GOODBYE AT ST. CROIX COUNTY

My lawyer, who first off, wasn’t actually my own personal lawyer, and second off, how much money do you have to have to have a personal lawyer? Anyway, this guy who, if you’re asking me, was lucky to get my business in the first place said to my face after DUI number two:

If you get another one, you’re gonna do time. There is almost no way out of it.

He wasn’t actually my personal lawyer so I wasn’t mad that he said it, but how could he make such a preposterous statement? I’m pretty sure I hire him or not based on how strongly I feel he’d keep my stupid a-- out of jail. Did he not know that?

After this one, it’s Tom, right?

He says yes.

After this one Tom, there is almost no way I would ever get a third one. You have to be an absolute moron to get three.

Looking at me, Dad chimed in.

 If he does get another one, he’s on his own.

He stayed true to his word, Dad that is. So did Tom the lawyer. After I officially became a Moron, even by my own definition, I didn’t call Tom the lawyer to help. I still lawyered up after my third, but he too let me know there wasn’t much he would be able to do. But he laid it out for me a lot more professionally than Tom the lawyer.

The best thing to do is simply shut up, and do your time. …in so many words.

I knew he was right. You and Dad knew he was right.

Looking back, and now having Lily in my life, I think I understand why you never stepped out of the car that Sunday morning. How did you manage to say goodbye? I can barely say goodnight to my child at the end of the day. I’ll never know what it felt like for you and Dad to watch your son (or daughter, in my case) walk into jail by himself from the rearview mirror.

But that doesn’t mean I don’t remember. I do.

Dad got out of the car to help me get the only thing that I could claim as mine for the next 60 days, a small duffle bag. In it, who knows anymore? I was about to sit in jail for the next two months, not relax at the Holiday Inn. What a strong man Dad was to have the courage to step out of the car knowing that when he pulled out my small duffle bag, with it came one of the most difficult goodbyes.

Sometimes I wonder why you guys helped me at all.

In a way, you left it up to me to get my life back in order and often I felt scared and very alone, but I never felt abandoned. You’re my parents, and my entire life you raised me to believe that you loved me and would always support me, good or bad. I knew I was in trouble, I knew I was the black sheep, but I knew that I was still welcome in this family and that you loved me, and I knew I was on my own. I wouldn’t have been mad had you dropped me off at the curbside and squealed away with a sigh of relief without looking back, but I’m glad you didn’t.

The entire family was there to see me off, send me off, say goodbye, whatever the correct saying might be.

Toni, Angie, Nick was the usual routine for anything that had to with leaving. First was Toni, second was Angie, and then Nick being the youngest had to earn his stripes by waiting in line. This day was no different, I mean, this day was more different than any other day in my life, but in terms of my goodbye routine, this day was no different.

Hug hug hug, Toni, Angie, Nick.

Then Dad.

Up to this point it wasn’t often that I’d seen Dad cry or even seen water fill his eyes. But they were filled with tears with the opening of the trunk.

We hugged. And he let me cry in his arms. I couldn’t even look in his eyes, and he never made me feel like I had to.

He told me to be strong.

He told me it would be over soon.

He told me he loved me.

He told me to go say goodbye to your mother.

My head was buried in his chest, but I nodded – ok, I will.

So, I began the walk all the way around the car to say goodbye to you. I didn’t mind, I was about to sit in jail for two months, I welcomed the long walk around the car.

The entire time I was watching you out of the corner of my eye, which is surprisingly powerful and accurate. I saw you already crying which made me cry even more. I’m not sure why I was crying. Well, let me back-up, I knew why I was crying but I wasn’t sure if it was 90% shame and 10% sadness, or if it was 90% sadness and 10% shame. Either way there was more water coming out of my eyes than out of the showerhead in the bathroom.

I walked around the rear of the car. You stayed put. I approached your door. You stayed put. The window came down. You stayed put. I bent down, leaned through the window and as I went to kiss you, you pulled your hands away from your face. Through your tears you looked at me. I couldn’t read the look on your face and I’m not sure how good of a thing that was but your touch was deafening.

It was tender.

Soft.

Protective.

Sad.

Firm.

Sorrowful.

Affectionate.

Lenient.

Emotional.

Loving.

Inspirational.

And it said – I still love you, my son.

With that, I grabbed my duffle bag, walked across the open and empty parking lot, grabbed a-hold of the handles and walked through the front doors.

CHANCE AT REDEMPTION

I can get a way with this.


How can I get away with this?


I could keep driving, or, I could try to get a ride.
If I get a ride, it’ll have to be for at least six months.Portal to portal, home to work to home. Maybe a year.


Who should I ask?


My girlfriend? That’s a  huge favor. Can I? Of course, but I can’t do that. For a million reasons, I can’t do that on top of it’s really embarrassing.
Co-worker? Nah, living with you and Dad in CG??? That’s crazy thought.
If I try to get a ride, it’ll have to be family. I can’t ask a friend. 
It has to be you or Dad. 
You’d have to get up early, drive me to Eden Prairie and then come all the way back here to be to work before 8am. Option, yes. Realistic, no. I’ll leave that alone.
It has to be Dad. He could drop me off on his way in to the office. It’s a little out of the way, but this is the only possible way. There is nothing else. 
...great reality. 
Idiot. 
Me, not Dad.

Maybe I simply keep driving.
If I drive I might just get away with it long enough to get me out of this without having to ask Dad.
If I drive I might get caught.
If I drive I would have to use cruise-control constantly.
I can’t speed.
Can’t swerve.
Can’t roll through a stop sign.
I’ll have to use my blinkers for everything.
I could do this.
I could do this.


Not that I’m thinking of it, but if I were to get pulled over again with booze on my breathe my life will be over. I’ll end it myself. That’s not true, I wouldn’t end it, but it would be over just the same. Three? How did I end up with three -- How did I end up with one??? How can I make good?
If I can do this, this could mean redemption. Very very little redemption but any redemption at this point is good redemption.
If I get caught there is no redemption. There is no excuse. There is no other way out. IF I get caught.
I can’t remember the last time I was pulled over for a random traffic violation.
If I get caught, I’m screwed.
I can’t - I can’t take Dad for granted like this.


I’m gonna do it.
I’m just gonna take the chance. I’m the one who messed up, I’m the one who makes it better.
I could do this.
I won’t get caught.
I can’t get caught.
I don’t want to get a ride everyday. I’ll only drive during work hours.
I could play stupid about the revocation!
I wonder if they know when this notice was mailed out.
I have to keep working because I have to pay out the a-- for all of this. Court fees, treatment, reinstatement, bills.
I have to keep going to work. In order to get to work I have to drive. I need a work permit, but that means I have to drive there to get it. I need to keep driving. I need to keep going to work.
That’s it then.... settled.

One week later.

Squad Car. Cop in the driver seat staring me down from across the intersection. I knew my license was revoked. I got their letter of intent, their notice, their flyer by mail almost a full seven days prior. The question is, does he? The thing that annoys me the absolute most when behind the wheel is when you and another car are face-to-face at an intersection and for whatever reason, say kindness, say law, but for whatever reason you wave them through first - only to be trumped with a return wave.... now, you’re sitting at your stop signs, you’re waving each other thru, and everyone behind you is wondering what the hell is going on up there????? That was us, minus the people behind us wondering what the hell is going on up there.

I wave him thru.
He waves me thru.
I crap  my pants.
He smiles.

1 minute later.

Do you know why I pulled you over?
No.
I saw you crap your pants, isn’t what he said, but it was pretty close. He actually said, I saw you hesitate when I waved you thru. He said that he’s been doing this long enough that he could tell by the look on my face that I was nervous. That I hesitated...

I did, and yeah, I was nervous.

Do you have a valid license?  

I confidently said - Yeah, why wouldn’t I? Followed by - Ahhh, ...I should. Followed by - I don’t remember getting anything... via mail... about .... Ending with - Can I get back to you?

So why did I lie? I didn’t want to show him my cards and although he already knew what I was holding, I had to play. I couldn’t concede to his authority over me, or my own stupidity.

...fact is, I’ve haven’t been pulled over since that day.

Now, every time I’m behind the wheel, and I lock eyes with a cop, or see a cop within 500 feet of my radar, deep down inside I want them to pull me over. Adrenaline screams through my veins and I want to do whatever it takes to grab their attention to get them to pull me over.

Because of learning difficulties (kidding) and an addiction to stupidity (not kidding) I’ve swerved at them, bumper humped them, made them tailgate mates, throw them stink-eye while driving by, blatantly ignored them, mimicked drunk-driving tendencies (which I should know pretty well, right?), all in the name of redemption. If I had to come up with a list of my top three replies I’d want to say to a cop who pulled me over today for drinking and driving, they would be:

1. No, sir, not today. (with a smile)
2. yes, I have been. (Never to utter ‘soda’ until they ask specifically ask)
3. I don't mean to shatter your ego, but this ain't the first time I’ve had a breathalyzer pointed at my face.

But that ain’t the truth. See, the truth is I would sit still, keep my mouth shut, laugh at his stupid jokes and say thank you like a guy with my driving record is supposed to do. I wouldn’t provoke them. I don’t want to waste my time sending them on a wild goose chase. I’ve got other things to do, mainly get home to Heidi, and Lily, and Cole.

That day was the beginning of scheduled court dates that would eventually land me in jail. Not because I’m a felon, although, maybe I really am, but because you can’t get 3 DUI’s and expect to walk away. Correction, you shouldn’t be able to get 3 DUI’s and get to walk away. I know that happens. I learned a lesson that day... the 3 dewey’s, the 3 revocations, the shame, guilt, embarrassment that I already felt at this point was nothing compared to what I was about to face in jail.

I learned another lesson that day too, if you are being waved through any given intersection, returning the favor is not the polite thing to do. The polite thing to do is to hit the damn gas!!

MIND-MOVIES

Had a guy at work tell me, not suggest, but actually say to me – like you’ve ever been in trouble before. People like you don’t make mistakes.

I punched him in the face.

I didn’t really, but I fed him the collar of his company logo’d shirt and then pushed him into the wall across the hall.

I didn’t really, but I pointed to a chair that was right there in my office and I told him to sit down in that chair right there. 


Then I delivered the best monologue of my life. He left my office that afternoon just another field tech. He went on to become a crew leader, but then the landscaping division supervisor, then the Director of Operations and then left our company to run an even bigger company. The entire time, acknowledging that it was my monologue that he credited for his near impossible turn around.

That didn’t really happen either, but I did tell him that I have lost a best friend, had 3 DUI’s, stayed 60 days in jail, had my license revoked not just one time, but three, lost an unborn baby, had an ex-wife who became pregnant by another guy while married to me, went through a divorce, and then asked him if he wanted me to continue. His face was priceless. After a minute, his eyebrows raised and he opened his mouth to say something but I intentionally interrupted him and said:

I have trouble too. Stupidity is easy for me, good decisions aren’t, but I come back every morning. I’ll see you Monday.

And off he went. I don’t know if he left with his tail between his legs, or if he was silently judging me as he walked out my door, or if I accidentally embarrassed him. I wasn’t looking to prove a point, but rather, make a difference.

The rest of the afternoon was a mind-movie of stupidity.

One time, not at band camp, I fell asleep sitting down on the curb. Maybe I passed out, but I think I just fell asleep. My butt on the curb, my knees up to my forehead, my head on my forearms and my friends are convincing me that I either need to get up or get hit by a car. I never got hit by a car.

I accidentally put a pool stick through the bar wall. I don’t know why……well, I know why. Too much green between the cue ball and the 9 ball, but I don’t know why I was so frustrated that I needed to put a pool stick through-the-wall. My partner, the guys we were playing, the guys who set quarters on the rail to claim next game, and myself, especially myself, all knew that I sucked at playing pool. I don’t even know why I played that stupid game. Hand me a dart and it’s a whole different ballgame…

I accidentally threw-up twice all over the living room floor at a house party and literally slithered out of the house, on my stomach, like a snake. I heard a rumor that I was never allowed back into that house. When I say I threw up twice, I don’t mean two consecutive heaves. No, I mean at two different times during the night I barfed on their floor. The first time someone saw me and told the guys who lived there. They were looking for me most of the night but I didn’t leave. The second time I didn’t bother to stay and slithering out was the safest way out. I never cleaned up my mess. Sorry.

Innocently broke into a friends house via the front window. After bar close, my friend and I drove to the nearest Holiday Station store and picked up a couple frozen pizzas for later that night, or morning, however you want to look at it. Anyway, we get home to where I was house sitting, crank the door knob only to find the door locked? She told me where to find the spare key which was pointless because I really wasn’t listening and truly I couldn’t tell ya if the key was anywhere near where we were looking. We must have searched for an hour if it was even 5 minutes but I decided that we were done looking and it was time for us to get inside. From what I can remember, I snapped out the screen, or ripped it out, and opened a window, or broke the window either one is possible. I crawled in, told my buddy to get inside and sleep on the floor and we crashed. The next morning was hot. We woke up in the same clothes, no AC running; sweat dripping from… everywhere, and no toothpaste. Not only that, but my friend is not sleeping on the floor. Neither is he sleeping in either bedroom? I assumed he bailed earlier that morning until I see him walking up the sidewalk to the front door, turn the handle and walk right in?! A couple not-frozen pizzas in hand. Both thawed out and half sun-baked. While I was breaking into our friends house, he fell asleep in the car which by the way I have to clean out by myself with a bucket of hot water, soap, and hardy washcloth. I scrubbed for over an hour to clean the sundried throw-up that was all over the inside and outside of his car. Sundried throw-up stinks something horrible especially when you’re already severely hung-over. After I finish cleaning my own puke, we finished cooking the not-frozen pizza.

My friends circled me, pointed, and laughed at me as I lay on my back drowning in 1.5’ feet of water in the Apple River. They still laugh at me for that. Word to the wise -- keep your children away from the Apple River. Enough said.

I snuck booze into University sponsored concert. My very good friend had a girlfriend at the time and his girlfriend performed in the University Orchestra. It was an important concert so he had to go. He invited me and now I had to go. We thought it would be a good idea to fill our Big Gulps with beer, instead of Soda. We LOVED the Orchestra that night. No one ever found out, but on the off-chance that we were busted what would our sentence have been?

A security guard threw me out of MOA by my neck. Jerk. I was the jerk as a matter of fact. It was closing time and I was walking out with S-censored-. We were being escorted out, but not because of any trouble. Just slow to exit. I spouted off to the MOA security guards for no reason other than I’m stupid and they started following us a lot closer. I said a couple more things about this and that, and the guard grabbed me by my neck, which was way too hard if you ask me and could have gotten his point across with a little bit of a gentle hand, but nonetheless, he got his point across.He whispered in my ear something that scared me, and literally pushed me out the door. Neither one of us turned around or uttered another word. We left just like he asked, although, I’m not sure we would have liked what happened to us if we would have stayed even another minute.

Now, these aren't the worst things in life. I don't feel like a let-down because of them. But they are stories of stupid things I've done. I wish that guy could be in my head to see them. I wish you could have seen them. he said people like me don't make mistakes.

Wrong.

KATHLEEN.

DUI 2 and the aftermath had an impact on me. When dad and I got home from the police department, he went to bed. I was a crying mess and when we got home and my emotions unraveled in the living room. First of all, looking back, why was she still awake. Second of all, I’m glad she was. She spent the entire night with me. We both slept in the living room that night but it’s not like we came home said Hi, I just finished drinking and driving, being arrested, and bailed out of jail, 'night! No. There was some drama but it wasn't a dramastorm. We wept together and she listened to every word I said and cried next to me.

Swearing to her that I wasn’t drunk, I pleaded with her to believe me that I didn’t deserve to be arrested and I swore to her that I was sorry and this was a misunderstanding. She watched me pace around the living room, she watched me cry on my knees, and she watched me come apart at the seams with regret. In that moment I wanted so desperately for her to agree with me. I wanted so desperately for her to believe me. 


I believe you, I believe you. She said repeatedly, no matter if she truly did or didn't. 


Not every detail is crystal clear but what is branded into my brain is that she stayed there, without judgment. She comforted me, unconditionally, when I absolutely wanted to not-exist. I don’t know if I ever thanked her for that, but I’ll tell you what right now; I never forgot that night.

Did I let you down? Did I embarrass you? Are you ashamed of me? I know you pretty well and I'll bet you everything from a diddle-eyed Joe to a damned if I know that you wouldn’t admit it even if you were.

You used to laugh at me all the time. All I had to do was open my mouth and mime a word, not even say anything, not even make a sound, simply fake like words were about to come out of my mouth and your giggle would turn into a laugh. Making you laugh was the thing I loved the most. I had a different nickname for you everyday when we were kids and even if you hated them, you loved them. When I couldn’t do it anymore my heart was broken. We were tight. And just like with Toni and Nick, I didn’t know where I stood with you.

Since that night of my DUI, I’ve forgotten how to make you laugh. Everything started to focus on how to redeem myself from that night plus all the other nights that I couldn’t live up to big-brother duties.

I watched you grow up from a shy, non-speaking little girl, to someone who could read better, to someone who scored better grades, to the cutest thing who couldn’t stop smiling to save her life, to one hell of a good home run derby outfielder, to an equally talented line-reciting partner during Grease and Rocky 3 (beach scene only-don't get cocky), to a dedicated mother, a hard working wife, a supportive and fun sister – and you had to watch me fall flat on my face over and over again. How do I make up for that?

You were married first, you had kids first, and you started parenthood first. It’s hard for me to think that you will ever be able to look up to me, but if that day ever comes, I hope I do you proud.

Today, rarely a day goes by when I don’t think of that night. Not the fact that I messed it up, but the fact that you stood out, and that you took the time to be with me instead of washing your hands of me.

I will always want to be close to you. Thank you for what you did for me.

Angela Kathleen Groess, my little sister. I see your face in my daughters face. People say she looks like her father and I like that compliment, but to me she looks like you. I love her as much as I love you. I love looking at her – I see your smile. I see your cheeks. I see your eyes. If she grows up to be anything like the woman that you are today, I’ll be very happy. Dad, our dad, must be so proud of you.

I am.

SENIOR, IS MY FATHER

Sometimes I feel that certain actors become actors because they have one role or movie that they were born to be in. Will Smith was meant to play Muhammad Ali. Nobody else could have done that movie. He was perfect for it. Ben Kingsley was meant to play Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi. Tom Hanks was meant to be Forrest Gump, and Andrew Beckett in Philadelphia, and, well, Tom Hanks was born to be every role he’s ever created. Nobody else could have done a better job in Born on the 4^th of July, other than Cruiser, except for maybe Hanks. I can’t think of anyone who could have pulled off Jeff Spiccoli, except Sean Penn. Glen Close was born to be Alex Forrest, in Fatal Attraction. Han Solo? Try and think who would be a better Vito Corleone, if not Marlon. Sylvester Stallone was born to be Rocky, and only Rocky, just look at his film bio… I tried to fit Paul Newman in here but couldn’t stop thinking that this bit was getting too long – My point is, no one could do what those actors did. They were meant for those roles.

No offense, God, but if you’re open to some feedback - I think you could have proven your point earlier. But because things don’t run according to the clock I live by, it turned out to be perfect timing and because of it, to this day, I’m convinced you and dad named me after dad for this precise moment. Maybe it’s a stretch, but really, there’s a chance. So, it’s the opinion of this humble narrator that perhaps I was meant to be named after dad for this very scene:

The cop asks me my name and I give it to him willingly but unwillingly - I know he’ll see my two previous charges and then I have no idea what to expect, except probably jail. I sit and I wait. They ask me for a urine sample. They ask if I want to give a blood sample which I turn it down but they don’t argue it. They frisk me. Ask me question after question and then they tell me that they’re going to let me go seeing as it’s my first offense. Wha?

…letting me go home is many things, but without question, it’s wrong because it’s not my first offense.

I pause. For a long time.

I don’t say a word because I can’t believe what I hear, and I can’t, for the life of me, figure out how they think it’s my first offense - but I don’t EVEN care. I want to make my call and leave before they figure it out. The whole time I’m in the booking room I’m waiting for this curveball to break and hear them say – oh, we made a mistake this is your third. Say goodbye to your life. No take-backs, straight to jail.

I get to call someone they say. Do I have anyone that would pick me up? Yeah - my father. One cop  is suddenly calling dad, the other cop staring at the computer. I’m waiting for them to figure it out. It’s torture, me knowing that they don’t know what I know.

Dad answers and I tell him what happened. I’m not sure he even said anything. Actually he did. It was very threatening but time has erased it (thank you, time). You might even know what it was more than I do.

One cop shifts – is this it, does he know? The other cop hits more computer keys – is this it? Now do they know? Scenario after scenario plays in my mind. Time is literally in a freeze. I watch every facial expression, every move, and every breath of these guys waiting…. Waiting. Thoughts of nothing, but thoughts of a frozen computer? Misspelled my name maybe? Another Dennis Groess maybe…….. Shit. Another Dennis Groess. There is only one other Dennis Groess that I know of. I know where he lives, I know his phone number, birthdate, names of his kids, where he works, his favorite color, what time he goes to bed, how pissed off he is at this very second. Mister Dennis Groess, SR. Oh boy. This is not good. 


Should I 'fess up? I know in my soul that they pulled dads record. Wouldn’t they see the birth date? They never asked me for mine. Do I look like I was born in 1950? Hey, screw them. It was their mistake not mine.

If I don’t tell them, what happens? Would dad get something in the mail weeks from now suspending his license and charging him with DUI? Would he read that letter and simply fall to the ground in cardiac arrest? Would he lose his job? I know it would ruin his insurance and his driving record. Would he be stuck paying thousands of dollars in court fees just to clear his own name for something he never did? He’d hate me. He’d hate his own son who’s already dumped disappointment directly in his lap. Would he be able to get it erased months down the road if I held my tongue now? 


I can’t do this. I can’t do this-I tell myself.

I bury my face in my hands.

look…

My fingers run through my hair. I Sigh, and I sigh. I look at the cop for help but he just continues on like he’s got me on a pay-no-mind-to list. Well, screw him then. This will be his mistake not mine. But if dad ends up getting hurt by this then I truly am a cruel, heartless, selfish, Godless person.

…wait…

The cops look at me like I’m a complete drunken idiot, which I am.

You said you’re letting me go home because it’s my first offense…?

That’s right.

I’m Dennis Junior. I think you pulled my dads record. 


The cop immediately goes to the computer and starts punching keys. He says nothing. I think he notices his mistake. Then he just looks at me.

I have two priors. I think you looked up my dad’s record and I don’t want this to go on his record.

Inevitably, he corrects his mistake.

By this time, you and dad are now here to pick me up. The cop actually thanks me for telling him and then he conveniently adds that it’s a good thing for me that they goofed. I asked him why and he replied that they would have just taken me straight to jail and I would have been there until my court date which wouldn’t be for weeks.

I think that was Gods miracle performed 26 years before. I think I was meant to be Dennis Joseph Groess, Jr for this exact moment to play out and keep me out of jail (for now). Who knows where I would be right now if it had turned out any different.

I’ve learned a million things over my 37 years. But only 3 things I’ve learned from life so far stand out to me and keep reappearing. And they aren’t Nobel Piece Prize winning observations:

Number 1. Current traumatic stress disorder is and will always be different for everyone. The degree at which it is considered traumatic is only only only decided by the people directly involved. My headiness might not be to anyone else.

Number 2. Truth stares us in the face but we look away, terrified to make eye contact with something that judges our actions and lives. When all else fails, truth always prevails. When truth prevails, you’re seen in 1 of 2 ways. You look like a complete coward, or like a respectable, strong person. This theory never gets tested more than when a man has to admit his own faults. When a man is about to admit he did something wrong, hold himself accountable and be a man, there is a split second when his mind tries to convince his mouth to lie.

If he’s successful in persuading his tongue to misspeak, then he voluntarily tags himself as a coward and will always take that road. If he holds himself accountable, then his integrity and his character and his pride are all kept in check and he then, and only then, becomes a man.

There are people that think a boy becomes a man after a certain dream usually reserved for teen boys, or after a boy has sex for the first time which is like proving something to someone (in our mind), or after his pubic hairs pop through the skin, or after he can grow a mustache, or after his voice changes, or after he’s 18, or after he’s done time in the military, or after he’s married, or after he’s divorced, or after he’s had a kid. But, a man, truly never becomes a man until he is forced to confront himself, look at himself and hold himself accountable for his own actions towards another person. Unfortunately, people, myself included, will cut to the front of the accountability line when it’s for something good. Anything that will shine the bright white light directly on their smiling face. Anything that generates positive vibes and gives them the glory. So the sad part is that the transformation can’t, won’t, and doesn’t happen until we have done something that might be so unforgivable, or at least so embarrassing that they will do anything to cover it up - but don’t. And it happens. It does happen. That doesn’t mean it happens at 18. Maybe it happens at 40. Maybe 50. Maybe 8. But it happens.

I think I became a man 100 times over. Not that I wanted to, hell no. I was forced to, even against my own will. Matter of fact, my own accountability wasn’t even my idea. It was the courts Idea. Matter of fact, it wasn’t the courts Idea - It was my idea, so that the court system would look at me favorably and choose to be lenient with me. But holding myself accountable was not supposed to be part of the bargain. I was supposed to enter into a treatment center for alcohol, the court was supposed to notice and say “good job, we think you’ve learned your lesson, don’t do it again,” and then after I show up for the first day of treatment, my counselor and all the other alcoholics would admit that I didn’t need help. It would be embarrassingly obvious to everyone that I was normal, and should just start the car, drive home, watch TV, fall asleep, and pick up where I left off in the morning.

It didn’t happen that way. I had to admit a boat load of truths - the things I hid from myself and you because it made me uncomfortable. I still had excuses for the things I’ve done.

Number 3. God’s hand was in this and He is the reason I’m still here, on my own two feet. I couldn’t have done this alone.

THE1AM MIRACLE [PartTwo]

From nowhere, red and blue lights flash. I know to pull over. I also know I’m just about home? If I were to hit the gas it’s two seconds to Innovation Road then take a left on the frontage road near Menards past Cub to Jamaica turn right and then left up the block on the street where Hillside Elementry is and lose him in those streets. I know them pretty good cuz the chuker lives around there and thats how I know them pretty good, but whatever, I pull over. Thought after thought, please God after please God hits my mind over and over and over. I’m done. Now I’ve done it. I’ve really done it. I could tell him I’m Nick. I could be Nick. I know his birthday, his age, we look the same, I could just say I forgot my ID and he’d let me off with a warning. I think about this as I inhale from my smoke then let it slip out the window. As it falls down past the window, there he is. Standing right at my door. Flashing his light square in my eyes.

What was that? What did you just throw out the window?

A cigarette.

A what?

A smoke, it was just a smoke. (I slurred every single one of those words)

He crouches down to find it.

Why would you do that? Don’t throw anything else out. He scolds me.

And with that he walks away from my window. I eye-ball him through the sideview mirror to watch his every move as If he might be the one to make a get-away.

He hustles back to his squad car and I go back to rehearsing hopeless excuses. Or, I could just grovel. Beg and plead to this man with all my might.

The minutes spent in his car will forever be the second longest number of minutes. It gave me time to resign myself to the fact that this is not a dream. I am living in the moment and for the moment I have no more thoughts. This will be DUI 3 and I’ve got serious problems. What is going to come of my life? I don’t want to fight it. I want to let things go the way they were meant to go, good or bad because sitting in this car letting pride and booze determine my fate is too big for me to fight. I’m beaten. Not a thought of God. Not a plea to The Lord. This is me in utter life resignation, and a lot of tears.

He gets out of his car. But really, this would be the best time to catch him off guard and hit the pedal, don’t you think? I’m hit with a sudden rush of energy… so how much time do I have to think of something? Anything. I don’t want to resign, I can fight! ANYTHING that will get me out of calling you and dad again. 

I check my rearview again, and I don’t see him. 

I look out my window and I see the corner gas station, not him. 

I check the sideview and he isn’t there either. 

Headlights turn on behind me and that same patrol car pulls out, makes a U turn, and drives away.

[very.long.pause]

With all lights off, he drives the complete opposite direction. 

He just drove away. No hold on. No stay right there. No I’ll be right back. No don’t go anywhere. No I’ve got another call. No today is your lucky day. No your prayer has been answered. Just-drove-away. And so did I. 

Never to utter a word.

Now, months later, I’ve learned nothing. I’m back in the same exact situation facing DUI number 3 (unofficially number 4) again. Mind racing, blah-di-dee-blah, blah-di-dee-blah --

It’s so easy to blame you. Dad, actually. No, both of you equally. Shouldn’t I? Can’t I? Look at the history; a knack for a disgusting family tradition. Alcoholism. I didn’t even have a say.

We were at a bar. It was the same bar I had left sober dozens of times before. And the same doors I had stumbled out of dozens and dozens of times before. I had practiced what I had learned over the past five years. One beer an hour will keep you under the legal limit or something like that? I put it to good use except that I’d slip in a shot, because hold-on now, because by the time that Hooter would kick in I’d be home, right? Better yet, we had just decided to go to a friend’s house to crash for the night so that I WOULDN’T have to drive all the way home – and, while we all just happened to be there at the same time - finish the party. I wonder if anybody wondered why I didn’t show. I wonder if they thought I might have crashed my car or stopped at the gas station, or just went home for the night. But I wonder if they even noticed that I never showed.

“Dennis has a problem, Dennis has a drinking problem.”

Why is it that some people tell the funniest jokes, some people fall asleep, some people (mostly girls) cry, and some people lose all sense of common sense when they are drunk? I’m the one who just has to be addicted to stupid. I lose every bit of common sense and intelligence to do things for no reason other than my own pleasure.  Why do I have to deal with this? Can’t a guy, me, just be a really bad drunk? Can anyone list off the good things I’ve accomplished in my lifetime? I dare them too. I challenge someone other than you family members to do that. Maybe I should challenge you family members, but if you didn’t know I’d have to start a completely different blog, so I’d rather not know.

Why does the major focus of my life have to revolve around the decisions I’ve made when I was drunk. It’s a rhetorical question, but I get it, that’s what even comes to my mind when I think of my life. All the bad things show up before my memory remembers the TV commercials, the modeling contract, the movie appearance, the move to LA with no cash to my name and no friends to lean on, the magazine I was in, the Teen Reporter contest that I won out of thousands, the years I was a reporter at KARE11 when I was – thirteen, Yeah, that’s right, thirteen!? There’s the start for anyone who wants to take me up on my dare.

Three bad moves are all it was. I’m no idiot, there were a ga-zillion other mistakes inside those three, and I don’t mean to simplify things, but damn, I’ve had over a million drinks in my life and three mistakes will continue to affect my life in every-single-possible way.

Pride is a nasty thing to try and conquer. It wins most of the time. It lurks. It hovers. It hangs around with more patience than a hungry pack of lions. You get cocky just one time and it sprawls out from behind your already bashed-in low self-esteem and pulls you down even further. 

but I digress.

Number three wasn’t my fault. This number three, which should be number 4, was the cops fault. Totally. 

I’m driving, slowly, along the road. A cop is right directly in front of me and the learned reaction of shaking with nerves when I notice those types of cars triggers me. But it’s all good because I’m the legal limit. BREAK LIGHTS flash making me light up my brakes. They didn’t use any yellow blinker when they suddenly slowed to make a right turn. I PULL the wheel to the left to avoid hitting them from behind because if I hit them, I might as well bend over and give them an invitation to screw me. I JUST MISS cracking their bumper and while doing so cross the solid yellow line of oncoming traffic. 

As I continue to drive to the after-party, an brilliant white spot light floods the back of my head. That’s when I knew it wasn't Jesus returning from Heaven. Want to know the image that was burning in my mind? 

Black. Nothing. 

I didn’t want to do this anymore. I’m done, drinking wins and I throw in the towel for good. This game sucks and I suck at it. Let’s just get this over with.

And I made yet another mistake. 

I opened the door and stood up. I didn’t know the cop was there but when I opened my door the cop was there and I think he thought I was going to make a mad dash right through his flesh and keep sprinting all the way down Main Street to highway 94 West because he grabbed me by whatever he could get his hands on literally picked me up and threw my head into the hood of my car, er, my dad’s truck that I was borrowing for the night and shoved my nose through the green paint and damn near ripped my arms off. I didn’t know my arm could bend like that, but then again, based on the pain I felt, I don’t think it can. He grabbed the back of my shirt and yanked me on my feet when I saw there was another squad car, which made two, and I realized that they both had made me kiss the engine at the same time. I remember thinking that this man is either freakishly strong, or that I was incredibly easy to handle, but now I realize they tag-teamed me. Assholes.

Why did you try to run?

I wasn’t going to run sir.

Are you telling me you weren’t trying to run?

Yes sir, that’s right.

Why did you get out of the car?

I’m sorry, sir. I don’t know. I just wanted to get this over with.

I do everything he asks. Almost automatically. Cars are slowly driving by looking at me and secretly celebrating it’s not them in my shoes, I’m sure. I’m humiliated again. I don’t see anyone else standing beside their car in front of a cop whose holding a breathalyzer on the busiest street in town under all the street lights. I was afraid that one of those secretly celebrating cars driving by would have a friend of mine in it and if it was I’d be even more embarrassed, but then again I don’t really care at this point.

We go through the whole routine. Backwards alphabet, touching of the nose, watching the pen glide from one side of my face to the other. They asked me to tilt my head back and extend my right foot outward and six inches off the ground while they slowly, and I mean intentionally slow, count to ten. Then the notorious walking the invisible line while counting my steps. Again, all of this while other people my age are cranking their necks to stare at me as they drive by. It throws off your focus and probably affected my performance - Assholes. Talk about feeling ‘this big.’ The feeling only gets worse when they bring out handcuffs and you’re the one they bring them out for. The fast zip of them tightening around your wrist is very sobering. Pun intended. 

At that minute, I can officially start comparing myself to every low life that I’ve ever seen on COPS being arrested and thinking – how can people be so stupid? 

I’m all the stupid people that I’ve ever judged at this second. 

It was a short ride to the police station but it was the quietest, longest ride I’ve taken since a ride back to school when I went to Winona. I’ll tell you about that car ride later. Not a word was said. It’s exhausting when your mind is reviewing and looking back and thinking ahead all at the same time.

I get to the police station and the miracle that I prayed for happens...

THE 1AM MIRACLE [PartOne]

It was number three. And getting number three was a bad bad thing. 

I remember. I went speechless. I was all alone, but even sitting there alone by myself with nobody sitting in the bucket seat next to me, I was still speechless. Only a white flood light flooding into the car from behind me. Beads of sweat bubbled around my hairline. 

Yeah, I knew the routine. 

Too well. 

My armpits started leaking sweat and it rolled all the way down my side. My throat swelled so bad that I couldn’t swallow even if my mouth had watered. My breathing increased and then my stomach opened up inside me and spit out everything that I had in it. It felt like an out of body experience and when I shut my eyes in hopes that everything that was about to happen would not happen, I lost all hope.This was number three, and my life had taken a serious wrong turn.

Please God. I don’t know you, but please God, perform a miracle.

I beg him to do me this solid. 

It was only months before that he actually did.

I was driving home. I was drunk. I was coming home from River Falls. I was only on my way home because I had a point to prove to dad. It wasn’t always as it appeared. I’ve proven that I can go out and still make it home over and over again, but when nobody was looking, and it was just me by myself – I knew I had failed over and over again. It was a no-win situation for me and I knew it. I was making it home, I was driving drunk, and I wasn’t getting caught.

Tick, tick, tick…

My point was simple. It was to prove that I could go out with my friends, have a good time doing whatever it was that me and my friends do, and still show that I was responsible enough to wake up in my own bed and not my friends couch. That’s the thought running through my mind driving the back roads of River Falls, passing the St. Croix beach heading to Hwy 61 at 1230 midnight. I’m seeing double. It’s plain as day that I am - - there are four double-yellow lines!  I’m concentrating so hard, that I drive with one eye shut just to make sure I’m not seeing double. I had to have been all over the road, shoot, you try driving drunk with one eye shut. A cigarette burned in my hand and I smoke it to stay awake. 

No cars were in sight for miles. 

I follow the road as it bends to the right and another bend starts bending back to the left. There is a lot of road and my thoughts aren’t about getting home safe. They aren’t about not hurting someone else. They aren’t about - what the hell am I doing? They are about how stressful tomorrow will be when I wake up and dad will have already been awake for hours having a coffee in the porch with the morning paper and the first question out of his mouth will be - did you get drunk last night? Did you puke? If I fake sleep long enough, I can wake up without being hungover but I’d have to sleep for 8-9 hours. Not likely. My hangover tell is that I get stuffed up and sound nasally after drinking. You and Dad pick up on that faster than the clock ticks.

So, I was driving home, drunk. I was coming from River Falls. The only reason I put the keys in the ignition, started the car, and drove off was because I had a point to prove to dad. I follow the road as it bends to the right and another bend starts bending back to the left. There is a lot of road and I can’t tell anymore if I’m still drunk or if I’m sleeping. The road bends around about to slow for the stop light right before highway 61 just before Hastings.  

There isn’t a car in sight.

There hasn’t been for the entire ride except for the Statie crawling up my ass. From nowhere, red and blue lights flash. I know to pull over. I also know I’m just about home? If I were to hit the gas it’s two seconds to Innovation Road then take a left on the frontage road near Menards past Cub to Jamaica turn right and then left up the block on the street where Hillside Elementry is and lose him in those streets. I know them pretty good cuz the chuker lives around there and thats how I know them pretty good, but whatever, I pull over. 

Thought after thought, please God after please God hits my mind over and over and over. I’m done. This time, I’ve really done it. I could tell him I’m Nick. I could be Nick. I know his birthday, his age, we look the same, I could just say I forgot my ID and he’d let me off with a warning. I think about this in a mind-panic. Maybe it was life-panic because I have no play. 

All I can do is sit here and let the chips fall, er, crash. I inhale from my smoke then watch it fall outside the window. As it falls down past the window, there he is. Standing right at my door. Flashing his light square in my eyes.

What was that? What did you just throw out the window? 

...to be continued.