower on the uptake than a generation past, who needs to think and almost ponder questions that were so simply and quickly answered, all those years ago...

            I've sat with him recently, as technical people tried to explain fairly straightforward information, and he would look questioningly at me, to see if I was understanding it...

   He shook his head just like his father used to do, years ago, when he wasn't quite getting everything being discussed...

         And I would give him the look that I was getting it, just like he did for his father, when his dad started missing the same things...

                                  It feels strange in this little role reversal...

               My pop is still sharp, just not as quick as he used to be.

                                    In some ways, I think he's smarter...

                          Not much gets to him. He sits back in his recliner enjoying the ever present noise and squabbling of his grandchildren. He gets that same twinkle in his eye as he had on the bleachers, when he sees me flabbergasted by something one of the three McMonkeys has done, and I not overly pleased in the present father/ McMonkey bonding moment...

                      Maybe he's not losing anything, but just immersed in all those tiny occurrences in this daily life, that really matter...

               Maybe he STILL is the smartest man I know...

                     I think he's tricked me, this time, pretty well...

I'm trying, but really?...

                          There was a time, not so long ago, that I was more conservative than Bob Dole and  Pat Buchanan, combined. I held strong to an unwavering Faith in the 2nd amendment, blind immigration enforcement and a comforting knoledege that America was long past any need to address racial inequality...

                             I don't know if the times were a changing, but it seems that I was.

                     I do still tend to have a conservative bend, but lately it has been tempered with an intent of Grace and a little less judgement.

                              I grew up believing most of Archie Bunkers rants as fact and a total distrust of the "enlightened" culture I soon would attempt joining, in my teens...

                           The problem was, that no matter how much of " The Grateful Dead" I listened to, and how many books by Leo Buscaglia I read, internally, my core beliefs remained the same...

                                  But if you've read this blog for any amount of time, you may have noticed a softening and possible reversal of beliefs, in many aspects...

                                It is nearly comic, how my heart has been changed.

                         I acknowledge today that a fairly harsh inequality still exists in our nations psyche, between the communities of different races.

                         But I also see inequalities that most don't recognize, or when they do, choose to charge it with a different name...

                                                      Prejudice.

                           Not against skin color or sexual orientation, but the disenfranchising and obstruction of another equealy discriminated group.

                                                 Religious intolerance...

                              I believe all men and women , regardless of race, color or sexual preference, are entitled to equeal treatment, under the law.

                                          No special treatment, for any of us...

                            Once again, I find myself not blindly tied to exact interpretations and limitations of our Constitution, but bound to simple beliefs of the heart...

                         So with the risk of being labeled a bigot or homophobe, I find myself defending not necessarily the right, but the ability to live a spiritual belief...

                        My marriage is not threatened by any other couple marrying, whether that is an abusive man marrying a victimized women, which I do not believe God condones, or a loving same sex couple...

                   The Covenant between God, my Wonderful Wife and myself is not affected by either...

                             But forcing a Pastor to defy his God and his beliefs, and mandate him to marry those he does not believe should be, whether that is a man and woman who do not complete the pre- marital counseling or a same sex couple that break the laws of the Church he has been ordained to serve and protect...

                           I think he should have the freedom to " Just say no".

                Forcing a Christian nurse to abort a fetus or a Christian wedding planner to ignore the God that led them to that career they use to edify Him, is an abomination...

             Notice I do not use that word regarding homosexuality, but regarding the forcing of any person to betray their core identity, by a power of government or mob mentality...

                                        To me, that is the abomination...

                 I'm hoping that definition might ring true among many, regardless of politics or religion...

                       I think this is bigger than law. It seems to be much more about hearts judgement.

                            Is it right to legally force someone to abandon their God?

                                                         I have my answer.

                                              You probably have yours...

Heroes and hearts...

                    Sitting at the dinner table is not always the time of great conversations at our house. Most often, getting information from one, if not all of our three McMonkeys is an intimidating task..

          So, one of the three that will remain nameless today ( in a lawyer- like fashion), unusually began speaking...

           " I think you and mom might be wrong about something" he spoke calmly, with a nervous upwards glance. " Sometimes when I'm at school and my cross on my necklace slips out from behind my T shirt, me and my friends talk about God and Jesus"...

           " Some of them go to Church and believe in God. Some believe, but don't go... I think a lot more people are believers than you both told me".

                                              Needless to say, I was surprised.

                        Not that he thought we were wrong. He's a pre teen, so that is commonplace. What really did surprise me was the fact that in school, without premeditated plan or intent, our son is witnessing for his God and His Saviour...

                          Now we have never sent him in to do this, in fact, it is something we really never had spoken of... If I had, most likely I would have cautioned about legalities and school policies.

                       I guess rarely and inadvertently, I may actually keep my mouth shut, at the right time...

                                                    Can't take credit for that...

                             It seems conversations like this are not out of the ordinary. Often, someone else starts it, on seeing his cross. No judgements or lectures, just simple questions about personal beliefs.

                                           Most adults I know have troubles with that.

                               It hasn't been without personal cost for him. A friend or two have stepped back, some for a time and some for longer. I have spoken to him about the pains, responsabilities and freedoms involved with speaking about beliefs.

               First I reassured him that he had no responsibility for the outcome. All he spoke with had their hearts in the hand of God, and only He had Power to change them.

                   That relieved him immensely. I could physically see a load fall from his shoulders.

         I told him how proud of him that I was. How rare it is, to naturally share Faith.

             I reminded him that all people have the right to any belief they choose and that all we can do is to share ours gently...

                                      He seemed to get what Id been saying..

                           

                                      I wanted to tell him that he was my hero...

                                 But I didn't say that and Im not sure why. I think, because I wanted his humility to not be tested, this early...

                                                        I don't know...

                I do know that he hasn't gotten that nonchalance from me. At work, I can count the times I spoke of Christ on one hand. Generally, it is a struggle to not join the inappropriate conversations , that always pop up in our shop.

              For me, what he does without fear or discomfort, terrorized this man,charged in preparing his heart. But of course I forget what I just shared with him, about how God holds all our hearts, and changes them,in his time...

                  In most of his words I hear remnants of our Pastors, children's ministries leaders and assorted friends and family.. I hear his amazing mom, often...

                Sometimes I hear a word I shared, at a time in the past...

                         I'm beginning to understand why Jesus loved children so.

                                     Why Jesus still loves children so...

                           I am a proud dad of a heart I did little too affect...

                              But a heart I did spend much time loving...

                                              Way to go, my little lawyer!

A Box of Rain and a side of Grace...

                                                Some days I wish I were just a little brighter..

                                             One of the hardest things to admit, as a Christian, for me, has been the simple phrase " I don't know "...

                            It can feel as if I have somehow abandoned my Faith, when i don't have complete certainty about every single belief I carry...

                                   If, after all my studying and praying, and seeking council from Godly men and women, I'm still unsure, it is tempting to just "fake it"...

                                       To not trust my heart and the Graced discernment it has been granted, in favor of an interpretation that doesn't quite seem correct...

                                 Rather than leave it unanswered, and put it in my "God box"...

                                          An example of what fills my "God box"?

                       Everything from where children's souls go that haven't accepted Christ, when they die, to why certain people are Graced, when others aren't...

                     Why I am fat, dumb and happy in upstate New York, when innocent babies starve to death unnoticed, half a world away...

                                                       Half a county away...

                                      Why Jesus chose me, to choose Him...

                                     I'm not doubting the plan, I'm just not understanding it...

                      The philosophy is easy. Theoretically, it makes perfect sense...

                                                              But humanly?

                                It's been said " that only with the heart, can we see rightly".

                                   My heart seems to be missing it, when it comes to this. My brain gets it, and can separate the hearts confusion into a hidden, separate compartment that is easily ignored. I can "out think" most of the questions...

                         But in a real way, they never get answered. 

                                               Not yet, anyway....

                              It would be easier still, to just get angry and judgemental over all that bothers me, when it bothers me.

                     Blame God... Blame the government... Blame any who has harmed another, purposefully or accidentally...

                        Unfortunately, I have enough knowledge to know that won't work.

                                                   So rather than judge...

               Maybe a better way to say this, a little more honest way,  is that when I choose to judge...

             I know I'm not supposed to judge, but I do. The best Im able to do, is to change the criteria that I choose to judge upon...

                       So today, if I find myself demanding the right to preside over those caught in an imperfect humanness, identical too my own, I remind myself to try to be kind....

                                          ... And to err on the side of Grace..

                          

                              I realize there are answers, but they just won't be given to me.

                                     I think the best way for me to err on the side of Grace in all ways, is to simply put the questions, judgements and all, into Gods box...

                             "And it's just a box of rain, I don't know who put it there,

                                     Believe it if you need it, or leave it if you dare"

                                                              Grateful dead

The 80/20 rule, revised...

                                      I was blessed to spend the entire weekend with my Wonderful Wife and three McMonkeys, in Salem , Massachusetts.

                       A belated birthday journey to the ocean, for a crusty old sailor...

                                                       ( That's me, by the way. ) 

                             Traveling is a very interesting art, especially when it includes two hormonal pre-teen boys and one imaginative nine year old Tasmanian devil impressionist.

Throw this all into the mix with two aging and aching sets of buttocks that no longer belong on five hour jaunts across several States, and deficits of coffee, donuts and more coffee...

                                                     You get the picture.

                              Having children may not be an art, but dealing with them as a sane adullt, after hours of discomfort , certainly is...

                             I may have managed to sqeak by the finger painting section but I haven't left the crayola stage yet.

                                                       But art is art, I guess...

                                  I forget to notice, sometime ( most times ), when my kids are being patient and agreeable. Over 80% of the time, I would say that they fit into that category. But they are quiet and not distracting me from matters of consequence, as my friend, The Little Prince, would say...

                                                     So I miss it, most times. 

                              And they hear me roar more often than they should. Sometimes it's easier or seems like better time management, to just to assume they are misbehaving because they are inconveniently loud...

                 All things considered, they faired pretty well, on the trip. 

                                    I would grade them a solid 80%...

                            But that's sitting home, decompressed , with benefit of six or seven quiet hours. If you'd asked me in the middle of this, I would have called it a weak 20%...

                                                          Same kids.

                                                           Same trip. 

                                    I hope when they look back on this trip, that they find themselves also, swapping the first perceived numerators and denominators...

                                       I guess that is what most parents ultimately hope for.

                                 That maybe those times that we showed them love and patience will be etched deeper and more often, into their Spirit, than all those other times, that we didn't...

                                       I hope what's not noticed, because it is their average day, are the good things;  that the roaring and impatience are the exceptions that perk their ears, and are not their norms...

                                       And after they grow up and decompress from childhood, ( a long and arduous task, on its own ) , our times together are remembered by them, gently...

                                           

A Pirate scoffs at 50...

                                                                  It is done...

                            I have crossed the archaic bridge that cynically and sarcastically marks half a century. Lots of smart money was lost on this one, in Vegas...

                                          My initial expectation was to dry up into a burger sized pile of dust, ( Had to get in a burger reference, of course! ) and be blown into the ethers, by my children's tailwinds, as they ran out the door, to catch their morning school bus...

                                              I outsmarted that one, by sleeping in...

                       No dust. No puff of smoke. I still have all the hair I had yesterday...

                                          Hold the bald jokes, please... It is my birthday...

                                                                  Fifty years old.

                                            Anybody who knows me understands the impossibility of that. Perhaps the calendar marched forward, but my brain must have been busy with reruns of " Gilligan's Island", or researching articles on homemade 3D scanners, for prototyping.

                          I may have been lost in contemplation, collating the damage done to the human spirit, due too excessive donut lack. I have no clue. I may not even have really been here, according to Einstein...

                                    Whatever the cause, I definitely missed it. 

                                   This body may have possibly existed that long, ( longer, if you add in the nine month gestation period that I evidentially endured) but that is not me...

                                                             It never has been...

                 The best of me, the best of us, the only part that really matters, is much different.

                                     We all are ageless, timeless spirits, planned by God from the beginning of His Creation.  I, as you, were planned as Angels were being made.  We may not have existed yet, but we were fully made , already in Gods thoughts...

                                  I venture to say, that is pretty darn close to the same thing...

                                                                    Denial?

                              Scientifically, the atoms that build this biological structure I'm presently entrapped in, are as ancient as any ocean or mountain...

                                I am that old, at least all of those little thingies that build me, are..

                           I was fifteen when I turned thirty seven, by most reckonings. Been there and did most of it before I hit twenty...

                                                      So how do you quantify age?

                                          Personally, I have been working backwards, 

                                                             Mostly unlearning....

                                          When I finally reach the point where all the knowledge retained in this mega noggin is one simple yet irreplaceable fact, that I am a product of Gods Grace, created to love Him and all others, for His Glory, then I believe I will be truly " grown up"...

                                          ...  And there ain't no timeline for that.

                                       Well, there is, but presently, He's not sharing it...

                                      Am I waxing philosophic, or playing hide and seek with a closer and continually creeping realization of this " selfs" mortality?

                                                       How would I know? 

                                 I'm still trying to figure out how old I really am..

                                                 I am slower, but kinder...

                                                 Less dynamic, but simpler..

                                My eyes are weaker, but my souls sight is much improved..

                                       What matters is not limited by human vision.

                        I listened to Jimmy Buffet this morning and smiled as he spoke of turning forty...

                                                                      Me? 

                               I failed miserably at algebra and am not to fond of numbers.

                                                      So to heck with fifty...

                                                         Ageless. Timeless...

                                                      That's me... I'll take that...

                                         

Feels like home...

                                Last night, I went to my first A.A. Meeting in thirteen years..

                         I wanted to simply walk in, sit in the back row and just say " Thank you"...

                             Its been a couple of twenty four hours in a row, sober now...

                                 So I left my family watching " Night at the Museum, Secret of the Tomb" and drove half a mile down the road to a familiar Church parking lot. As I stepped out of my car, i thought i heard a voice whisper into my head. " Your not going to be sitting in the back row tonight. Your going to chair the meeting.."

                I laughed out loud, the kind of laugh that God seems to enjoy hearing. I knew that voice in my thoughts and hadn't heard it say those words in quite some time...

                                           But of course I had to test Him...

                                                   Just for old times sake...

                               So I walked thru the archway, turned right and looked around a room that hadn't really changed much, in these many years. It took a few seconds, but I saw a few familiar faces, from many years past. Some I couldn't put names to, but one or two, I could.

                                      So of course, I sat in the back, with my arm resting on the chair next to me, taking it all in...

                                          An old friend and a lady i know both walked over, smiling and congratulating me on an anniversary I was celebrating that day. My Wonderful Wife had posted it on Facebook, it seems...

                             It was nice, being back around people who " get" the sobriety thing. We talked for a while and I sat back down, in one of the back rows. The two of them and another man came over minutes later and explained that the person who was originaly supposed to chair the meeting, did not show up. 

                                                          " Would I ?" they asked.

                          In this coincidence, I don't think God stayed very anonymous...

                                                      Not from me, anyway..

                                        There are very few places in this world that I feel comfortable surrounded by people. I'm not the kind of guy who does front and center well.

                                                     But this was home.

                             For a little over an hour, it was just like it was, back then...

                                                   Just like it used to be...

                                        

                                                         I love my Church.

                                         They have taught me much over the last thirteen years. My spiritual condition has certainly improved and maybe actually flourished at times, in attendance.

              I have spent weekends away with the men in our congregation, sharing emotions and experiences of being dads and fathers. Many mornings, I have had breakfasts with my mentor, who is basically the same as a sponsor. I have shared with him the exact nature of my wrongs and sought his guidance in making amends and living better, closer to Gods Will.

             The steps of A.A. are all based on Biblical Principals that can be followed outside its rooms.

                                                 But it's not the same...

                            My Church mentor never experienced the depravity and despair I have. He is not powerless over alcohol and never had to fight and be beaten by it, to put it down.

                             He understands the concepts of addiction and he knows the spiritual answer as well as any sponsor I've known...

                                                      But he hadnt lived the disease....

                                For years I've been trying to crack the code, during study groups and sermon reviews, on different nights. I remember once, looking around my Church and thinking what I really, really needed was to see an actual miracle. I realized then, just how long it had been since I had seen someone walk into a room broken and become sober...

                 Something I saw almost every week, years ago, when I attended A.A...

                               I love my Church and hope someday to feel as comfortable in it, with all it's members , as I do walking into a room of recovering alcoholics that I haven't met yet...

                                             It is not them. It is most assuredly me.

                                                        It is most assuredly, us...

                                          A.A. does not need me. For all the time I've been absent, it's done quite well. Just as my Church doesn't " need" me...

                                        Either one flourishes with or without my attendance...

                               I'm just a tongue chewing, pants pissing drunk who God chose to send His children, both in and out of the rooms, to guide into a better way of life.

                                                For years, my only " Church" was A.A...

                                         Eventually, because it is not a Church, and it's primary purpose is to help alcoholics achieve sobriety, I had to find a place to concentrate on my Christian beliefs.

                     Religion is not a controversy newcomers need to be confused with.

                              It is a spiritual program with no particular denomination. Most people coming thru the door don't need to hear debates on God...

                                       A lot of them are not fond of Him, or even acknowledge His existence. That's O.K., that's how the program is designed...

                                     Not a Church, but a fellowship...

                                       It has taken a long, long time for me to separate the two enough, that I can attend both, for what they are, and more importantly, for what they are not...

                                                   I love my Church.

                                           I have never stopped loving A.A...

                                                      I belong in both...

                            Last night I did not just see two miracles that chose sobriety; I witnessed an entire roomful of them, each at different places on a common journey..

                                                That is the magic of A.A....

                            We are all daily miracles of equal value, in these rooms we share...

                                     I spent a little over fourteen years exclusively in the rooms of alcoholics anonymous, before leaving it. They saved my life and sanity as God saved my soul.

                      God walked with me in both Church and the rooms ; as a father, I realized that my children needed to learn of a Loving, Gracious God that held them in great value. I met him first in a way I am eternally grateful that they will not need to...

                           I met Him as a destitute, sloppy and hopeless drunk.

                         They have met Him in our Church,  and possibly may sidestep this disease, with His help.

               Perhaps they may learn a little less painful way to maintain their spiritual condition, than I needed to...

                                  So I will continue going to Church for what it does for my children, my Wonderful Wife and for me...

                                    I hope and pray that I am the last of my lineage to need A.A...

                                                  but for me, it feels like home...

                                                       It feels like home...

Movies...

                                  I sent my son to bed without dinner, the other day.

                                                     Jacob, my youngest...

                          This was the first time that I have done that, where he refused to apologize.

                                      I went up to his room half an hour after sending him, attempting to offer him Grace and a chance to make right the situations he had created. I was greeted by a room in shambles and stony defiance.

                                     So I told him goodnight and that I loved him, just like every other night, then asked if he was too mad for a hug.

                                                                He was...

    I was sad because I wanted to forgive him. He did not desire it. He still was so sure that he was right..

                                         Of course. He is his fathers son, after all.

                        

                                            It was an interesting day yesterday. 

        March 13th is the date of my last drunk, 27 years ago. My sobriety started on the 14th...

                                  I don't usually tell people, but every year on the 13th, I get squirrelly.

                   I like to say squirrelly because it sounds a lot better than how I really get...

              

                                        Sobriety is a hard thing to attempt to explain.

                               When asked about it, I usually share how Gods Grace changed me, and gave me a choice to not destroy myself, and grow towards Him...

                                           That is what happened to me, but not what sobriety is...

                                 I speak of my Wonderful Wife and amazing McMonkeys ; about an incredible life provided by The One much greater than me...

                                         But that's just part of sobrieties gifts.

                                                      It's not sobriety...

                                

                                       I walked into A.A. and one of the first things I heard from an old timer almost as old as God Himself was " Boy, you ain't going to make it if you don't learn how to step over the bodies".

 Then he laughed loud and hard, and I thought he was the biggest, most insensitive horses ass I would ever meet.

                             Getting sober is walking into rooms full of people just like yourself, some of whom will not stop drinking, for long. To grow enough to maintain sobriety, you are basicaly required to open up your heart and let them in. Close enough to help you, but close enough to hurt you, also. No one is guaranteed anything past the present day, no free passes offered...

                                   Every year brings new ones into the rooms and sends others out...

                             You wish you could be like Caufield in " The Catcher in the Rye", praying you could stop them; wishing you could save every single one.

                                                              But you can't... 

                                                      You become close, and those who don't drink become closer and more intimate. Unfortunately, the disease is not a respecter of time in recovery...

                      Men and women you would have sworn could never relapse, do, and then they try for years, some, the rest of their lives, to gain any consecutive days without drinking, again.

                                                           And many never get it back...

                                 But they still are in your heart and their stories are ingrained in your soul. Years later, you clearly remember their wives names, kids names, first sobriety date...

                          ...the dates and seasons that triggered their sadnesses still haunt you, and at times you question how a such a Loving God could allow those much more dedicated, stronger and more loyal, to fall, while for some unknown reason, you still cluelessly, march on...

                                          Those you have grown to love and have yourself, carried; that have carried you so many times,when you were not capable of walking this road alone, eventually get older and succumb to all the diseases of age.

                                                              They die sober...

                                                        And you don't drink over it.

                                                And one night, when the ghosts of the rooms of A.A. have quietly retreated from your brain and heart, angrily and sadly you finally admit that that old horses ass was always right....

                                  I can tell you exactly what it's like to be 27 years sober.

                

                      Do you remember the final scene in the movie "Saving Private Ryan"?

                                  50 years after World War two, at Arlington National Cemetery, Private Ryan, now an old man, is kneeling in front of Captain Millers grave. He speaks to the headstone.

               " I've tried to my live the best I could. I hope that was good enough. I hope that at least in your eyes, I've earned what all of you have done for me."

                              His wife stands over his shoulder as tears run down his face. He speaks to her, saying " Tell me I've led a good life"  " What?" she gently replies...

                                             " Tell me I'm a good man" 

                                 

                                      Every 13th of March, I am followed by a cloud of emotion. If I stop for more than a few minutes I tear up and begin to fall apart. A strange and twisted mix of sadness and gratitude; confusion and Grace...

                      I feel what Ryan felt... unworthy, confused, afraid..

               Knowing that God chose to keep me sober and that I did nothing to deserve it. Knowing that so many of the people I'd held close and that did much more to earn it than I , weren't ...

                                 I have no idea why. It was not in my original plan...

                        On the 13 of March, 1988 I had no other idea in my pickled little brain than to continue my drunken path to its inevitable end. Hope was a four letter word that I did not comprehend.

                                                  But God had other plans...

                 I am overwhelmingly Greatfull to still be sober and have this life I've been graced with...

                                                        

                                        

Conundrums...

                                       So after weeks of arguing at work about some fairly serious safety issues, I decided this morning to just shut up.

                              Stay out of it. Keep calm, my head down and just do my job...

                                                       I did real good at it...

                             Five of the guys I usually work with were doing a job that looked " iffy", but seeing that one of them was my boss, and the other four blindly follow his every direction, I let it slide.

                                                   Smart. Civil. Non- combative...

                                       I knew no one would listen anyway and it would be another head to head screaming match if things were unsafe, so I worked in a different area and left them to their tasks.

                      My other bosses complimented me on my new found people skills.

                                               Lots of smiles, jokes and laughs....

                         

                      I looked across the aisle, a little concerned, but the safety dude was present with them along with a few supervisors and a manager, all watching to insure a safe and well done job...

                             I finished my work orders  and bee bopped around, searching for a new task.

                                                   I didn't have to wait long....

                                    It seems my workmates had decided that they needed the trolley/ crane to go about eight feet farther than it was designed, and that removing the safety stop from where it was bolted was a good idea.

                  The plan was to use it to remove a one thousand pound roll from the machine and have three or four of the guys manually pull it away from the machine with straps, putting their body parts below it. Not a significantly dangerous practice and often a necessary one. Many, many times, I have been one of the guys holding the straps and guiding the roll...

                                               But I would have known enough to drill holes at the end of the beam and mount a new safety stop. I've done it before. 

                                   I would have argued and told them that removing a safety stop without installing another, further down, was stupid, dangerous and negligent.

                                        I would have not used people skills well...

                               You see, I used to work on boat engines and pulled large engines out of boats at the pier, as they rocked from waves made by passing vessels, using remarkably similar, if not slightly more primitive, devices...

                               And I NEVER did it without a bolted stop on the I beam...

                    Long story longer, these gentlemen ran the crane off of the beam...

                              Thankfully, they hadn't figured out how to strap it to the thousand pound roll they were planning on lifting, yet..

                              If it had been hooked and raised, the trolley would have traveled past the beams end like it just did, and the thousand pound roll would have crushed three or four men against the floor or opposite wall...

                             With the crane on the floor, nothing would have been available to lift the roll off of those crushed...

                            It was a much closer call than almost all of these guys ever had.

                            The guys that think OSHA and safety are stupid and overblown.

                                 The worst part was that our safety guy was with them and plant supervisors and a manager thought they were doing a splendid job.

                            So, I went around our plant afterwards, checking all our cranes, for safety...

                      Funny thing is, they sent a mechanic home on a completely different job for breaking a safety rule that he never actually did break.

                               But none of those involved in the crane fiasco had a word spoken to them.

         Not the maintenance boss, safety dude or any of the guys involved had an iota of discipline...

                Probably because salaried bosses watched it happen and did nothing to stop it...

                                  With all the compliments I received for my people skills and keeping my mouth shut early on, you think I would feel proud.

                                                              I don't...

                            I did exactly what my bosses wanted and kept peace, but my silence, my absence and my wanting to keep my job almost killed a group of idiots who are professionals and should have known better...

                                                       But I knew they didn't. 

                                                        Sadly, I did...

My old nemesis...

                                   I've always considered myself a fairly intelligent man. I have been known to act fairly stupidly, at times, and have demonstrated a complete lack of common sense multiple moments,days and years of my life.

                                                                But...

                                                   The ever present " But"...

                             I think most of that was/ is just my personality.

                                  I do stupid things and sometimes think stupid thoughts.

                        Most sensible people hear crazy stories and the first thought in their brains is " How could someone DO that?!?".. 

                           Me, I hear a story of someone walking away from an extremely risky choice that would make an amazing story, if survived, and I think " How could you NOT?!?"...

                                 Being old, or nearly old ( for a little while longer) , I still think that way, but just don't voice or act on it, anymore...

                                    So I don't see it as lack of intelligence, just sanity...

                                      Although I spent less than 1/3 of a semester in college, I am able to walk thru most any industrial plant, look at a machine or any part of a machine, and almost always be able to explain how it works.

                                  Mechanical or electrical, pneumatic or hydraulic, most days I am reasonably spot on, in my guesstimations...

                                              Here comes the other " but".

                           My six grader, asked me for help with his homework. A lump of fear formed in my throat as I replied " Sure, if I can help".

                       As I walked around the kitchen island, I questioned him on the subject.

                                                          Algebra, he said...

                                                         Algebra. Of course.

                                                               Of course...

                                           My mother was driving us home from Saratoga one afternoon and had a stack of mail between us, in her station wagon. I had failed the algebra class and was awaiting my grade from the second Regents test, that could possibly pass me on to the next grade without repeating this one. I did not do well on the first regents test. My mother considered that an understatement, when she opened the first envelope in our home and it simply stated the grade as "14".

                   " How can you possibly get a 14 on a multiple choice test?" she screamed.

                                           " Good question", I replied.

                                She then started yelling about smart ass remarks and no wonder I got a 14 on a test, with an attitude like that...

              For a large portion of the rest of the day, she followed her usual routines, shaking her head every fifteen or twenty minutes and mumbling to herself the number " 14"...

                                     I was sat down at our kitchen table, which ironically is in the exact same place as our kitchen island, in the exact same room and exact same house...

                           And forced, hours on end, to study this " algebra" thing.

                             My father even tried to teach me, bless his blood pressure and soul...

                      The problem with that is I always asked him questions beyond it, and he would find himself an hour and a half later explaining geometry and calculus problems that I could do easily..

              He would then yell in Polish,and jump up from the table, frustrated and angry that I could understand higher concepts but was totally clueless and inept in something so simple..

                           They were relentless. I WOULD pass. I would pass...

                                                 I spent months at that table...

                                            So as we were riding that day, I found the regents envelope that held my grade. " Open it", she said.

                          So I did. Both older brothers were in the back seat, interest piqued...

                                      I silently read my grade. My mother looked over sideways, while threading her vehicle thru the noon Saratoga traffic. Confidently, she smiled and gently asked " Well?"

                                                           Eight, I said...

                                                             EIGHT?!?   

    She screamed!  She was looking straight at me while driving thirty miles an hour, in crazy traffic...

                                                             EIGHT?!? 

                            How the hell could you get an eight? It's impossible!

                The test is multiple choice! The worst you can possibly get is 25!

                                              How the HELL did you get an EIGHT?!?

                     I never did learn algebra. General math was as far as I went....

                                                  

                                             Thirty seven years later, I still don't get it.

                          I informed my eleven year old son, rather sheepishly, that I had absolutely no clue and would be absolutely no help to him.

                                              I don't think he really believed it...

                                        Frustrated, he asked who could help him.

                                              I didn't suggest grandpa...

                                                                   P.S.    

                         He figured it out for himself, without his moms help or mine...

Day of rest...

           Stayed home with my middle McMonkey. He has been having a really bad cough , body aches and tiredness. Couldn't justify dragging him to Church, only to have to yank him out of service so others could hear it.

                     So father and son hung out in their Jammie's, played poker, worked on daddies " honey do" list, and listened to MY iPad playlist.

                  We ate lunch at a Mexican restaraunt the other day and country music was playing.

                              He now calls country music " Mexican"..

              So I played him my favorite Christian artist, circa 1980 or so...

       Then I played some sad country songs. Boredom complete, we gave up on old tunes...

                 Relaxed, we sat at the kitchen island and just talked. He told me that in health class they were talking about alcoholism and addiction...

              I kind of laughed and asked what they had learned so far...

                           Not a bad program in our little school....

                   I let him know if he had any questions, I would be more than glad to answer them. He looked at me quizzically.

                       I told him on those particular subjects, I am probably more of an expert than he would likely ever meet.

                      " You do know that I'm an alcoholic, don't you?" I questioned...

         " You used to be, but now you don't do that anymore" he replied.

                        So I explained that once an alcoholic, always an alcoholic, that it is a progressive, insidious and fatal disease that by nature, tries to trick you into thinking you don't have it, or don't have it anymore...

                     My eyes glazed over a bit, as I told him of old friends, who after many years of sobriety, decided to drink again and shortly found their lives and family decimated and out of control.

                       I think that surprised him. He looked shocked as I let him know that if I took one single drink, all the smart money in the world would have me much worse than I was when I initially stopped...

     The disease progresses in sobriety also, awaiting the opportunity to take control, freely handed over.

                                        My son was getting an in depth lesson...

                         I told him of a friend at work who had a champagne toast at his daughters wedding after 18 years of sobriety. In the past few years I've seen him go from a beer every other week, to weekly, to daily and now, weekend drunks. Every now and then he drives, when he's " not that bad"...

              I told Stephen that it hasn't caught up to him yet. "Yet?" he questioned. " It's going to get worse?"

                                            " It always does. It ALWAYS does"..

                      We sat across the table and I told him of coming to with a dog peeing on me and not being able to move. We both laughed at that. I told him about falling down at 10 degrees in the winter, at 3:30a.m. and waking up an hour later with my beard frozen to the sidewalk. We laughed a little less, and stopped completely when I told him I could have died there. It happens every day...

                         I told him about my last drunk, drinking bourbon, eating bread and puking a bloody mixture of both into a bucket I was holding.

                                   He couldn't understand that. It made no sense...

                                                              Exactly.

                         I couldn't stop, couldn't drink enough to pass out and was caught in a trap I could not free myself from...

                      I told him of the years of battles trying to sober up and not being able to. I told him of the times God intervened that I ignored, that I defied and how He still sent one to witness to me and offer Salvation.

        How God healed me from a disease that I could re- expose myself to, but for His Grace...

         How He removed the compulsion, obsession and desire, and how daily I give thanks for one more day sober.

       A daily reprieve, based on my spiritual condition. That is why my relationship with God and Jesus is such a priority. One of the many reasons. He did not need to fear me drinking because I am held gently in Gods hands. Those who stray, those who refuse that refuge are the most vulnerable.

                      We talked of the times in my past when I went into high schools and spoke to teens about the realities of this disease, how I'd spoken in rehabs and A.A. meetings...

                                     He said he probably wouldn't drink, when he became legal.

                     I told him that would be his choice. All I could do is share my experience, strength and hope with him and pray for the best.

                            We spoke about adoption and all the emotions and pressures that come with it.

                 A conversation without judgement or expectation or promises.

                                     It was an emotional morning, but an amazingly bonding one.

                                Usually I feel bad when I miss Church , worse when one of my kids miss it with me. It makes me feel like a failure as a father, when that happens.

                                                              But today?

                                    I think God understood this absence from his house.

                                He was here with us and in a very strange way, we worshiped.

                                              I guess that is a pretty good day...

       

                                            No matter who's house your in...