“Where have you been?” I asked excitedly glad to see him.
“I could ask you the same thing,” Dan said as he shook my hand vigorously.
“Been busy with meetings and such,” I replied.
“A.A.?” Dan asked.
“Yeah,” I replied. “How could you guess?”
“Oh, I have been through those hallowed halls before myself,” Dan said. “I know what ‘meetings’ means.”
I didn’t want to pry, but was curious as to what Dan had experienced.
“What happened to you?” I asked timidly hoping it wouldn’t offend Dan.
“Oh, it was ‘Nam,” He said. “When I came home from ‘Nam, I lived with my parents for a few years. All I did was drink and raise hell. I spent my time at bars at night, working menial jobs in the daytime for drinking money. My parents finally grew tired of my drunken binges and threw me out. I was almost homeless. I had to find a way to sober up, ease the pain of war, and to grow up for a change so I started going to A.A. I lived in Atlanta then.”
“I think we all have skeletons in our closet,” I replied.
“That we do, my friend,” He said.
“Why don’t you go now?” I then asked. “I have never seen you over at any of the meetings.”
“Well, when I finally came to terms with the war, I no longer had the desire to drink,” Dan replied. “I still drink a beer or two every now and then, but I no longer get drunk. I am too old for it. I got what I could out of A.A. and no longer felt the need to go.”
“Ah, I see,” I said.
“Well, let me hit those dumpster before the hog man gets to ‘em,” Dan said. “I am still fighting a war of sorts.”
“Good to see you fighting the good fight,” I replied as I smiled and then went to finish my daily walk.
My father’s new approach…
Well, it seems my father is taking a new approach with me and I think it shall be a good one. I called him this morning asking him about my every two week injection. He had told my psychiatrist that the Nurses down at Dr. Kamath’s office had grown afraid to give it to me; that I had been acting erratically. I still don’t believe that though. They always treated me so nicely. I never felt fear when I was around them.
The phone rang…
“Hello?” My father answered.
“Hey Dad, it’s me,” I replied.
“What do you want?” He asked with an air of meanness in his voice.
“You had said that Dr. Kamath’s nurses were growing afraid of me,” I replied. “I wanted to know if you thought they would still give me my injection every two weeks.”
“Yeah, but you are going to have to take care of it yourself. We are not taking care of you any longer.”
“That’s fine,” I replied. “I think I need to take care of it.”
He hung up the phone.
For the past two years ever since my homelessness, my parents have coddled me and taken care of everything in my life. I think Annabel was right when she got on her soapbox and told me to “suck it up and be a man.” I need to start taking responsibility and taking care of these details for myself. It certainly will help my self esteem and sense of well being knowing that I am acting as an independent adult for a change.
As far as my father is concerned and the meanness I felt in his voice, I hung up the phone and walked back downstairs to write this. I sat in front of my computer, bowed my head and said, “God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.” I felt better immediately.
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