On Change and the Year of Four

Ahh late December, the time of year people make great plans for change and toss those plans out with the last of the crumpled wrapping paper. But before I get into that, I’ll look back on what has been another very up and very down year.

The only person who, since childhood and through adulthood told me I could accomplish anything I set my mind to passed away before 2014 was even a week old. My grandmother Helen Ress always stressed the value of education and is the single most vital influence on me as a writer. When I lived in New Mexico I once sent her a letter describing the land; the tall mountains and the lonely trails I wandered, the wildlife I encountered. I worried that the letter wasn’t good enough but when she responded, she commended me for my writing skills. She had never been to that part of the state but claimed my letter made her feel she had been there in person.

Now, I know grandmas are supposed to say things like that to encourage us but as the years have moved along I wondered, maybe she’s onto something. These days, if I’m not writing, I’m thinking about writing. This Christmas was difficult, our first ever without her and yet another without my mom and both of my grandfathers. As bittersweet as the holiday was, an unexpected thought came to me on Christmas Day; my grandfather passed eighteen months before and my heart was warmed with the knowledge they were together, somewhere up there watching over us as we broke bread together in the same home they bought together over fifty years ago.

The day before Grandma Helen passed a huge blow was dealt to the San Diego community; as our beloved Jerry Coleman was called for one last mission into the heavens. 2014 wasn’t even a week old and losing my wallet and car keys was the best thing to happen to me so far. Many of you my loyalty to the hometown nine, a few of you know

The tragic news gave way to joyous happenings, as in February my wife and I were blessed with news of the pending arrival of yet another member of the Gonzales Tribe and in early Spring, we had another family vacation at Knott’s Berry Farm; where I introduced my daughter Layla to the smoked turkey leg.

Summer brought with it more devastating, tragic news as Mr. Padre himself, Tony Gwynn passed away. I awoke to the news the day after Father’s Day and the coming weeks were filled with reflections on how deeply he impacted my life far beyond as a fan and former coworker. As I’ve written before, his impact on the man I am may never be known. Years after I am gone, my legacy may reflect something that would not have been had it not been for him.

Two weeks after Mr. Padre was called up to the real Big Show, I reached a milestone of my own; but turning forty was only one of many milestones reached in 2014. On October 19^th, I humbly and gratefully celebrated four years of sobriety and it’s safe to say there had never been a four year stretch in which alcohol didn’t pass my lips and yes, I am talking about all of my years on this good earth. Reaching forty was big, achieving four years sober was bigger but both paled in comparison to what occurred just a week before I took that token. Chloe Helena Gonzales, whose name was decided upon during our drive up to Knott’s and partly inspired by my grandmother as well as my great aunt; was born. They say the more the pregnancies, the quicker the deliveries and up until Chloe, it was true. But this one wasn’t going to arrive until she was good and ready.

Less than an hour before she was born, I learned that Trevor Hoffman, the man who inspired the name of my first born, would share a birthdate with my daughter; our fourth child. I mulled over the number four through the ensuing weeks, and more than one person said “What a coincidence!” My reply, while always good-natured, was very firm; “There is no such thing as coincidence, that’s just God working anonymously.”

As 2014, the year Padres fans were rocked by the worst one-two punch we’ll ever know, the year both sides of the Gonzales/Ress Tribes lost an elder and the year Baby Chloe evened the count for my branch of the Tribe, comes to a close, one word keeps flashing in my head.

Opportunity.

I erroneously thought 2015 would be the year of greatest opportunity I’ve ever known. Then I realized, the opportunities were always there; new ones, ones that were always there and most important, the realization that I have the ability to create my own opportunities. Another non-coincidental happening was that Chloe was born four years to the day I made the decision to change. On that day, I set aside a time to meet with people who had created change of their own, in hopes of finding ways of creating the changes I so desperately needed to make in my life. As I sat and waited for this meeting, I learned another one was about to commence nearby. Initially, I declined; since I had already decided to attend a later meeting. Then I asked myself, out loud; “Do you want to wait to make a change, or do you want to change now?”

I was half way to the car before I had an answer…

The desire for change is only the second step, the recognition of the need for change is the first. I look upon New Year’s Resolutions, which often don’t last as long as the colored lights on our windows; in the same way I look at the day I decided to take the earlier meeting. I didn’t make a resolution, I made a decision to change. If you’re so inclined to make a resolution, make it now! Change can only happen now, not later. Making the decision to change now starts the changes, now. Waiting to change is the first step toward ensuring the change never comes…

Happy New Year everyone.

Rudy

 

 

 

 

 

Forty, 4 and Four

It’s crazy how an impromptu vacation can provide a man with enough wonderful memories to fill several lifetimes. Normally, the only time I take five days off from work comes every March for my family’s annual trip to Knott’s Berry Farm; it’s not too cold and not to crowded. This gives us time to ride all the rides and spend a minimum amount of time waiting in line.

Alas, the five days off I took last week brought that most vital of human tasks; reproduction. Our daughter Chloe Helena Gonzales was welcomed into the world and along with Mommy and I, big brothers Trevor and Joseph and big sister Layla are absolutely smitten. Being our fourth child, I am not in the least surprised that a seven pound, hours-old human being can wrap so many people around her tiny finger in so little time.

The week before her birth I made a post ruminating what song I wanted played during her delivery. I needed only look to my right arm for the answer, as the opening lyrics to Thank You from Led Zeppelin is tattooed there as well as in my heart and soul. It is a tattoo in memoriam of my departed Mother as well as the song my wife and I played at our wedding while we performed the ceremony recognizing the two families becoming one, not to mention the purest example of love in a song I’ve ever heard.

The birth came slowly yet with no major complications for baby or mama and the time off gave me tremendous opportunities to spend time with my three older children; something rare in my nights-only work schedule. Together, my children and I visited Old Town, the memorial park where my Mom and Grandparents are buried and the Living Coast Discovery Center; where my almost two year old daughter got to pet a shark, get up close with a sea turtle and stand less than ten feet from a bald eagle.

As a father who has only two evenings per week to spend with his children, you can bet I cherished the three straight days I had with them. As a man who has never forgotten that he once stood at the brink of ending it all, you can bet I feel like not even a hundred million dollar lottery ticket would bring any more gratitude into my life than I already have.

My sons saw me drink and thankfully, they didn’t see or feel the worst of what was going on inside me during those years. My daughter Layla was born December 12^th, 2012. It was and is a special day for many reasons, and not necessarily because the numbers all match. Earlier that year my grandfather Joe Ress passed away and the last time I spoke to him I told him the news of our coming addition. His great granddaughter was born on what would have been his 82^nd birthday. And those who have sought help with their own alcohol problems know well the significance of “12&12”.

Of course, Layla has never seen me take a drink and neither will Chloe, unless you count the many cups of coffee throughout the week and the occasional Hammerhead I have when we walk Seaport Village. Not to be outdone by the significance of her big sister’s birthday, Chloe chose a date that held much significance of its own, adding to it by her arrival.

October 13^th, 2010 was the day I walked into my new life, my life of sobriety. I had a few more days of drinking after, I guess I really needed to assure myself that I was indeed sick and tired of being sick and tired. As an added bonus, less than an hour before Chloe made her rookie debut I was reminded that she would share her birthday with her big brother’s namesake; Trevor Hoffman. One of the most precious moments from that time came when I informed my Trevor of the news. As this is our last child, I find it interesting that my all-time favorite ballplayer shares a connection with our oldest and youngest children. I don’t see it as a coincidence, as I believe in coincidences as much as I believe in making a wish on a fallen star, hanging a horseshoe above my door and a government that does what’s best for all citizens.

Since my life became one of sobriety, two daughters have been born to my wife and I and each have been born on very significant days. I consider this a stunning example of Divine Providence. I’m not much into numbers when it comes to dealing cards and other such things, but I do know a message from above when a see one. When I feel one. My fourth child was born four years from the day I truly sought sobriety, in the year I turned forty years old no less. Not bad for a man who once spent many lonely weeks eyeing the Coronado Bridge, thinking about that one way trip down.

In the past six months, my blogs have become more difficult to write than in the past. I don’t believe much in writers block, more than anything it’s little more than a lame, tired excuse for lack of productivity. But as I write on, I realize the difficulty comes from the desire to express what I feel, to truly capture the essence of what I was, what I have become and what was needed for it to happen. Most blogs used to take one draft and after a little editing, it was ready for public consumption. This blog is in its third draft and who knows how many more it may take before I am ready to share it. Reminds me of something a man wiser than myself once said (And I’ll say again, there are many of them); when asked how long it takes to recover from alcoholism, he inevitably answers “As long as it takes…” Quite a bit of wisdom to give to someone in desperate need of learning a little patience. Some people do it in a few weeks, some do it in a few years and some spend the rest of their lives chasing it, only to become an example of the “what not to do” way of thinking.

Oftentimes I ask myself “Why me” and yet another wiser-than-myself man has written “You should say why not me?” It may come from words written by another man but just as with the dates of my daughters’ births, I consider the words a message from above, sent through this man. This is the prime reason I take a much more painstaking approach to my writing these days. I’m no perfectionist. Far from it. Yet I have to think you value your time as much as I value mine and with that in mind, I could not in good conscience share something just for the sake of sharing it. If you have taken the time to read what my heart and soul has to say, you can bet the driving force behind what I do is taking every step necessary to ensure you do not consider it a waste of your time to read it. And if you’ve read this far, I think you haven’t considered it a waste of your time.

When I look back on the past four years; the births of my daughters, the wisdom gained during the late nights with my nose buried in a book, the ability I have developed to offer encouraging and comforting words to friends and loved ones who have lost family members, I know that more than anything I would never have been able to do any of it with a drink in my hand. And one of the most valuable things I learned is I could not have done it alone. A ridiculously large and capable support network of family, friends have advised, counseled, encouraged and prayed for me. And gave me a swift kick in the ass when needed.

Many of you remember me before I got sober and more than a few of you had no idea of the severity of my problem. In a way, your not knowing the depths of it all proved to be a vital tool in the early days, as I was determined to publicly state that I was in fact not the man my reputation may have suggested. Was it not for my desire to share that with you, I don’t know that I would have made such an effort at achieving and sustaining a sober life.

Some of you may only know the sober version of me; those who have told me they couldn’t imagine me as a mean, bitter drunk. For some reason, I feel the obligation to show you at least a peek into my past, lest you think I’ve always been an upstanding family man.

Most important of all, I write and share my stories with the hope that you or maybe someone you know may have the need and desire to make some life changes, whether alcohol or anything that needs changing. I changed and I’m not the only one, so can you.

When I’m having a rough day, I need only remind myself that things were much rougher at one time. And when I feel like nothing I do makes anything better, I remind myself of the times when I thought I’d never smile again. And as long as I never lose sight of the man I once was, I’ll never have to take another drink…

Holy Sh**, I Made It To 40!

So, four decades have passed since I saw light for the first time and the doctor said to my mom “It’s a boy!” In recent years I have been more reflective on the day before rather than on my actual birthday.  I guess it’s partly due to just enjoying being with my family on the actual day and thoughts of my departed mother and how she must have felt in the hours before my birth.

Just as much as I reflect on my own life, I reflect on the world around me and the changes to it during the past near-half century. On the day I was born, there were still U.S. troops in Vietnam, Elvis Presley was still alive and Sanford & Son was the highest rated show on television. Since then, I have learned to walk, how to throw a baseball (with middling skills), and string an arrow to a bowstring as well as a few things I would prefer to un-learn. Initially, I planned on sharing my thoughts on life so far as well as the vast improvements that have come to my life in the past three-plus years.

Yet I have realized my posts and blogs have always done that. In my writing the two things I focus on most are the gratitude I have and my hopes that some way, somehow my words are able to inspire others. And if the following doesn’t inspire any of you at least a little bit, then no one or nothing could inspire you. I am not trying toot my own horn, so please bear with me and read on.

Many of you have heard and/or read about some of the unfortunate occurrences in my life over the past several weeks.  A brief recap; my wife’s grandmother passed away a week before Memorial Day. On Memorial Day, my wife was planning on enjoying the new waterfront park and our plans were dashed when we learned that our only car was stolen.

A week after that; which was the week we laid her grandmother to rest; we received verbal threats from our neighbor in a disgustingly typical example of one person blaming everyone else for their own decisions. Unfortunately, the person still lives right next door to us and as often as I pray for my families’ safety, I pray just as hard that I am able to avoid the possibility of being forced to defend the safety of my wife and children at all costs. I have experienced every emotion a human being can have and let me tell you, the feeling of your blood running cold is the ugliest feeling I have ever had. Yet I am ready, willing and able to do anything and everything necessary to ensure that our right to exist in peace is upheld.

And those of you who have known me for more than a few years know how the passing of Tony Gwynn affected me, or at least some idea. Personally, I am not sure that I will know how much that loss will affect me for quite some time.

I took an extra day off in order to hold a three-day celebration with my family. To be honest, it was not so much about celebrating myself; it was more about having a golden excuse to take some time off and be together. I had all three days planned out, starting with a trip to our summer home downtown on Sunday for my first ballgame of the year. Come to think of it, knowing I am on pace to go to the fewest games ever this season make my stomach churn nearly as much as it does when I think of how that piece of human excrement still lives next door to us. Annyyyyyyyways, we had a beautiful time at the game and of course, the pregame tailgate party.

Then, recent hardships continued when on the way home from the game, our car broke down. Having no idea what the problem was, I trouble-shooted the problem with my meager knowledge of cars; to no avail. At that time, our plans for days two and three were in jeopardy. Thankfully, we were able to keep dinner plans with my sister in law along with some of the closest members of my Padres family. Still, our plans for today were shot

That’s when I realized that not having our car for two days made #40 one of my best birthdays ever…

Due to not wanting to be stuck at home, we spent the day with my aunt at my grandparents house. Some of you may be aware of the fact that both sets of grandparents were/are neighbors and the homes are still in the family. On the day before my birthday I stepped out into the patio and saw three large houseplants that my mom bought several years ago. We always had houseplants growing up and in my early twenties I developed a passion for them that she and I shared together. The plants had been a little unkempt over the years and it pained me to see them in such poor shape; a far cry from what my mom’s plants looked like and a lot less than my own plants began to look after she passed her green thumb down to me. So I spent over an hour aerating, watering and trimming them. Just as she taught me, I found ideal spots in the yard to place them, one thrives under direct sunlight while the other two need more shade to grow properly.

As I was finishing up, I rolled the garden hose up and thought about my grandfather. “How many times did he roll up that very same hose?” I asked myself. I miss my departed loved ones every day but of all the days of the year, my birthday is when I miss them most. Yet, did I not have the opportunity to share an afternoon with them? The soil under my fingernails was the same soil my mom worked with so many years ago and the tools I used were the same tools my grandfather worked with. On top of that; there’s a good chance he bought those very tools at the same Home Depot where my mom held her last job in where else? The garden section. It was as close to being with them as I could possibly have been and the fact was not lost on me.

Financial issues relating to the car repair costs canceled my long-standing tradition of visiting the San Diego Zoo but what we did in instead was even more special, even more sacred than going to the Zoo. Those of you who know me and my heart know how big of a statement that is.

As I heard Happy Birthday being sung to me for the second time in as many days, I teared up as I held my daughter Layla Laurene in my arms. My wife and sons were by my side, as well as three of my aunts; representing both sides of the Ress and Gonzales Tribes. To my right stood my grandmother Mary Gonzales; who turned 87 just two days ago. In short, I was surrounded by four generations of my family.

Had the car not broken down, I would not have had that moment. We would have been at the Zoo, Jojo and I sharing the wonder of the Klauber-Shaw reptile house while Mommy sat a safe distance away eating cotton candy. Had we not been under the stress of having the large repair bill; I would not have had the opportunity to have one last (for now) afternoon working on the plants with Mom.

When the car broke down and my family was safely at home, frustration started to boil over. I’ve punched a few walls in my day and I thought of that every time I looked at the windshield. Yet thankfully I have stuck around long enough to learn that doing such a thing would not only not help, it would have made things much worse.

I look back on that moment now and I realize that when I falsely assumed I was at my breaking point; when I was just one stubbed toe or a skinned knuckle away from dropping to the ground into a sobbing, pitiful heap of a man, I was actually at a point where things were falling into place to create what I consider not only one of my greatest birthdays of all time but one of my greatest experiences on any occasion. Which tells me one valuable lesson; a lesson I have been trying very hard to learn these past few years.

No matter how grand your plans may be, God often has much bigger, better plans for you….