We have all heard the old saw about “When life gives you lemons, make lemonade.”  Recently my lemonade has been somewhat tart and I have cornered the market on lemons.  Believe me when I say I am working very hard to try to come out of this muck and mire that seems to be suffocating me.  I feel like I’m in the fire swamp and not there with the pretty girl but the large rat wanting to eat me.

It’s difficult when you have the problems you do, and then the people around you expect you to solve their problems and be the leader of their cause, and their champion.  I would love to be the one that could champion causes or fix things or even sit down and talk about a minor problem you are having in school or at work.  Today, I couldn’t remember if I had met with a counselor I had met with for over an hour, with my wife present. It was not in the recall memory banks.

The walls are crashing around me and people want me to help them with problems.  They want to attack me because of minutia that on the big scheme of things seems pretty trivial.  Apparently, my depression medication is laughing at me while the people that I thought were standing there are all giggling like I missed the memo.  I sure could use a little sugar.  Does anyone need some lemon concentrate?

There are some things in life that are just too funny not to mention and to leave as a memory. Sitting in a publc place with not many chairs left, I sat down next to a man and a woman with two children aged 6 and 4. I was talking to the father for a while and we were discussing what it’s like being a dad of young children. His six year old little boy was next to him and had a quizzed look on his face and I looked over at him and his father then looked at him and he blurted out in a rather loud voice:

"DADDY….DID YOU JUST FART?!!!"

The embarassment on his wife’s face was classic and you would think that with that now collecting the attention of the entire room of people it would be ignored and perhaps a quick response from daddy that it may be rude to shout that out, but no, in a voice even louder than before the 4 year old sister shouts:

"NO, IT WASN’T DADDY IT WAS THAT LADY RIGHT THERE" [pointing to the unsuspecting woman sitting behind daddy]

Mommy was now trying to figure out the best way to say she was only the Aunt or friend of the family and she would never have allowed that type of behavior in her household. In order to save the other woman, she leaned over and said:

"I’m terribly sorry but sometimes they forget their place and I apologize."

Just as I took my last drink of coffee, and trying not to show my own thoughts of sheer and utter embarassment for Mommy and Daddy, the woman looks at the Mommy and then at junior:

"It is me that owes an apology to you young man, because yes, it was me who farted."

The room giggled and snickered and I was nodding my head thinking to myself that this woman was indeed quick on her feet. Then as I got up to throw away my paper cup, I noticed a man walking out of the restroom and joining the farting woman. With him were two small boys and a couple of older boys, perhaps 8 or 9, and they were twins. Suddenly I realized, that this veteran Mommy was not quick on her feet but merely experienced.

My heart is bursting in sadness, but also bursting with joy. It’s not always available to men to find their mark in the world. Blogging has allowed me to see through the lives of others, and has also allowed me to see my own life. I started this blog as a way to chronicle my life. I was at the time very into my heritage, and the life of one of the most influential men in my life, George MacLeod. George or Mac as his family and friends called him was taken from ths world at a time when I was very impressionable and at a time when I had superheroes and an imagination. The irony of this story is that he was taken from this world and from my life by a man that decided to have too much alcohol and get behind the wheel of a death machine of a vehicle.

After all of that is said, my heart still hurts today for a lonely space where Grandpa visits each day and looks at his legacy. Yes me, my children and each person that comes after me is a legacy to a man that has no control over what that legacy becomes. I ache for the embarassment that I feel for making a mark on the legacy of a man I treasured and a man I want to make proud.

With all of this, I have been given a chance to make my own legacy and right the ship for a legacy of a man I love. I accept the challenge of what will be the legacy of me and of George MacLeod. The people that are bashing me have a legitimate roar. Those that are standing behind me hold my knees from shaking and my back from breaking and from exploding into oblivion, my most heartfelt thanks. I thank and Grandpa Mac thanks you. We accept your thrown gauntlet to make a legacy that we can be proud of and a legacy that my four children can later say is a legacy they treasure.

It’s funny to note when people are driving home from work and a traffic accident is across the other side of the highway, yet they cannot resist slowing down just so maybe they could catch a glimpse of that mangled body in the road or some blood or perhaps just a mangled car accident without any bodies.  They  have to see it.  They can’t ignore it must be seen.  My son knows that a scary part is coming in a movie and covers his eyes, but just at the last minute he spreads his fingers because he has to see that gross or scary part.  Of course, to my son a scary or gross part could be Oscar the Grouch.

I have been chronicling my downturn, my sickness, my disease and my alcoholism for about a week and a few days.  My traffic numbers have doubled as a result.  Now that is the phenomena I speak of above or it could just be the fact that Google has a rush on alcoholic bloggers as a search phrase.  It could also have to do with one site.  The number one site that has referred traffic to my blog in the last few days has been Train Wrecks.  I have no qualms against the owners of this site, in fact I giggled when they called me a drunk filthy pig.  I’m a blogger, if I can’t take a slap like that I ought to be a carnie working for the man in a dunk tank instead of a daddy blogger.  I went on to read about Dad Gone Mad, and suddenly, it wasn’t so funny anymore.  It’s okay when they attack me, heck, I would love them to attack me everyday and continue to raise my traffic numbers.  Then when that put DGM on there, I was offended.  Here is a guy pouring out something soulful and private and then they in turn make a mockery of it.  I know Danny, and he is probably giving them the big F’donk, and I know he could.  I appreciate all that has been said in the comments here from all of you readers, and I hope that I can get back on track with my own depression and alcoholism.  Too all you Train Wreck people, here’s a big time F’donk from Genuine.

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The next saga of my plight seems somewhat comical given the first part of the story.  The first part of the story shows a man in need of help.  A man that is weak.  A man embarrassed, and humiliated around his peers, friends, and family.  The second part of the story is merely icing on the cake.  The saying says "when it rains it pours" and believe me when I say it feels like a monsoon here.

As you can see from the pictures below, I have a small headache and a large scar.  This is ironic because it involves no other person than myself.  I had bruises on the back of my head and was nursing a headache from that, but it would not equal the headache I was about to have.  I finished my latest blog post, stopped with my email and IM for a while and was going to get a lemonade, my drink of choice these days.  I jumped to my feet, and a sudden dizziness came over me.  I reach out for the wall but my hands drew a blank and flailed for the comfort of something that would catch me as I fell.  I remember falling and the slight bounce of my head against the corner of the door, but it was not until a while later that I found myself staring at the freshly vacuumed carpet thinking, Oh Shit she is going to be pissed I’m bleeding on the carpet!"

I stood to see if I was talking to anyone on the computer and it seemed quiet.  Drips of blood were hitting the pads of paper below me and I reached for the Kleenex on my desk and quickly began cleaning up all the droplets of blood that seemed to be running a race that I started. I could barely focus as I went to the bathroom and took off the Kleenex.  I actually broke out laughing thinking that this is just too comical to be happening.  I went back to my desk and chatted a bit, and suddenly the police cars and ambulance was there to give me another ride.  Its seems that Shylah was concerned for my health since I was bleeding, and she got the emergency services there immediately.

"You are a popular guy this week huh Jim?"  Apparently so, it seems I cannot keep you guys from your card game." was my reply.  I guess we don’t need cuffs huh?" I said.  Not unless you have become attached to them , he said.  Can we do the lights and sirens this time?  It may make the neighbors even more curious if we blaze out of here like that."  Sorry, we can’t do that.", was his reply.  "Damn you guys ruin all the fun."

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Just in case you want the rules, you are not allowed to bleed on Mommy’s carpet.  Keep that in mind as you are unconsciously headed for the floor.

I went first who is next?

Genuine meet Door Jamb, Door Jamb meet Genuine. See I knew there would be hazards to stopping drinking. Those doors come out of nowhere. Thise one actuially introduced itself when I sat up too fast in a hot room. This is the first in a very long line of passing out without a medicinal aid or and ax handle. Ain’t she pretty? Didn’t they do a great job of Supergluing it back together? So what do you think, Aloe Vera or Neosporin?

Look at the steamer trunks under those eyes!

It seemed like forever before it rolled around to six o’clock.  I began pacing for a while and instead of looking like the guy that was actually pacing, I sat down and began to watch football.  It dawned on me that this is what I would be doing at home.  Calling out cool plays saying, "Honey come here and see this!"  I would rewind the Tivo to see a hit and then look over the defense.  A hard habit to break when you are a Quarterback and watched as many films as I did, you tend to read the safety and which side the blitz is coming from.   I started getting into the game and suddenly my Father In Law was there to take me home.  Like a rescuer in a burning building I watched his eyes and headed for the exit.  I signed for my shoes, and my sweats with a drawstring, and I was soon out in the crisp October air, the first time I had been able to go outside since I was restricted to the unit.  I had not been there long enough to eat in the dining room or to earn privileges to stand out on the patio to let the sun shine on my face.  I suppose that would be too much for the likes of us newly incarcerated.

The drive home was nice.  As an AA member he new all the right questions and shied away from the obvious.  There was no judgment and only concern.  All-in-all, a nice ride home that was stress free.  When we reached the house, FIL had stopped for Mexican food, but my stomach was on full alert and lockdown so I decided to wash the sweat tears and overall nastiness that seems to cling to you in a closed environment of people not willing to shower and those that think they may wash that grease out of their hair only to lose it later in a freak loony bin accident.  As I climbed from the hot shower actually feeling a glow of life, I had fresh clothes and a whole new attitude on life.  I could conquer the world, or perhaps a roast beef sandwich which I made just to see if the plumbing was working.  Everything seemed to check out just fine, but there was one thing missing…my family.

I wanted to hear the roar as I came through the door like I used to when coming home from works, each child reaching higher like a totem pole, all wanting to tell me the day’s adventure one at a time but all in chorus.  It was silent.  No giggling, no laughter, no screams of "that was my toy first".  Utter silence.  It hit me in the chest like a pick axe,  Taking my breath away.  I couldn’t go up to kiss my wife and ask her how her day was.  I had nobody there for me.  Daddy was home from battle and he would remain alone, through the night.  His salve for his soul had ran out and there was no relief in site.  I slept for the better part of the day after that, catching up a little on the sleep I pretended to have while my bunkmate used his sheets for toilet paper and Kleenex.  It’s funny I only saw him get out of bed once and he had been there for seven days.  I pray for him to be better and I hope his life can once again see sunshine.  For now it’s dark and gloomy here, only my wife showing now and then to tell me how horrible I am, and  now and then a "Hi Daddy" on the other end of the phone.  I wait for my fate like Marie Antoinette, knowingly yet accepting.  Then it happened again, the police appeared at my house with the fire trucks.  It seemed like a bad episode of "Ground Hog Day"  I walked out to the foyer, and held out my hands for the cuffs.  This time they told me that it was not necessary to be cuffed but would I please crawl on the gurney to be taken to the hospital.  Is it ever going to end?

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Since I woke up on Saturday after about 1/2 hour of sleep, I have been bumping into door jambs I have missed picking up a banana I was to eat making it fall to the floor.  The headaches get worse and my focus is not near what it should be for a guy with better than 20/20 vision.  At first I thought it was the medication and perhaps it was a sign of withdrawals from alcohol.  I am assured that as of this time any symptoms of withdrawal would be only minor and probably would not completely exist.  In fact the doctor’s and nurses were quite flabbergasted that I had not a single symptom of coming down from my addiction nor did I show any signs of having abused alcohol at all.  There was no shakiness, no sweats, no dry month and no creeping spiders and hallucinations.  My chart was completely empty of any of the signs of have any type of alcoholism,  My nurse jokingly said, are you sure your not just here to look at the beautiful girls and wanting time off from work and family? (Thinking back to booger licker I shuddered.)  I assured her that my vacations never start with watching a teenager alphabetize the crayons not by letter but by size before by letter.

It first became a problem when I complained of a headache on the back of my head.  I couldn’t seem to make my eyes see one item. That “s“ in scrabble looked like 2 of them ( I was the scrabble God, not that I should brag about the other three who couldn’t spell their own name)..  The nurse came to me and asked if it was okay if she saw the back of my head.  As long as you don’t pull out any hair was my response, I only have so much hair to give to the cause.  She then went on a discussion about Michael Jordon, and Vin Diesel and how hot they were.  You would be a great bald guy she said. Thanks I said but for now I want keep what God gave me.  Did you have a fall?  No Ma’am I woke up from a nap and was greeted by the police and I know they didn’t beat me with any of the night sticks or anything else I was very cooperative.  Hmmmm she said you have three distinct raised bumps and by your wincing they seem to hurt.  Sorry, but I always have something going on.

You can imagine what it is like to type when their are double the keys on the board.  It takes a while to clean up the mess.  Bear with me as my punctuation may be off and perhaps even my words are out of focus or out of order.  I’m fighting off this double vision and it is extremely hard.  The headaches at times seem unbearable but then that in itself could be a reaction to withdrawal symptoms.

Back to the bald loving nurse trying to make me look like Wesley Snipes.  She states that I have two bruises on the right and on the left of my head.  She wanted to know whether I had fallen down the stairs or whether I had passed out and hit my head.  Thinking back I couldn’t really remember what would have caused that pain.  I then asked her could it be from a fist?  Sure it could came her response, but I don‘t think you can hit yourself in this angle and with this force.  I’ll have the doctor check it out.  In the meantime, do you want to have a aide help feed you and to help you ambulate?  Sorry nurse I’m in here for drinking, I’m used to double even triple vision.  Yeah I might be stone cold sober but old habits never seem to die.  Can I get you something for the headache?  I can give you two aspirin.  Nurse I retorted, 2 aspirin to me is like easting two M&M’s.  They might seem like they are good at first but all it does is leave a taste in my mouth.  The doctor earlier gave me 2400 Milligrams in one day meaning I had taken 4 extra strength Advil three times a day.  The aspirin was a nice gesture but I don‘t believe that those itty bitty aspirin will do much more than add to my already bleeding stomach.  I had to remember why my head felt the way it did.  I laid my head back on the couch making it look like I was stumped in scrabble, thinking in my mind.  Then it came my turn I looked up to the last word added, “ant”.  It just so happened that I had 2 ll ‘s two i’s and a b and r.  Game over.