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The Real GOOD Loser, A Story That Could…
Chapter Twenty-One: B.S.
“Everyone can be worthy…just give it a chance.”
—from the film Shazam! Fury of the Gods
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I entered The Pathways Halfway House in Gardner, Massachusetts in early October of 2017. That was about sixteen months after that fire I accidentally started. I ended up staying there for six months, finished its program, and then went to stay at a sober house in Athol, Massachusetts run by the same G.A.A.M.H.A. organization: “The Farm” they called it.
I didn’t want to extend my stay in sober living but did what Councilor John suggested at the time. I lived in a small room on the top floor of The Farm and helped take care of the pigs and horses they had there for a month, before finally moving into my parent’s place; and dealing with my new life as a twice-divorced-single-dad-with-three-boys-from-two-different-moms.
Prior to all that, the Alabama song I liked as a kid pretty much summed up how I went about life: I’m In A Hurry To Get Things Done And Don’t Know Why.
Towards the end of my stay at that halfway house I had gotten comfortable with Councilor John and told him of this story I was working on before the fire. That day John said there are too many things in this world to worry about and suggested I find one thing and focus on that. He’d suggest that one thing should be my recovery.
Whenever I shared my big dreams or ambitions with people they would do this: tell me what I should be doing instead. It took me a very long time to learn to just be quiet. “We do what we need to Pras,” I told him earlier this year because of this, “so someday people might leave us alone to do what we want.”
I did kind of do what councilor John wanted. Eventually. I found that one thing. I however let that one thing continue to be changing the world: I have no choice, I thought, it’s either that or be consumed by what Sirena’s up to.
People that knew Councilor John well called him Rooster. I like to think it came from the song Rooster by Alice In Chains: “Ain’t found a way to kill me yet,” that song sings. John spent much of his life in jail. When I was having my hard time with Sirena, he told he was so obsessed with getting his wife back himself, that he tried breaking out of prison once.
I trusted John by the end of my stay at that house but was never completely sure when he was telling me the truth, or just making up stories he thought might help get me through my difficulties. Since teaching at this school—and making up some stories myself—I’ve decided that it’s not too important; what helped, helped, and what was true or not has become sort of irrelevant.
John had this quote of the comedian George Carlin in his office: “The reason I talk to myself is because I’m the only one whose answers I accept,” it read.
In that halfway house my choices of what I could do were extremely limited. It’s made me realize how anxiety provoking the overabundance of choice can be. I was thinking about this again when me and my boys were walking around Lowes looking at refrigerators the other day.
“With more choice,” I wrote in my journal trying to piece together my thoughts and opinions later that night, “we have more things that can go wrong.”
My mother is dealing with this currently. The fancy new fridge she bought not long ago has a light that doesn’t work. It’s not a simple fix like back when we had less choices for refrigerators. She’s already spent hours on the phone and had two people come look at it and it still doesn’t work. It’s become quite the headache.
Spending so much time with young children, I’ve noticed the level of anxiety many of them experiencing took me years to achieve. I think it all has something to do with the overabundance of choice we have today…that and all this dark entertainment of course.
George Carlin was a smart man: “The reasons I talk to myself is because I’m the only one whose answers I accept.” —I feel ya Georgie.
I ended up reading George Carlin’s biography because of that poster in John’s office and realized how extremely intelligent he was. I think the same could be said about the many other comedians sharing news with us today…John Steward, Stephen Colbert, John Oliver; to just a name a few that I’ve been listening to lately.
It is now January in the year 2021 and I am home spending a night with my boys. We are watching the show Stranger Things when my phone rings on the table beside me. Seeing the name of the person displayed on the phone, I crawl out from beneath my boys and quickly grab it. “Mr. Bernard,” I answer getting up and leaving the room, “How are you?”
“Jose,” Mr. Bernard chuckles, “you have to stop calling me that.”
This call is unexpected and unannounced; normally I get an email before. I never refer to Mr. Bernard by his real name as everyone knows him by that name, and if people knew he helped get me this grant they’d assume things. I’ve told him it’s just easier calling him Mr. Bernard.
“I’m looking at some letters from your students,” he says through the phone. “It looks like you’re making a real difference over there.”
“It’s been a crazy year,” I say to his compliment, “but I’m doing my best.”
As soon as these words escape my mouth, I feel dumb.
Yesterday—Wednesday, January 6th—the Capitol in Washington, D.C. came under attack by its own citizens. Supporters of the soon to be ex-president, Donald Trump, were disputing election results. The television footage of this was beyond disturbing. Knowing Mr. Bernard may have been right in the middle of it, my comment sounds extremely insensitive to me.
“You aren’t kidding,” Mr. Bernard says, “it’s been a crazy year for me as well. There’s a future coming Jose I’m not much excited to be a part of.”
I hear Mr. Bernard sigh through the phone and want to ask if he was there when everything happened yesterday. Before I can speak he continues.
“I’m sorry I haven’t been in touch with you. With the election and this virus…and well—pure craziness, I fear I’m feeling my age.” Mr. Bernard doesn’t do FaceTime so I can’t see him, but I think to hear the tiredness in his voice. “I know your program didn’t get additional funding,” he continues. “I’m calling to make sure you don’t give up. You have something special there Jose…I want to read you something.”
Mr. Bernard pauses, then his voice changes slightly as he begins to read.
“‘Future civilizations will study how entertainment and the internet transformed our world. They will be able to look at our behavior differently with an understanding we cannot comprehend today. They will use what is happening now to improve future life on this planet. Because of this, I propose a full out assault on society using every weapon of entertainment at our fingertips. We need to entertain to transform. We need to accept that this is our responsibility. We need to get people dreaming again. It will take a lot of work, but it will have two major advantages: One—It will be fun. And Two— It will save the world.’”
My stomach tightens as he reads this to me.
“Do you remember writing that Jose?” he says once he’s done.
“Honestly,” I answer, “not really.”
I am being truthful not modest. What Mr. Bernard just read was something I had written when I was in the halfway house putting this curriculum together. I wrote it by memory as it was something I had written before the fire. What he just read to me got me in a lot of trouble once.
“You’ve done your research now Jose,” Mr. Bernard says. “Maybe you can’t accomplish what needs to be done from a classroom…Have you ever considered getting into politics?”
This sounds like a joke to me. Not knowing if he’s being serious I answer simply. “I haven’t,” I say.
“That’s a form of entertainment too I’m realizing,” he says. “I don’t like to believe in coincidences Jose. The day I got that email from your principal with these letters your students wrote, I had a meeting with some college kids who were doing a report on entertainment’s effect on politics in America.”
“Seriously?” I ask surprised.
“Yes,” he says, “they were conducting a poll on who was more popular with members of Congress…Frank Lloyd Wright or Frank Underwood—you know, the character in that show House of Cards. Those students claim that referring to the President as POTUS in news coverage only started after the term was used in the show West Wing. Listening to them had me thinking there’s an army of people waiting for you Jose—”
Mr. Bernard stops suddenly. Like me, maybe he realizes the use of that word “army” a bit much given what happened yesterday.
“The point is,” he continues after an awkward pause, “with people flying banners of the President holding an assault rifle dressed as Rambo, I fear where things are headed if something unexpected doesn’t come along soon… Maybe your book could be that thing Jose? Maybe not getting funding will give you time to work on it— Will you do that for me?”
“I’ll try,” I answer simply.
“That’s all I can ask,” he says softly.
Feeling uncomfortable at the mention of my writing, I attempt to change the topic. “Did you get those mittens my grandmother made for you by the way?”
“I did!” Mr. Bernard answers sounding suddenly cheerful. “If it’s cold I’ll wear them at the Inauguration. Tell her to look for me!”
I tell Mr. Bernard about my grandparents coming down with Covid last week. Him asking me about “Grampa Phil” has me feeling guilty again. It’s hard talking to my grandfather on the phone but maybe I could give him a call and see what he thinks about what happened yesterday. He’s as disgusted with politics as I am these days.
Saying goodbye to Mr. Bernard, I head back into my bedroom where the boys are watching our show Stranger Things. With the three of them filling the bed, I sit at my desk chair and begin mentally reflecting on the conversation I’ve just had.
Mr. Bernard called to simply check in on me. He had no magic solution to this funding problem as the world continues to fall apart around me. It was nice of him to try and turn the bad news of not getting funded into a positive by encouraging me to work on my book…but I’m just not ready to think about that yet.
He’s a dreamer like me. Asking if I ever considered politics is proof of that. Knowing I’ll be out of a job soon I find myself pondering his politics comment and can’t help but wonder again if he was joking or not. He knows my past and so he must know there’s no future for me in politics.
Or is there? —A voice inside my head asks— Is it possible? … How would a life in politics even begin for me?
Feeling my mind wanting to escape into the realm of impossibility, I force it back into the real world by focusing my attention on the show playing on the big television in front of me. That realm is a dangerous place for it to go and I’ve learned to identify it and avoid it whenever possible.
“Look at me,” the white-haired doctor on screen speaks to the girl called Eleven. “I know you’re frightened,” he says, “You’re terribly frightened by what you’ve seen. But it’s this very fear that’s now holding you back.”
Hearing these words, I feel my mind sharpen its focus.
“You cannot hide from the truth,” the doctor continues, “No matter how frightening it may be.”
“I saw what I did,” Eleven responds; her voice slightly broken by tears. “I am a monster,” she adds shakingly.
“You speak of monsters,” the doctor speaks consolingly to her, “Superheroes. That’s the stuff of myth and fairytales. Reality, truth, is rarely so simple. People are not so easily defined. Only by facing all of ourselves—the good and the bad—can we become whole.”
“What if I don’t want to become whole?” a tearful Eleven asks.
“Then that is a choice,” the doctor responds. “Your choice. The door is always open. This place is not a prison—This is…”
I watch the doctor place his finger on Eleven’s temple. He’s telling her that her mind is the prison. I think he might be telling me as well.
“You chose to trust me once,” the white-haired doctor on screen continues talking to both Eleven, and me now. “I’m asking you to trust me again,” the doctor tells us. “Journey with me into the past one last time. Stop hiding Eleven…”
Watching this, I begin to feel my heart hammer in my chest. I haven’t had this feeling in a long time, but it’s familiar. My mind has become an anvil again; hit from the heavens with an idea— We are all living in The Upside Down, it tells me.
Entertainment has conditioned us to think all people are evil. It’s conditioned us to be mean and untrusting and hopeless maybe. It’s got us acting and behaving like a-holes and cheering for the bad guys—it’s upside down!
In that video I said humanity was facing a crises. I wasn’t wrong and Mr. Bernard was right—I’ve done my research now. We’ve all done our research now. The answer isn’t removing entertainment from our lives…it’s understanding it.
Thinking this to myself, I take my eyes off the television and look at my boys lying on that bed.
When I wanted to hide from the world you made it so I couldn’t. I remember drawing on your backs at night and counting to a hundred before trying to sneak out only to have you squirm when I tried. I was so tired all the time.
Maybe you weren’t three obligations I was ill-equipped to handle, like I thought, but three angels keeping me in this fight until I was ready to fly my own again. Maybe the world didn’t need ME back then? …. Maybe it always needed US now? —— The HenrieBoys.
The “fun me” begins merging my real life with fiction again. It’s as if I can actually feel my imagination trying to put the pieces of this puzzle together in my mind. My past, my present, my future, and my story collide. Visions that were blurry and put to sleep a long time ago begin coming back into focus.
I feel that dream inside of me waking up. It’s like fireworks exploding in my brain… Am I ready to try this again?I wonder.
Principal Sam thinks I’ll be eligible for unemployment. I might even be eligible for disability maybe. My parents wouldn’t like that. But I wouldn’t necessarily have to tell them. I could do some construction to keep them off my back if I had to.
If I don’t do this now… when will I?
I have these articles to use so it won’t be that much writing. And I have Lily to give me an honest opinion when I’m done. I’m not doing this alone anymore.
My story had a beginning back then. The plan was to finish it as I became a voice people could trust. With what Mr. Bernard just said I think I know how to end my story and start that dream life I imagined so long ago.
I feel a smile attack my face—the lunatic smile I had packed away like a good boy. The one Jim Carey gets in The Grinch when he figures out how to mess up The Who’s Christmas celebration.
I suddenly feel like Hulk Hogan. Wanting to rip off this white wifebeater I’m wearing and warn all his Hulkamaniacs to “Watch out brother!” I’m not actually wearing a white wife beater right now, but in my imagination I could be.
The excited little boy in me laughs at the image— Oh JoJo… how I’ve missed you.
Feeling this rush of childhood adrenaline, I continue to look at those three pieces of reality lying on that bed in front of me.
The world doesn’t know it yet but they’re gonna love you…Can dad weave it all together though?
*
Article Title: B.S.
Dated: January 8th, 2021
“Civilization will be saved if we can stir and teach the slumbering millions behind the politician. With this device we can reach them.”
— taken from the book The Soul of America by Jon Meacham
The quote above references the rise of cinema in the early 1900’s. The comment was made in reference to the 1915 film titled The Birth of a Nation. A film described as “a cinematic celebration of white supremacy”.
I’ve shared with you my opinion that entertainment can be used to build a better world. That film used it to do the exact opposite in my opinion. According to that book, the movie was “immensely profitable” however. Giving evidence to something else you’ve heard me say: “Feeding anger is a profitable endeavor.”
History tends to repeat itself, especially when its profitable. So yes—we most definitely have dominoes being stacked against us when it comes to changing the world for the better using entertainment as a tool to do so.
But anything can change when a force of greater power presents itself…Could WE be that Force?
As a kid, life was pretty awesome for me. In my pursuit of more awesomeness, I entered adulthood full of enthusiasm; excited to make all my dreams a reality. Then I failed. Over and over and over and over.
I was advised to expect failure. But those were just words. The feelings and experiences hit different. Life diverged on me then and put me on a path I was ill-prepared for. “School did not teach me how to deal with any of this!” I wanted to shout to a world that did not seem to care.
Failure made me mad. It made me sad. It made me anxious. It made me depressed. Failure had me detached from caring about anything in this world. Put simply: Failure beat the crap out of me.
With a severely deflated ego, I traded those Get Rich Quick books I read as a kid for Mental Health books. In many of those books I read things like this: “The only thing you have control over is your thoughts. Your thoughts control your emotions. Learn to control your thoughts and you can control your emotions.”
When I first read those books I shook my head in agreement like any good student. They were right: if I could control my thoughts I’d be happy. Over time, however, I started to calling “Bullshit” on things I once accepted as common sense.
I could agree with that statement about controlling our thoughts…if we lived in isolation. A place separate from society and everything that comes with it today. A quiet place much different than this not-so-wonderful reality of ours.
Many people find words like those comforting and inspirational. After asking myself many questions however, I’ve concluded that statements like those aren’t often applicable in a world where it has become nearly impossible to sit alone with our thoughts.
For example: Focusing on the bright side of things—like we are told—is impossible if we cannot pay our electric bill.
The burden of money is real and so many of us have to go to work. We have to deal with bosses, customers, and other employees. Some of us have to deal with students. Good luck with that!
Many of us also have families, where being quiet to focus on our thoughts cannot happen if we want to be a caring and attentive member of that family. I could argue that we are expected to talk all the time. If we don’t, people might think something is wrong with us.
And when we aren’t talking there is that phone in our hand. And scrolling videos. And social media. And television. And radio. And music. And podcasts now.
Being able to focus on our thoughts in an environment so full of noise is nearly impossible I think. By the time any of us are able to sit alone with our thoughts, do we really want to know what we’re thinking?
Someone talk … Please.
The conclusion I’ve come to is this: Our environment effects our thoughts, and our thoughts effect our emotions, therefore, to improve mental health on a global scale, we must change our environment—PERIOD.
I’m not a cynic when it comes to self-help books. In fact, there is a variation of the statement I used earlier that says this: “When you control your thoughts, you control your mind. When you control your mind, you control your life. And once you reach the stage of being in total control of your life, you become the master of your destiny.”
One reason I avoid drugs and alcohol today is because they affect my thoughts. According to this wordier version of that earlier statement, doing this means I am on a journey to control my mind. Once I control my mind, this statement claims, I control my life. And then, once I’ve done that, I will become the master of my own destiny.
I hope that’s not bullshit, because this a-hole really wants to believe it.
When I was in early recovery and life was changing without my permission, there was something I said that helped me survive the experience: “Grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.”
Saying this over and over, and believing it, helped me more than I could ever explain to you, but there was always something about that word ‘Acceptance’ that bothered me: What if everyone just ‘Accepted’ the world the way it is? … And simply ‘Accepted’ that things would never change?
Questions like that haunted me, but I was told that acceptance was the answer. So, for a long time, I just nodded my head in agreement.
“Bullshit!”
I have since accepted—like everything in life—exceptions exist: acceptance is not always the answer.
In recovery I became a better person and acceptance was a key ingredient to my success. For that I am grateful. Reading the AA book and participating in its program brought me stability that allowed me to be there for my boys. For that too I am grateful. But the world that was waiting for my boys in adulthood continued to worry me.
Am I supposed to just accept the way things are? … What if I could make this world better for them? … Is acceptance truly the answer or is it merely a chapter in a larger book?
Sitting with my councilor at that halfway house I told him these questions and concerns I had and how I thought I might be able to change things.
In that conversation with him, I used a line I had rehearsed prior to talking to him that day: “Walt Disney built a world John,” I said half-jokingly, “Why can’t I?”
“Whoa!” My councilor scoffed at my rehearsed line that day. “Take the crazy down a notch Biff,” he said to me.
That word “Biff”—the way my councilor used it—was a reference to the second Back To The Future movie, when Biff Tannen is lying to Marty’s dad saying he put two coats of wax on his car. My councilor used that word Biff when he saw residents like me exaggerate the truth or say something a tad bit delusional.
Facebook fed me a post the other day that had me remembering this. That post showed a picture of this Biff character: “We are living in the timeline where Biff got his hands on the Sports Almanac,” it said. You’d have to live inside my head to know why that post spoke to me.
The day my councilor called me Biff, I remember him reaching for that bowl of M&M’s on his desk. Picking up that bowl, he shook it in my face. “You’re saying I a lot,” he said, “have you noticed that?”
My councilor trained residents to think the letters on that candy stood for Me and Me. He’d give the same speech whenever a new resident moved into the house….
“All of society has come down with a severe case of the Me’s,” he’d tell us men sitting around that table in the basement. “Someone told me this once and I’m here passing the knowledge onto you. This magazine here says that if a person uses the word ‘I’ or ‘Me’ in a social media post, that person will get twenty-five percent less likes on average. If that doesn’t prove to you people don’t like other people talking about themselves, I don’t know what will.”
When I saw him walk into a meeting with that magazine, I knew what was coming. The day I used that silly Walt Disney line on him, I told him about this book I was writing before the fire. He had seen me overcome a lot by then and so I was hoping he’d encourage me to go for it now that I had some real sobriety under my belt…but he didn’t.
“There are too many things in this world to worry about,” he said, “find one thing and focus on that.”
He wanted that one thing to be my recovery. His tough love had gotten me through a lot, but in that moment it felt like it might once again break me. I was desperate for just one person to believe in me then—Just one, I thought, and I can make it real.
“MY recovery won’t last without OUR recovery!”
That’s what I wanted to say to him that day but didn’t. I did write it in my journal that night though. The next day I began working on this curriculum I’m teaching you now.
It seems I have come full circle as I once again consider writing that book. People need to Believe Something again. They need to Believe Someone again.
So… what do you think— Could I be the person to make them B.S. again?
WEEKLY QUESTION FOR REFLECTION:
Why is it so hard for people to believe in a person’s dreams today? In your journals, please write some reasons why you think that might be?
The Teacher’s Playlist:
Drop the World by Lil Wayne with Eminem
“Because all this bullshit made me strong…”
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(End of Chapter 21)
Recovery High School 