Same Old

One of my snarky children—oh, wait: that would be all of them—remarked that there are only four topics that I write about on this blog.

“There’s a fourth topic?” one of the little cherubim piped up.

“You read dad’s blog?” queried another.

“It’s the same thing every week,” said the first. “Take your kids camping. Play Parcheesi with your kids. Play Parcheesi with your kids when you’re camping.”

“And he writes about colleges too.”

“Colleges. Right. That’s the third topic.”

“I think he’s in favor of them.”

Which got me thinking. Why do I send these essays out every Tuesday for the past—can it be?—twelve years?

The kids stopped snarking long enough for us to play a word game. And I was going to win one of the rounds, I really was, except the sun was it my eyes, the net was too high, and all the kids are faster, smarter, and know more words than I do. I guess I should have been more careful what I wished for.

I write these essays for the same reason that folks in recovery from substance use disorder go to meetings. I write these essays for the same reason that my kids and I go to the gym together. I write these essays for the same reason that I frequently travel across the country to meet with my colleagues and attend lectures about addiction and chemical dependency. I write these essays for the same reason that people join guilds, guilting circles, Elks Clubs, and other organizations of every size and description.

I have a colleague in his 60s who has been clean and sober for 30 years. He goes to meetings every Monday evening, rain or shine, never misses. What goes on in that Alcoholics Anonymous room? Can there be a story of recovery he hasn’t heard? Simple arithmetic suggests he has been to some two thousand meetings. Does he not have the Serenity Prayer memorized just yet? Is he hoping that there is some new information after all this time?

I put three quarters of a million dollars, a loving wife, and two beautiful children up my nose. I had gone from a suburban home and a high-paying corporate job to living out of my car as a result of my raging drug use. I finally acknowledged that I was powerless over my addiction and am making amends. My life is back on track. And my worst day sober is better than my best day when I was using.

A powerful story but hardly a unique one. Why does my friend go to meetings to hear some variation of the same path to sobriety week after week?

I think my friend goes to meetings because “community is the opposite of addiction.” I think he stands up, holds hands, and recites the serenity prayer because being with his peers gives him strength. Folks who have been where he has been can appreciate and validate his struggle, give him purpose, help him stay on the path.

My kids and I go to the gym together because if I don’t have someone to encourage me to turn off Netflix and go do something healthy, I am less likely to leave the house. It’s not about bench press, it’s about fellowship.

Why I connect with my fellow counselors is similar. I frequently hear: “I can’t imagine why our 20-year-old daughter is having another baby who might also have cognitive impairments as a result of her pre-natal care involving alcohol and Xanax, because whenever we smoked pot with her when she was in high school we mentioned that she should only use in moderation like we do.” Of course, parents who smoke pot with their kids are more likely to have kids with substance abuse issues. Duh. But, I get this message that it’s okay to get high with your kids often enough, I start to think that I’m the one who is dangerously mistaken. So I go to conferences with other professionals in the field who can remind me of what I already know, that adolescents and marijuana is a desperately poor choice.

(Without humor or irony: 15-year-olds should not be using. Non-prescription medications are frequently an issue for adults. Non-prescription substances are always a bad idea for adolescents. Whether you go camping or play Parcheesi with your kids is up to you. If you smoke pot with your adolescent children, you are setting yourself up for a one-way trip to the intersection of No-Do-Over Street and Recrimination Avenue. I go to conferences to remind myself that I am not alone in my conviction that smoking pot with your minor children is a tragic mistake.)

In short, we are a social species. We have been huddling by the fire with loved ones since forever. Hanging out in groups is the very definition of what it is to be human. There is something powerful about sharing stories at an AA meeting. The power of the group helps keep us sober, keeps us sane, keeps us going. Our professional colleagues keep us grounded, connected to the proper way forward.

That’s why I send these blogs week after week. There may not be a bunch of new information on these pages. There may be similar stories every Tuesday about remembering to bring the Parcheesi game on the camping trip, about being the best parent you can be.

Some more conversation from my children:

“Remember the trip where it rained non-stop for all three days and we never left the tent except to get drenched on the way to pee in the woods?”

“Was that the one when that bear ate all the food and all we had to eat was crushed marshmallows for two days?”

“No, that was the trip where Dad almost won a round in the word game.”

These newsletters can be a place to come when your neighbors tell you that they smoke pot with their adolescent children. At their best, these newsletters can serve as affirmations, reminders, a chance to embrace the fact that you are not alone, that there is a community of like-minded parents who agree that there is no duty more sacred than committing to bringing up healthy kids in this unhealthy world.

Thank you for reading; thank you for being part of a community dedicated to doing the best for our kids; thank you for allowing me to reconfirm my commitment to our beloved children; thank you for letting our voices be heard.

See you next week.