Baffling
Recovery is a fascinating journey.
Take this: I am much less certain how I manage to stay sober now then when I was first getting sober 10 years ago. The question of how to stay sober was easy in the beginning: pack of smokes, pot of coffee, meeting, emotional outpour. Early on, you just don’t pick up. No matter what. You suffer the slings and arrows of each outrageous fortune without chemical aid. It was simple then.
For me, it was often a moment by moment struggle. One day at a time meant one minute at a time. Eventually, the minutes turned into hours and the hours turned into days. What’s baffling is how this temporary solution became such a long term source of stability and strength.
How have I gone this long without a drink, drug or other mood altering substance?
Vigilance helps. I can pinpoint my last craving because I blogged about. My friend Jason died in my first month as a blogger. It rocked my world. In my grief, I saw a commercial where a limed and shapely Corona sat sweating cool in the beach sand. If I could have reached my hand through the screen to pick it up, I would have. That was over two years ago.
My life as a clean and sober addict is baffling when I consider where addiction took me: the morning craving, the white knuckling, the teeth grinding, the cold sweating, the jones shaking. To go from that miserable state of utter dependence to a liberated reign of mental freedom cannot be easily explained. The more the hours turn into days the longer the distance I have to travel back in my memory to the days of psychiatric slippers and a racing heart rate.
I still know craving. It’s just that I surrender my craving for drugs and alcohol, handling other cravings as needed.
Living in a baffled state of mind and body, I have become more tolerant of discussions on faith, more open to alternative narratives of history.
In a way, I’m much more naive today about the inner workings of the human condition. I’m more curious, more inclined to absorb the mystery than try to solve it.
This has come in handy as a parent. Watching these two young personalities grow and change and flourish has been the best unexplored mystery since living one day at a time kept me sober for ten years.
While there are certain character traits my wife and I try to foster in our children, they are unabashedly themselves in ways we could never control. Ev is Ev. Meals is Meals. Changing that is futile.
For example, I couldn’t extract my son’s love of drama if I were the world’s most gifted hypnotist. The boy’s creative intelligence is off the chart.
Ever since I started playing the musical soundtrack to Les Miserables for him, he has obsessed over the characters. It’s been over a year. He asked to see the play so often that I told him we could as long as we read the book first. I immediately regretted making that promise; even the abridged Barnes and Noble version I bought is over nine hundred pages.
It’s taken me five months to read it to him. I mainly read it at night. I’ll read until he falls asleep which never takes more than forty-five minutes. I don’t mind it because I get to read a classic and put him to bed at the same time—a real win-win. There have been many nights when he just lies next to me and plays with toys as I read. I can’t shake the defeat I feel, imagining him to be so disinterested in Hugo’s verbosity that he completely tunes me out. What a waste of time.
Then it happens. We’re at the breakfast table or in the car, and he’ll recall something—Jean Valjean’s bleeding hand when he broke the the hole in the fence that lets Marius gain knowledge of Cosette from the innkeeper Thenardier—and completely redeems this long and arduous exercise.
Ev entertains a guest by summarizing the last chapter we read.
For fun, I printed out the lyrics to the musical so we can act scenes out at home. On some nights, his retention of the novel is downright baffling:
“That’s our hovel.”
“The crawl space?”
“Uh huh. Gavroche lives in a hovel.”
“What scene are we enacting?”
“Can we do the scene where Thenardier escapes from prison?”
I put the script down. “That scene is not in the play. It’s only in the book.”
“Well, I want to make my own scene.”
Because the play omits this, it is a little known fact that Gavroche is Thenardier’s son.
He then explained his directorial vision. He wanted Thenardier, who ignores Gavroche when he escapes from prison, instead to change his heart like the Grinch and embrace his son in a dramatic reconciliation.
His plot continued. Gavroche and Thenardier would go on a journey together—the details of which became hard to follow. The final scene was to be in the living room where Thenardier and Gavroche, as father and son reunited, threw all the bad people overboard—especially the “evil king” who hoarded all the money while the people of Paris starved.
I stood there agog. Why shouldn’t the story end that way? It’s like taking the excruciating urban setting of the epic novel and slapping a Disney ending on it.
Had I corrected him or criticized him, this hilarious adaptation never would have existed. I need to get out of the way and give him the space and nourishment he needs to grow—sobriety is no different.
For example, we let Ev stay with us during church sermons.
While he could be in the back playing, he prefers to sit in our company. Last Sunday our Pastor was making a point about the sort of people whom Jesus showed compassion and mercy, not ridicule and indictment.
I saw my son, the five year old sitting attentive to the sermon, whisper something to my wife. My wife leaned over to me and said, “It’s pretty cool that he is almost six and he has to ask me what the word ‘drunk’ means.”
I nearly cried, realizing that he—and his unbridled creativity, his multitudinous personality—is all possible because of the baffling fact that I am a sober father, just for today.
What a miracle, this mundane life.
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Beautiful Mark.
Exactly what I needed this morning.
I love the fact that you share these moments with the world.
I have so many more words in response but a good friend used to tell me that if I wanted to thank someone, that’s all I had to do. Just say
Thank you.
You’re welcome, Kristin. This blog forces me to find those moments. It’s helpful because otherwise I may drift through the habits and routines of life unaware that these incredible moments are passing by. And these moments are connected into a brilliant tapestry.
Your support means so much to me. Thank you for reading and commenting.
Great piece my friend. Resonates with me deeply! My daughter does know the meaning of drunk and addiction, our wounds are healing but still raw some days. I am currently reading Rubi the ‘His Dark Materials’ Philip Pullman trilogy. Such a great read, very long….and he’s just started releasing the prequels! Much love… AndX
Wow, adding that to my list. That sounds awesome! When I was Ev’s age, I knew what the word meant. The important thing is breaking whatever piece of the cycle we can while we can. Something you do in spades! Love following you, your writing and your life with your daughter. It’s inspiring.
See. He is listening to your every word, and seeing your every action.
I expect you are an inspiring father.
One of my kids is also very theatrical. She has been obsessed with Hamilton since it came out. She knows way more about American political history than any CANADIAN I know…and probably more than most Americans.
I love it. I know we will get to broadway to see it eventually.
Kids open our eyes to things we might have missed ourselves. What joy.
Anne
Wouldn’t that be wild? If our kids ended up on some big stage together? That drama stuff is fun from a parent’s perspective. It definitely allows me the space to grow as a creative person. I never thought about acting before he came along. Thanks Anne for your comment!
Dear Mark, I do enjoy your writing so very much. Your wisdom and your awakening at the joys of life runs deep. Thank you for sharing. God bless you.
Thank you Rosie! It’s great to hear from you. God bless you as well.
staggeringly beautiful, thanks, d
Always beautiful writing, Mark.
You just have such a gift!
Much Love!
xo
Wendy
“A sober father.” What a beautiful thing. 💕 I’m off to google the soundtrack of “Les Mis.”
Oh, what I would have given, as a little girl, NOT to have known what ‘drunk’ was. I was mixing my father’s drinks at your son’s age. Your son is blessed…thank you for such a lovely post. Gives me hope…
Happy to provide some hope. I found that I lived off the hope of others early on. “Hope is the thing with wings” as Dickinson once wrote. Thanks for stopping by!
I have had your son’s question in my head for DAYS…makes me so happy to see a parent getting it right…especially when they have had to work so darned hard at it. It was, indeed, a pleasure stopping by…😊
Nice to hear from you Patti. Glad I’m not the only one with 5 year old sayings buzzing through my brain all day.
I love the way you talk about this, I’m five months sober and it is getting easier 😊 ten months is amazing and you must have felt so proud when your little boy asked you what drunk meant, that’s such a good thing for him not to know 😊
I was totally taken back when that happened. Right? It takes moments like that for me to realize how good this simple life is. Thanks for the feedback!
Your excellent use of “agog” is proof you’ve been listening to the soundtrack 😉
Thank you Erin for catching that! I was hoping someone would. “Has Marius found love at last?” Haha. Incredible catch. Awesome.
Beautiful. I’ve been away (from all devices) and look forward to catching up on you! Ev looks like he belongs in front of the class! The apple doesn’t fall far…. btw- I loved, loved, loved The Eighth Day! I don’t often re-read books but I will most definitely revisit that one! Thank you, Mark.
I hope your hiatus has been a good one Elizabeth. It’s rare to find someone who knows that book. I’m so glad you mentioned it. It’s out of print for the most part. My novel (once I find a home for it) is a play on the title. It’s called The Eighth Morning. Anyway. I’m hoping to revisit The Eighth Day too. My copy is falling apart so I’m tempted to get in it before too long! We should compare notes once we’ve both reread it.