Dried Out Dad His Boy With the Magic Bat

Tomorrow I will have been alcohol free for 6 months. It feels pretty okay. The sad realization is that I am learning that I have to quit weed too. I don't sleep well on that stuff, and then I'm tired and emotionally detached for a day or two. So that's not working either. When the weekend hits I'm still in the car or the bike on the way out of work, turning up the music loud and singing like I'm going to go get a bunch of drinks, but I don't. Now on the weekends what I really want to do is go for a long run or a long bike ride. Those sort of things do make me feel good, but then family stuff comes up and it goes down the crapper, doesn't happen. Don't get me wrong, "the family stuff" is what I live for. I love my kids. Overall, it's the right thing to be doing, the whole sobriety thing. It's just boring and hard to admit to myself that I don't really enjoy social situations that much when I'm sober. As it turns out, getting together with friends to watch a ballgame and get some beers was mostly about the beers. I only realize that now because I'm not making plans with any friends to do any sober stuff. 

This is reading like a guy who's going to start drinking again. I'm not. Cutting off the sauce was the smartest thing I've ever done. I'm in really good shape right now, the lightest I can remember being since I was a kid. And I have more energy, I'm more effective at work, it's all good. It's just hard sometimes when you're so used to having a drink when you're mad, sad, frustrated, lonely, just about any old reason, and now you need to find what it is you need to do to get yourself right. Exercise isn't always enough, so I'm adding in therapy, and right now I'm writing. 

My writing is trash since I stopped doing it regularly, but I need to stop worrying about how bad it is and just get some words down.

Let's get back to what I mostly did on this page and that's funny stories.

My oldest son, Erik Noisewater, is now seven and playing his second year of little league baseball. Last season he was one of the two best players on his team. Everyone hit off the tee (the little stand the ball sits on and you just whack at it) so no one struck out, and he was one of the only kids paying enough attention to get people out in the field as well. Fast forward to this season and he is a first grader in a league where many of them are second graders, the kids have to hit a pitch thrown by a coach from the rubber, and he is going 0 for 3 with three strikeouts game-after-game. It's god damn disheartening for a young man. Those whiffs bleed into every other aspect of the game. Suddenly he is in the field picking the dandelions and kicking the dirt while the ball is hit to him. He wasn't one of those kids last season! And the poor kid is stomping back to the dugout after a strikeout throwing his helmet and his bat in disgust. 

I was desperate for this kid to get some contact at the plate, so I bought him a bat with a wide-ass barrel thinking it will increase his odds of hitting that ball. After all, most of the time when you hit it you can get on base at this level. The guy at the shop asked what league he plays in and said it technically that bat isn't allowed. To hell with that. Some over zealous umpire or crazed opposing coach is going to have to snatch that bat out of my boy's hands. He's hitting that damn ball. Low and behold he did have a clean whopper single that he drove into the outfield. He was so proud of himself! And he made a putout at shortstop, his favorite position. 

Erik and I got talking about his magic illegal bat, and I said it's probably best he doesn't tell anyone that the bat is too wide and against the rules. He said, "Would if we get caught?" I said "Well son, then you and I grab that bat and we drive for the Mexican border." It was so damn goofy to say something like that, and it's the kind of thing I used to say and jot down for the blog years ago. Thought you may enjoy it. Hope you're finding that magic bat equivalent in your life, whatever it may be, even if it's a placebo. Lord knows I'm searching for one too. 

Erik's theater camp teachers really seem to be nuts about him. What it does for me is remind me what an amazing little guy he is. What these ladies are teaching me is that I can't see him as just a pain in my butt. If I get stuck in that mode too much, I'll regret it. When they get those small doses of him where he is really showing off for them, they really can see him at his best. I too see his best qualities through out the day, but him not listening to me telling him to put his shoes on, things like that, are peppered in there too, making me lose sight of what an amazing little dude he is.

 Sometimes he will say something or figure something out on his own, and it makes Mrs. Noisewater and myself just think we are not exposing him to enough activities and challenges. Why have we not gotten him a musical instrument and lessons by now? I guess I'm hoping that if he has a calling for something it will just find him. I read a lot of rock star biographies, and those rock stars always had some moments where they decided they needed to play. The problem is that generation all had that awakening when they saw people like Elvis and The Beatles, and I do not know what in the heck is going to be the muse for these kids. 

Baseball he is good at though. Mostly because he is one of the only kids not picking dandelions or digging in the dirt when the ball comes. That's half the battle at this age. We really only have two kids who are watching the batter when the ball is hit, react to the ball to go get it, and know where to throw it. He is one of the two Bluejays can put all that together.

Desi is the sweetest thing ever. He wants to be independent so he will say "I want to do it myself" and then he will put way too much toothpaste or ketchup on something and make a giant mess. But again, that's the pain in the butt side that I don't want to focus on. Desi is the cuddliest little guy ever. When he wakes up in the morning he will crawl into bed and cuddle. Or if we are watching a movie he will crawl right into your lap. Those are the good moments that I really like to just take in and be present for. 

I'm still off the sauce (alcohol). The summer is going by fast, but I'm making sure I'm exercising, getting things around the house done, and working on my Master's hours every day. Oh, and remembering to pick the kids up. 

Mrs. Noisewater is out with some moms in the neighborhood. I applaud her efforts in making friends. We need some more dang friends sometimes - it feels like it anyway. Going out with some random dads would be a real challenge for me right now, especially without any beers. But I'm finding my way, navigating this world without booze, and learning a lot about myself. I still haven't really put it all into words yet, but I'm not quite ready to do that. 

Thanks for listening.

 Today the boys summer camps were in full swing. Erik is doing another theater camp, this time a 3-week one, and I'm taking him to and from on the electric every time. It is going to be over 200 miles that I put on the e-bike for those trips alone. That thing will pay itself off at this rate. Our goal is to extend the life of the car so we don't have to buy our next car for another couple years. I think we have around 850 miles on the bike and we only got it last summer.

Erik is the only boy in his theater camp. He is a little bummed about that, but the truth is that if he had a boy in there he would screw around with that boy and not focus as well. I know this from experience. The play is about Zeus and all the other Greek gods, but they're actually animals in a pet store? I'm sure it will be great.

Desmond has a camp as well, and he is happy doing just about anything we put him in. He is a good dude.

Today I got another essay written for my Master's hours. It's boring as hell, but it will make me more money when it's all done. 

Erik's grandparents came out to watch him play in his baseball game on Sunday, and the boy put on a show. He was ripping hits everywhere, and he made a catch of a line drive that made even the other team's cheering section applaud. A caught ball in a T-ball game is rare. Erik even surprised himself. 

I'm still off the sauce. I found myself looking at pictures friends were sending with glasses of whiskey, and while I will admit it looked good, what I'm finding is that it is an urge to dull myself. There is a nervous energy that kicks in like "what should I do with my spare time," and what I'm finding is that uncomfortable feeling is okay. I don't need to throw booze at it. So, here I am blogging again instead of having a couple drinks and looking at my phone. 

If you have ever read my stuff in the past you will notice that I don't write as well as I used to. I'm not going to pretend that isn't the case. But I'll get better if I stay with it.  

Shimee Shay's Bar & Grill

I haven't had a drink almost 3 months now, and I feel pretty great. I'm more present for things going on in my life, more aware, more in the moment. I feel healthier and happier, getting more done, and enjoying my time with my family more.

So that's that.

Hey, let me tell you about someone else who was drunk. A friend of mine was in town with his son (he wasn't the drunk one, nor was his offspring), and he was bringing his young boy to his first baseball game at Wrigley Field. This friend has been living in LA for years-and-years now, but he decided he would be damned before he let his son's first game be a Dodgers game. And guess what? His son had the ultimate Wrigley experience and will likely (read hopefully) be a Cub fan for life. He got onto the field before both games and got autographs, the whole 9. 

So onto the funny drunk person story. After I parted ways with my buddy at a rooftop hotel bar overlooking the ballpark (where I drank fake beers, staying the course) an attractive 20-something attractive gal approached me. Did I say attractive twice?

"Do you know where the karaoke place is over that way," she said, motioning south down Clark Street.

"Well, Murphy's Bleachers used to have some karaoke" I suggested, not knowing if this was still true all these years having gone by since I painted the town brown in that neighborhood.

"No, that's not it."

"Oh, well, you could for sure go to Trader Todd's. That's not far at all, on Belmont and Sheffield. They do karaoke 7 days a week."

"That's not it either. It's a big name," she said, spanning her arms out like jazz hands in either direction, looking deep into my eyes like I would get it. She might have been on something besides booze, now that I think about it. "The name is like . . . Shimee shay," she said in an epic, important-sounding manner, "Like that's not it, but it's like that."

"So that's not the name at all because that's nonsense, but that's like the rhythm of the name?"

"Yeah!" She said, thinking I got her.

I didn't. "I'm sorry I don't know this gibberish bar. I wish I could be of more help."

"It's okay," was the last thing she said to me as she joined her friends walking south bound, relaying to them that the guy she talked to didn't know where the bar was. I hope they found it. I walked away not wishing at all that I was drunk like her, but looking back fondly on those drunken adventures. I don't need any more of them, but they're nice to fondly look back on in the rearview.