Too Weak Or Too Wise To Lift and Go

On birthdays. More Odell. Self-absorption. New tunes about dark shit.

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The year 51. — AJD

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Last Tuesday was my 51st birthday. I did BJJ in the morning and was easily manhandled by the other guy attending the class. Then, I had therapy. I went over to his office because, on special days, Marty, my 78-year-old therapist, and I have a softball catch on his sidewalk for about ten minutes after we finish our session, especially after a fairly intense one. This week wasn’t too bad — the usual back-and-forth about what I can do better as a human to live the rest of my life more peacefully. He thinks I’m doing great so far.

Some days, I can see that there is improvement in how I live my life, but I am still clumsily learning how to interact with people, especially people I don’t meet through recovery. You should see me at my kid’s Little League games; I’m practically invisible. Sometimes, I don’t even cheer for my son because I don’t want to draw too much attention to myself. Yesterday, I eeked out a few “Come on, Oz!” and, wouldn’t you know it, he got his first hit.

But I’m content to sit in the bleachers and clap quietly, enjoy the sunshine and the $4 hot dogs. Sometimes, I’ll walk up to him in the dugout between innings, stick my fingers through the fence, and tap his shoulder to let him know he did a good job. He hates when I do this because he thinks I’m about to say something critical about him. “Not at all, man! — I just love you!” Then he’ll halfway smile, and he’ll politely shoo me away.

Am I too critical of him? Hardly. Sometimes, if we’re in the backyard playing wiffleball, I’ll tell him to keep his head on the ball and step into it, but out there, I’m supportive as hell. I let his coaches coach him, and then if he’s frustrated, I’m there to cheer him up and buy him slop from the snack shack or baseball cards, no matter what.

I’m very conscious of being critical of him since I hated it when my father would attend any of my games — baseball, basketball, soccer, football. I always felt like I had my best games when my parents were no-shows. Maybe I could have played college sports if I were an orphan.

Back to my birthday week: Last Monday, I hopped on to do a live Oldster interview with Sari Botton. I told her I have done some version of the Oldster (or Sober Oldster) questionnaire each year since I discovered it. So she had me do the latest one live. I haven’t compared my answers yet; maybe some have changed, but not all of them. When I was live on the video, I mushed some of the answers together.

You can find the full written version of the responses below.

Thank you to everyone who reads The Small Bow — you have made my life better.

See you below the line!