Just Do Your Best

Has it been six and a half years already? I just can't believe it, feels like only yesterday that I received news that would rock me to my very core. On November 14th, 2002 my Father passed away and I never got to say goodbye. He was gone forever.

As all of the thoughts that fill an entire lifetime came flooding into my head all I could really focus on was the fact that all of the things I had ever hoped to say to him would have to remain in my head, just thoughts. All the woulda coulda shouldas add up to a terrible regret that weighs just as heavy on my heart to this day as they did the night I received the call.

Growing up my Dad was a very 'hardcore' guy, a 'perfectionist' to say the least. Well that's how it appeared to me anyway because I felt that no matter how hard I tried, my accomplishments, whether big or small were never good enough. My own pride wouldn't allow me to do anything less than my best but somehow my best just wasn't ever good enough for him. At least that's how it came across as a kid growing up and searching for Dads 'approval'. To this day I can't ever remember him saying "Good job son, I'm proud of you" or heaven forbid "Son, I love you". Yet time and again I tried my hardest to get his approval, thinking that somehow THIS might be the one time. Of course, it never came. He was a firm believer in 'tough love'.

I began riding motorcycles at about 5 or 6 years old and started racing Motocross at about 7 or 8. My Dad also started racing about the same time. It was awesome, we finally had a common 'bond' and an interest that we were both passionate about. It also meant that we would be spending time together just about every weekend. My Mom was uncomfortable watching us race, feeling it was too dangerous so she never really went with us. She was right. I can still remember standing there by the 'Big Jump' at our local track as a good friend of mines Father was racing by and 'flipped' his bike over backwards, which seemed to me to be in 'slow motion' and at such a slow speed, how could he be hurt but yet it left him paralyzed from the waist down. I was too young to really understand the full impact of that at the time. What a terrible shame.

So my Dad and I continued racing just about every Sunday. I can still remember walking up to pick up my Trophies after my name was announced, thinking this might be the time I hear a "Good job son, I'm proud of you" but of course it never came. Always more along the lines of "if you would have just kept the gas on longer into turn three, you could have probably lapped another guy". Again, never good enough.

My parents divorced when I was 14, my sister went to live with my Mom and I continued to live with my Dad. He and I continued racing and by this time he was General Manager of a large motorcycle Dealership in So. Cal. and racing had become a big part of our lives. The Head Mechanic at the Dealership had a son that was two years older than I was and we became really good friends. We went to the same High School, in fact our H.S. had a Motocross 'Team'. We would tune our bikes all week long after school in anticipation of racing on Sunday. As time went by my buddy wanted to get more into desert racing, which I didn't much care for. We'd still tune our bikes together all week but some weekends he and his Dad would race in the desert while my Dad and I would head to the MX track.

Then my buddy got the 'itch' to race the Baja 500, at the time one of the biggest desert races in the world. I'm not even sure they were racing the Baja 1000 at that time. I'll never forget thinking how lucky he was because he got to take a few days off school that week because the race was on a friday and he needed to go down to Mexico early and get prepped for it. He was an incredibly talented rider and I knew he would do great, even though it was his first time in the race.

The phone call came that friday night, he was dead! My best friend was killed while leading the Baja 500. He was only sixteen and to think of all he could have accomplished breaks my heart to this day. His father took it very hard, feeling as if it was his fault for allowing his son to be in that race. I didn't know it at the time but as I look back, I think he had a nervous breakdown. I don't think he was ever the same after that. I was only fourteen at the time and it was really the first funeral I can remember attending. Seemed like our entire school was there. He was a very special person, incredibly smart, outgoing and loved by all. Oh how I wish he would have just gone to school that week because I still miss him terribly to this day.

After that, the 'magic' of racing had lost it's luster and it kind of broke the 'bond' that my Dad and I had shared. My Dad gravitated more towards building Street Rods and I started hanging out more with my friends, going to the beach and doing other things. My Dad and I gradually grew apart and we never really shared that same 'connection' ever again.

Hard to believe it now but I was actually kind of smart as a kid, I skipped a grade and so I graduated from High School at sixteen. Of course, as we all know at sixteen I pretty much knew everything I was ever going to know and so I wanted to move out on my own. Yet I really wasn't old enough to legally 'leave' and since I was working at the time I rented a room from my Boss who was my girlfriends Brother in Law. At this point my friends and I were spending all of our 'free time' at the beach and so when I turned eighteen I moved to San Diego with three friends and that was more or less the last time I saw my Dad. Oh, I saw him a couple times through the years. Once was at my Grandfathers funeral and things of that nature but never for 'good times'. By this point he had a 'second' family and my sister and I were just memories, a part of his past.

As the years went by I had wanted to contact him but I always felt that 'wherever' I was in my life at the time, I wasn't doing well enough for him to be proud of me and so I continued to postpone things until I was doing better. Better job, more money, that kind of thing.

As I got older I began to lose track of why we didn't speak to each other anymore and I really wanted to get up the courage to call him, just to say "Hi" and "Let's have lunch sometime". Yet I never did. "Oh, there's always next month and I'll be doing better by then anyway" but of course that never happened. I could never muster up the courage to face him.

Then the call came, he was gone. Everything I had ever wanted to say to him came flooding back to me in a wave of despair that I can't even begin to describe. Oh, people tell me that the phone works both ways and that he could have contacted me just as easily as I could him. Yes that's true but knowing in my heart that he was even more stubborn than I am and that he would never make the first move, it really doesn't make me feel any less guilty. I should have been the 'bigger' person and extended the 'olive branch' to him because as I sit here now writing this 'novel', I'm truly the one that lost out by not making the effort to contact him first.

All of those years spent searching for his praise and approval had kept me from swallowing my pride and making that phone call. Oh, how I regret that now. Especially when I find out from my Mom that he used to tell everyone else how proud he was of me, yet he couldn't bring himself to tell me to my face. Apparently he felt I would stop trying so hard if I thought I already did a 'good enough' job on something. He obviously didn't understand that I've been driven by my pride my entire life and I don't know any other way than to do my very best, at everything I do.

It's so unfortunate that we were unable to communicate all those years. Communication is so important, in every type of relationship. Be it family, friends or in love, communication is everything. I never got to know my Father as an adult and it absolutely breaks my heart to this day. Yet I know I should get over it and 'move on' because there's nothing I can do about it now but the regret still cuts so deeply into my heart that it's hard not to blame myself for all those years I missed out on. Who knows, there's no guarantee that if I did make the effort to contact him how or even if he would have responded but the fact that I didn't try is what tears me apart inside.

The point of this 'novel' isn't to sit around and cry about what could have been. It's to hopefully get the message out to others that could be in this very situation. Life is short, please don't make the same mistakes I did. I will have to live with my regret forever but you don't have to. Don't let your ego or your pride keep you from contacting someone you care about. Take it from me, the regret can be unbearable at times and no one should have to go through this. And once it's too late, it's too late. There are no second chances.

Be the bigger person, make the effort and who knows what could happen. It could turn out fantastic but even if it doesn't, at least you can say you tried and you will know deep down inside that you did your best. That's all they would ever want from you, just do your best.

3 Years, No Beers!

Wow, never thought I would ever be able to say that. Heck, I couldn't go 3 minutes without a beer, let alone 3 years. In fact I really never thought I'd want to say that, it sounds like a 'bad' thing. Why on earth would I ever be happy to quit drinking? I mean, who in their right mind would want to stop having fun? And after all, next to sex isn't drinking the most fun a person could ever have? Well, at one time I sure thought so but as I look back, I might have been drunk at the time!

Like most people, I probably had my first beer in High School or there abouts. There were always local parties in town on Friday and Saturday nights. For the most part they were kept on the 'down low' but all you had to do was stop by the Mohawk Gas Station, those guys always seemed to know where the best parties were going to be. Best meaning the most women and no parents around. Some parties weren't at 'homes' so to speak, some were in the local hills, say at the 'Water Tower' and such places. For the most part they were never held at anybodys house more than once because of all the devastation caused by those darn kids.

Next step was to get some alcohol. Was it gonna be Gallo Bros., Boones Farm, Sloe Gin and 7 Up or the good ol' stand by, Beer? Hopefully someone had an older brother or sister that could do the 'dirty deed' for you or else it meant waiting in front of the Liquor Store for a helpful stranger to 'score' for you. That tended to add a bunch of time and stress to the situation, not knowing if you would find someone to buy it or not and there was always the risk of them just taking your money and driving off without getting you your beer. I mean what are you gonna do, call the Cops on 'em?

Some parties were 'Keggers' which was a mixed blessing. On one hand the beer was in essence already there but Keg beer never tastes as good, you don't get the 'brand'[Michelob?] you like, long line ups to get to the keg and who knows when and if it would run out. So much better to bring your own, that way you know you're good to go. No worries.

I moved to San Diego after High School and needless to say, when you're living at the beach without any adult supervision, every day [and night] is party time. At this point I had decided to expand my 'portfolio' of alcoholic beverages to include those of the grape oriented variety. It just made more sense money wise as money was very tight back then, that's for sure. Quickest buzz for the least amount of money [thank you Ernest & Julio Gallo], just has to be the best way to go. Right? Well, I came to learn I was wrong, very wrong! The hangover the next day [or two] was just horrendous. So off I went in search of another cost effective buzz without as lengthy of a penalty.

Through the years I tried the various types of 'hard stuff', Whiskey, Tequila and Vodka, all with relatively the same result. The next day or two spent 'recovering' and paying heavily for my sins. So I went on to become a connoiseur of sorts, sampling all of the better beers. I was never much of a Domestic guy, it was pretty much Imports only for me. As time went on I came to learn that the 'penalties' weren't quite as severe with beer and I became better at judging my limits, hopefully knowing when to say when before hitting the ground. Now, I didn't always judge correctly, sometimes over doing it but for the most part I figured it out.

When you live at the beach, drinking isn't just a hobby, it's a lifestyle. It didn't really matter what time of day or night, just walk[stumble] out the door and you would run into someone that was drinking. Back then you could drink on the Boardwalk. Many an hour was spent cruisin' our bicycles on the Boardwalk in search of fun and festivities, just basically wasting time. In fact, you could always tell the true Locals by the beer holders attached to their bicycle handlebars. It was a 'status symbol' of sorts, he with the coolest 'Cool Cup' wins and none of the tourists on rental bikes had them so they were just no way as cool as we were. Jeez, life was so much simpler back then.

So as time went on the 'regular' beers just weren't doin' the job anymore. I guess you build up a tolerance of sorts. Luckily, about this time all the Pale Ale Micro Brews were hittin' the scene. It was like liquid candy with a 5% alcohol content. Could life get any better than this? I doubt it. One pint was like drinking 3 Imports, what a bargain!

Bummer was that right about that same time they outlawed drinking on the Boardwalk, couldn't even drink within 3ft. of the Sea Wall [what the heck is this anyway, Russia?] so the days of cruisin' the bikes, checkin' out the women and drinkin' a beer or twelve were over. They were replaced by drinking on the patio or at the Bars. I'm not really much of an 'indoors' type of person and so the Bars weren't really my thing but I had to make sacrifices in the name of a good buzz. I had also gotten sick on Tequila and Vodka so many times by this point that Rum was just about the only 'hard stuff' I could still drink. So needless to say, my options were getting increasingly limited.

I'm ashamed to say it now but there were quite a few trips home from the Bars that I couldn't tell you exactly which route I actually took. There were several to choose from and somehow, thank my lucky stars I made it home but I'm still unsure exactly how. It was ok if you were on your bike but in a car it's a whole different story. I am so grateful to this day that I never hurt anyone else while driving on those ridiculously stupid trips home. I truly consider myself to be so lucky that I never got a DUI or involved in an accident while I was drunk, definitely a miracle.

In fact it seems like the only time I wasn't drinking was when I was at work or sleeping. And while I was at work, all I could think about was getting off work and stopping by the Beach Market on my way home for a six pack. I probably dreamed about getting hammered while I was asleep too but I don't usually remember my dreams the next day so it's just a guess but I'll bet it's a good guess.

So here I was, starting off 2006 with one major change. I had been involved with the same job for many years and had grown tired of it to say the least. Too much stress, not enough money. Needless to say it was making me miserable. Now, I was what some call a 'functioning' alcoholic. I always showed up to work no problem and did my job. In fact, after I quit drinking some people were surprised to find out that I even had a drinking problem. That's how well I hid it. So on January 1st, 2006 I quit my job. Now, I'd like to be able to blame my consistent drinking on a job that I disliked but in reality that would just be a cop out. I drank because I wanted to catch a buzz, nobody else to blame but me. In fact, I drank even more after I quit my job. After all, I had a ton of new found 'free time' on my hands. What better way to spend the hours than hangin' out at the beach and gettin' drunk? Even though I lived my life on a day to day basis, not really caring about tomorrow, I could see that if I kept up this pace I would soon be broke and living on the streets with a cardboard sign. To be honest, that didn't really sound like a ton of fun. It's hard to get a decent size ice chest mounted on a bicycle and if I kept going the way I was, a bike is just about the only thing I would have had left to my name. So I had to quit drinking.

Now, I believe I was like every other person out there that has some idea that they probably drink too much and should quit or at least cut down on their intake. Of course my personality won't allow me to do anything half way and so if I'm gonna drink, I'M GONNA DRINK! I know better than to BS myself into thinking that I can have one or two beers and call it good. I had already tried that a million times and although I always started off with good intentions, it lasted until I finished the second beer and then I started rationalizing my way to a third beer, then a fourth and so on until all the beer was gone. And of course like every other alcoholic [yes, I said alcoholic. In my opinion if you drink daily and you can't say NO to having a drink then you're an alcoholic] I had already told myself I was gonna quit drinking a thousand times before. Every time I woke up feeling incredibly lousy from drinking the night before, "That's it, I quit" but of course that only lasted a short time. As soon as I felt better I couldn't remember the reason I ever wanted to quit and so I was back to drinking again.

OK then, so how in the heck was I gonna pull this off? How was I ever gonna quit this evil habit? I was surrounded by people gettin' hammered all day, every day. All my friends drank. Every fun thing I did revolved around alcohol. I was involved with classic cars, Woodies in particular and the best part of those Car Events [or so I thought at the time] was getting drunk. I related all of the fun and enjoyable things in my life to alcohol. If I quit drinking, how would I ever have fun again? Life as I knew it would cease to exist. Now remember, I already knew that I was gonna lose everything if I continued drinking but life wouldn't be any fun if I wasn't drinking so I really wouldn't have had a life worth living anyway. Such a cunundrum. What should I do? The thought of throwing everything away for a buzz just seemed like such a waste. After all, I loved women too much and it's tough to get a woman to go out with you when all you have is a rusty old bike with an ice chest strapped to the back. I mean, the 40 Year Old Virgin got a woman to go bike riding with him, in fact she even bought him a new bike. But he still had an apartment to take her back to. He would have been one step ahead of me and I couldn't let that happen. Ok then, times up. My drinking 'career' had to end!

Next day I woke up and immediately headed for the fridge. Yikes, no beer! My first thought was I better head on down to the Beach Market and pick up some beer because I'm out. Then it hit me, like a ton of bricks. "Oh that's right, I don't drink any more." Oh No, what have I gotten myself into now? How am I gonna pull this off? No way I can do this, I don't have the kind of willpower this is gonna take. All my friends are gonna think I'm a loser now for sure, in fact they won't even want to hang out with me any more. I guess I can't really blame them, who would want to hang out with someone that doesn't drink? Jeez, my life will pretty much be over and done. Well, it would have surely been over had I continued drinking and I doubt I would have had too many friends if I was just diggin' through dumpsters and beggin' for change for my next beer. So somehow I just had to quit drinking. If I was ever gonna change my life, make something more out of it, then I had to start right now.

By that point I had been drinking just about every day since I was 18. That was 27 years of doing the same thing. Talk about a habit, it was second nature for me, a way of life. As I sat there thinking [believe me, when you quit drinking there's plenty of time to do a whole bunch of thinking] about all of the time, money, the life I wasted having 'fun' it suddenly came crashing down on me like a ton of bricks. What the heck was I thinking? How could I have wasted my entire life like that? As a kid I was actually kinda smart but you sure wouldn't know it based on this behavior. I just never really thought about all the time I actually wasted and once I added it all up, I was truly devastated. My first thought was forget this, I've already ruined my entire life by drinking it away, why stop now? Then I came to the conclusion that I wasn't actually dead yet and so my life wasn't 'officially' over. I just had to try and make what was left of my life somewhat more productive and so I started on my journey to sobriety.

So here I sit, three years later. Kinda hard to believe it's been three years, went by sorta fast. Has my life actually been any better since I quit drinking? Now I gotta be honest here, not really. Due to some other 'things' that have happened since then, most of those not actually within my control, my life is definitely not a dream come true. In fact, very far from it. But I still have to believe it would have been much worse had I continued drinking and so in that respect it is better. Do I miss the beer? You better believe I do! That's alot of days [1095 days to be exact, not that I'm counting] that I could have been getting hammered and having 'fun'. But then again, I could have also gotten a DUI like my buddy just did this last New Years weekend and be sitting here worried about my revoked Drivers License and how I was going to pay all the fines. Besides, I really wouldn't look good in an orange jumpsuit picking up old tires and trash along the freeway. It's just not my style. Or even worse yet, injured someone else while driving drunk. So even though I haven't really had anything good to speak of come from quitting, I most likely prevented some bad things from happening and so I guess that could be considered a good thing.

The main reason I'm writing this 'novel' is not so much to give myself props for three years of no beers, not at all. It's more to inspire others to tackle those 'impossible' things in their lives, those things they just truly believe they can't accomplish. And also to let others know how deep the feelings of regret I have are and how heavily they weigh on my heart 24 hours a day. I should have done so much more with my life and it's all the lost time and the opportunities that I can never get back that I regret the most.

So next time you're kickin' back with a few brewskies at the Bar or with friends, pounding a few, just take a minute to ask yourself if there might be something else a bit more productive that you could be doing. Now, if you are the type of person that can have just one or two a couple times a week and that's it, then great. No problem, enjoy yourself. I sure wish I could have done that but that just wasn't me. As it turned out I did my fifty years worth of drinking in twenty seven years, I used up all my drinking 'chits' a bit early. And please don't think I'm here to preach to anyone about how to live their lives but if I can help just one person that reads this to avoid the regret that I feel, then my being completely embarassed by spilling my guts here will have totally been worth it.

No one can 'make' anyone else quit, they have to have the desire to quit for themselves. In my opinion that's why for the most part 'Rehab' never works, because people are in a 'forced' situation brought on by others telling them they have to quit. Not from an 'inner' realization that if they want to save their own life, they better quit. And for most alcoholics the life they are living, at least to them isn't really worth saving. For the most part it's a day to day existence, not really much of a 'life' so to speak. But each individual has to hit their own 'bottom' before they can go back up.

Myself, I was at a point that the only thing worse than today was knowing that I was still gonna wake up tomorrow and have to go through it all over again. That's not much of a life at all, certainly not one worth saving. I finally had to realize that the fun was over. Well, it was over for me anyway. I had no idea what the future would hold but good or bad, I knew that life for me would never be the same again.