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 4th 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.
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. 
