How did these beautiful girls come from this????
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
Monday, November 2, 2009
Sitting on a cold concrete floor with my arms crossed and my head buried in my chest, a man twice my size and with blood all over his shirt began to walk toward me.
He stopped a foot away from me to my right, unzipped his pants, and began to pee in a urinal. I could have reached over and touched the dirtiest toilet I had ever seen from the only available place to sit when I was led into the cell in the Los Angeles-area jail.
Never moving my head while he was there, I closed my eyes and began to wonder what brought me to what was no doubt the lowest point in my life. I am lucky enough to be a father of four beautiful girls, have the job that I wanted ever since I was in grade school, and I am generally pretty happy in life.
Yet, here I sit with nine other men, at 2 a.m. on Sunday morning, in a 10x10 cell, knowing that five hours later my girls would wake up and ask my roommates why their Dad was not home. That thought made me realize that there was really only one thing that could make me jeopardize everything that I had in my life.
It was alcohol. Like my mother had been all my childhood and my older brother who developed into one as a young adult, I knew then that I had become an alcoholic.
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Seven hours earlier, I fought through Los Angeles traffic en route to my 20th high school reunion. Truthfully, I didn't want to go and see my former teammates on what was one of the best football teams our school ever had.
However, I was repeatedly told that I had no choice.
"Brett, you have to go," Jenny said, who I had known since junior high and was the reunion organizer. "You are the football coach of the school we graduated from. How can you not go? Everyone will want to see you!"
That was exactly the reason why I didn't want go. While seeing old friends and sharing stories from the past was intriguing, having to answer questions on why our football team is now struggling was worth avoiding.
"Don't worry about all that..." Jenny continued. "You will have a blast and everyone won't care about what the team is doing now."
She was right. I did have a blast and everyone was more interested in seeing pictures of my girls than how the team was doing.
For five hours, I laughed, shared parenting stories, and reconnected with people I had grown up with and hadn't seen since graduation. And, I drank.
Every time another former teammate or friend walked up to me to talk, they brought with them a drink for me. I didn't buy a drink during the night. But, that didn't stop me from not knowing how many I drank.
Despite going with the intention of not drinking, I never turned down a drink and was enjoying downing beers with my former drinking buddies.
I was funny, loud, and felt pretty damn good about myself. The shy, insecure kid from high school was now the head football coach at the school we all went to and was also the fun guy to be around.
Shortly after 11 p.m., I began to say goodbyes and started to head to my car when I was stopped by one of my oldest friends.
"Hey, are you OK to drive?" he asked while puffing on a cigarette.
"Yea, I am good. But, let me bum a few cigarettes for the drive home. It will keep me busy and awake."
He handed me three cigarettes and I got in my car and jumped on the freeway. I drove for 30 minutes and thought I was driving just as I would if I was sober.
Driving in the fast lane, I finished the first cigarette and flicked it out the window to avoid the smell lingering in my car. Rolling my window back up, I checked the rear view mirror. My heart began to race as I saw the flashing lights of a California Highway Patrol car behind me.
I couldn't believe it. I had no idea how drunk I was, but was pretty sure I was over the legal limit of .08. Moving my car off the freeway and onto an off ramp, I told myself to calm down and act relaxed when the CHP approached my car.
Stopped on the side of the road, I waited as two officers approached both sides of my car.
"License and registration please," said the younger of the two CHPs.
"Here you go, Sir. Everything alright?"
"Well, everything was alright until you threw a cigarette out your window. Have you been drinking?"
I was speechless and didn't know what to say. Stupidly, I lied.
"No, Sir."
"Well, you were driving fine and we pulled you over because of the cigarette. But, I can smell alcohol on you. If you would have told me you had two beers, we would probably have let you go. You need to get out of your car for a sobriety test. Are you willing do that?"
"Yes, Sir. Whatever you want."
I got out and went through test after test. I touched my nose with my eyes closed, counted backwards, and walked foot over foot down an imaginary line. After I was done, the CHPs talked to one another quietly for a moment before asking me to blow into a breathalyzer.
I agreed and waited patiently after blowing the first time. The younger CHP then asked me to blow again. It was after the second time that I began to understand the situation I was in.
"How fucked am I?" I asked as he waited for the results. "Am I fucked? I am so fucked. Damn... I can't believe this. I am so fucked."
He then looked up from the breathalyzer and told me what I didn't want to hear.
"Sir, you blew .0823. You have the right to reamin silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in the court of law. You have the right to an attorney present during questioning. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you. Do you understand these rights?"
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After two slip-ups on consecutive weekends after my arrest, I am proud to say that I have not had a drink in 115 days. It hasn't always been easy, but it also hasn't been as hard as I thought it would be either.
Instead of drinking after football games with other coaches, I drink iced tea or have a non-alcoholic drink. No one harasses me about not drinking, and I can't believe how much easier it is on Saturdays or Sundays at football meetings or practices without suffering from a hangover.
The definition of an alcoholic is different for every alcoholic. I believe I am an alcoholic because I couldn't stop once I got started. Enough said.
I am thankful that my night in jail didn't involve me hurting anyone with my car, didn't cause me to lose my family, my job, or end the relatively new relationship I am in with a wonderful woman. It could have been a lot worse for me and my family.
But, that still doesn't change that fact I am... "Brett, and I am an alcoholic."
He stopped a foot away from me to my right, unzipped his pants, and began to pee in a urinal. I could have reached over and touched the dirtiest toilet I had ever seen from the only available place to sit when I was led into the cell in the Los Angeles-area jail.
Never moving my head while he was there, I closed my eyes and began to wonder what brought me to what was no doubt the lowest point in my life. I am lucky enough to be a father of four beautiful girls, have the job that I wanted ever since I was in grade school, and I am generally pretty happy in life.
Yet, here I sit with nine other men, at 2 a.m. on Sunday morning, in a 10x10 cell, knowing that five hours later my girls would wake up and ask my roommates why their Dad was not home. That thought made me realize that there was really only one thing that could make me jeopardize everything that I had in my life.
It was alcohol. Like my mother had been all my childhood and my older brother who developed into one as a young adult, I knew then that I had become an alcoholic.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Seven hours earlier, I fought through Los Angeles traffic en route to my 20th high school reunion. Truthfully, I didn't want to go and see my former teammates on what was one of the best football teams our school ever had.
However, I was repeatedly told that I had no choice.
"Brett, you have to go," Jenny said, who I had known since junior high and was the reunion organizer. "You are the football coach of the school we graduated from. How can you not go? Everyone will want to see you!"
That was exactly the reason why I didn't want go. While seeing old friends and sharing stories from the past was intriguing, having to answer questions on why our football team is now struggling was worth avoiding.
"Don't worry about all that..." Jenny continued. "You will have a blast and everyone won't care about what the team is doing now."
She was right. I did have a blast and everyone was more interested in seeing pictures of my girls than how the team was doing.
For five hours, I laughed, shared parenting stories, and reconnected with people I had grown up with and hadn't seen since graduation. And, I drank.
Every time another former teammate or friend walked up to me to talk, they brought with them a drink for me. I didn't buy a drink during the night. But, that didn't stop me from not knowing how many I drank.
Despite going with the intention of not drinking, I never turned down a drink and was enjoying downing beers with my former drinking buddies.
I was funny, loud, and felt pretty damn good about myself. The shy, insecure kid from high school was now the head football coach at the school we all went to and was also the fun guy to be around.
Shortly after 11 p.m., I began to say goodbyes and started to head to my car when I was stopped by one of my oldest friends.
"Hey, are you OK to drive?" he asked while puffing on a cigarette.
"Yea, I am good. But, let me bum a few cigarettes for the drive home. It will keep me busy and awake."
He handed me three cigarettes and I got in my car and jumped on the freeway. I drove for 30 minutes and thought I was driving just as I would if I was sober.
Driving in the fast lane, I finished the first cigarette and flicked it out the window to avoid the smell lingering in my car. Rolling my window back up, I checked the rear view mirror. My heart began to race as I saw the flashing lights of a California Highway Patrol car behind me.
I couldn't believe it. I had no idea how drunk I was, but was pretty sure I was over the legal limit of .08. Moving my car off the freeway and onto an off ramp, I told myself to calm down and act relaxed when the CHP approached my car.
Stopped on the side of the road, I waited as two officers approached both sides of my car.
"License and registration please," said the younger of the two CHPs.
"Here you go, Sir. Everything alright?"
"Well, everything was alright until you threw a cigarette out your window. Have you been drinking?"
I was speechless and didn't know what to say. Stupidly, I lied.
"No, Sir."
"Well, you were driving fine and we pulled you over because of the cigarette. But, I can smell alcohol on you. If you would have told me you had two beers, we would probably have let you go. You need to get out of your car for a sobriety test. Are you willing do that?"
"Yes, Sir. Whatever you want."
I got out and went through test after test. I touched my nose with my eyes closed, counted backwards, and walked foot over foot down an imaginary line. After I was done, the CHPs talked to one another quietly for a moment before asking me to blow into a breathalyzer.
I agreed and waited patiently after blowing the first time. The younger CHP then asked me to blow again. It was after the second time that I began to understand the situation I was in.
"How fucked am I?" I asked as he waited for the results. "Am I fucked? I am so fucked. Damn... I can't believe this. I am so fucked."
He then looked up from the breathalyzer and told me what I didn't want to hear.
"Sir, you blew .0823. You have the right to reamin silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in the court of law. You have the right to an attorney present during questioning. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you. Do you understand these rights?"
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
After two slip-ups on consecutive weekends after my arrest, I am proud to say that I have not had a drink in 115 days. It hasn't always been easy, but it also hasn't been as hard as I thought it would be either.
Instead of drinking after football games with other coaches, I drink iced tea or have a non-alcoholic drink. No one harasses me about not drinking, and I can't believe how much easier it is on Saturdays or Sundays at football meetings or practices without suffering from a hangover.
The definition of an alcoholic is different for every alcoholic. I believe I am an alcoholic because I couldn't stop once I got started. Enough said.
I am thankful that my night in jail didn't involve me hurting anyone with my car, didn't cause me to lose my family, my job, or end the relatively new relationship I am in with a wonderful woman. It could have been a lot worse for me and my family.
But, that still doesn't change that fact I am... "Brett, and I am an alcoholic."
Saturday, October 31, 2009
Dear Coach,
Just wondering, where have you been? Everything alright? Been too long since we have heard from you on your blog. Hope all is well. Can we get anything from you soon?
Sincerely,
Your Bro
That's right. I got an email from one of my best friends from high school asking me where I have been. I have a question for him now... Why not call me and ask? My blog is the only place we can connect?
Where I have been? How about trying to endure a football season from hell?
Or, how about going to a doctor appointment in October for a rash and being told a I need a number of biopsies done on different spots on my face? Doesn't matter what kind of cancer it is, being told that you have can scare you a little.
Or, how about trying to move from one side of the town to the other with little help from guys like you? There is only so much four little girls under 11 can carry from the house to the moving van.
Or, how about having to hire a lawyer for the first time in my life for something other than a divorce? After having never been in sort of trouble with the law in 38 years, I spent the night in a jail cell with nine other guys who actually looked like they belonged there. Good times.
Or, how about rushing out after my last class to get my girls from their school, bringing them back with me to football practice for three hours, heading home to make dinner, help them with homework, and then finally putting them to bed?
Is that enough? Or, should I go on? Even I did write a real post, I wouldn't know where to start.
With two weeks left in the football season, I hope to get back to writing on regular basis. But again, where do I start when I start?
How about this... you tell me what you want to know more about from what I told you that has be happening. Do you want to know more about my football season, my battle with skin cancer that currently has me with 32 stitches in my head, my time as a jailbird, the move from hell, or the comings and goings with my girls?
You decide.
Just wondering, where have you been? Everything alright? Been too long since we have heard from you on your blog. Hope all is well. Can we get anything from you soon?
Sincerely,
Your Bro
That's right. I got an email from one of my best friends from high school asking me where I have been. I have a question for him now... Why not call me and ask? My blog is the only place we can connect?
Where I have been? How about trying to endure a football season from hell?
Or, how about going to a doctor appointment in October for a rash and being told a I need a number of biopsies done on different spots on my face? Doesn't matter what kind of cancer it is, being told that you have can scare you a little.
Or, how about trying to move from one side of the town to the other with little help from guys like you? There is only so much four little girls under 11 can carry from the house to the moving van.
Or, how about having to hire a lawyer for the first time in my life for something other than a divorce? After having never been in sort of trouble with the law in 38 years, I spent the night in a jail cell with nine other guys who actually looked like they belonged there. Good times.
Or, how about rushing out after my last class to get my girls from their school, bringing them back with me to football practice for three hours, heading home to make dinner, help them with homework, and then finally putting them to bed?
Is that enough? Or, should I go on? Even I did write a real post, I wouldn't know where to start.
With two weeks left in the football season, I hope to get back to writing on regular basis. But again, where do I start when I start?
How about this... you tell me what you want to know more about from what I told you that has be happening. Do you want to know more about my football season, my battle with skin cancer that currently has me with 32 stitches in my head, my time as a jailbird, the move from hell, or the comings and goings with my girls?
You decide.
Saturday, August 29, 2009
Grandma in my thoughts
I woke up this morning with a message on my phone from my Dad. Ater telling me about all the fun he had on his fishing trip to Alaska, he got down to the real reason why he called.
"Brett, Grandma is in the hospital," he said of his 92-year-old mother. "It doesn't appear to be life-threatening, but you might want to call her. I know she would like that."
My Grandma has always been very special to me and I to her. I can't imagine not having her in my life even though she lives 1,200 miles away.
After getting the phone number of the hospital from my step-mother, I called my Grandma and we talked for several minutes. Not surprisingly, the call centered around me and my girls. She had no interest talking about her health.
"How are the girls, Bretty?" she said. Grandma is the only person that I would allow to call me "Bretty".
"They probably don't remember me. I loved when you guys would come over and have lunch with me. Be sure you tell them about me and that I love them."
"I do Granmda. All the time."
She moved out of the Los Angeles area a few years ago and I have only seen her once since at her 90th birthday party. I don't call or write her as much as I should, but she is always not far from my thoughts.
I wrote her a letter on my blog in January and I am posting it again for her. She deserves to hear how much she means to me as much as possible.
Dear Grandma,
It has been almost two years since I saw you and I can't tell you how much I miss you and our visits. I know I should call more often. I can tell you how busy I am teaching and coaching, or I can tell you how much time it takes to try and to do my best raising my little girls...but there really is no excuse. After all, a phone call takes just a few minutes to make.
I guess what I want you to know is how much you mean to me and how much I loved spending time with you and Grandpa. Over the years I have periodically been asked who my heroes are... with no reservation I have answered it has been and always will be you two. I can't imagine a greater pair of role models. You are everything I want to be in life, and everything I want to have in life.
Having been married and divorced twice, I can't tell you how much I envy you two and the relationship you had. I can't imagine being married for 60-plus years like you two were. I am not naive to think it was always easy, which only makes me respect this great accomplishment even more.
But more than just being able to make a marriage work for so long, your greatest accomplishment is in the kids you raised. A registered nurse, an aeronautical engineer, and a President of a bank. All have been incredibly successful in their careers, no doubt because of the pride in their work and desire to do everything to the best of their ability that you and Grandpa instilled in them.
Aside from what they have accomplished professionally, they have all remained close with each other and would do anything for you. What more can a parent ask for than that? You have truly been rewarded for your great work as a parent.
I often look back at the times we spent together. Spending the summer in Chicago and the summers you flew out here to Southern California were truly some of the greatest times of my life. Watching you walk off the plane every time you flew out here was a moment that I looked so forward to and one that I still relive today.
There are times when one of my daughters wants to climb into my lap when I am having a long day or just want a moment to myself. As soon as I start to push her away, I think of you and how you were always there for me to climb into your arms or rest my head in your lap as you ran your fingers through my hair. How can I turn down my daughters after remembering how you never turned me away?
I can't imagine how lonely you have been since Grandpa has passed. Please know that you have a grandson who thinks of you often and tells his children what a wonderful Grandma I have in you.
I promise you this year that I will do a better job of calling you on a regular basis. But even if I don't, I wrote this today because I wanted you to have this with you whenever you may be thinking, "How come my Brett hasn't called me in awhile?" I want you to read it so you can know that there is no one who can admire you more, respect you more, and simply love you more than I do. I also want you to know that I will always be YOUR Brett.
Your loving Grandson,
Brett
Grandma and her grandchildren
"Brett, Grandma is in the hospital," he said of his 92-year-old mother. "It doesn't appear to be life-threatening, but you might want to call her. I know she would like that."
My Grandma has always been very special to me and I to her. I can't imagine not having her in my life even though she lives 1,200 miles away.
After getting the phone number of the hospital from my step-mother, I called my Grandma and we talked for several minutes. Not surprisingly, the call centered around me and my girls. She had no interest talking about her health.
"How are the girls, Bretty?" she said. Grandma is the only person that I would allow to call me "Bretty".
"They probably don't remember me. I loved when you guys would come over and have lunch with me. Be sure you tell them about me and that I love them."
"I do Granmda. All the time."
She moved out of the Los Angeles area a few years ago and I have only seen her once since at her 90th birthday party. I don't call or write her as much as I should, but she is always not far from my thoughts.
I wrote her a letter on my blog in January and I am posting it again for her. She deserves to hear how much she means to me as much as possible.
Dear Grandma,
It has been almost two years since I saw you and I can't tell you how much I miss you and our visits. I know I should call more often. I can tell you how busy I am teaching and coaching, or I can tell you how much time it takes to try and to do my best raising my little girls...but there really is no excuse. After all, a phone call takes just a few minutes to make.
I guess what I want you to know is how much you mean to me and how much I loved spending time with you and Grandpa. Over the years I have periodically been asked who my heroes are... with no reservation I have answered it has been and always will be you two. I can't imagine a greater pair of role models. You are everything I want to be in life, and everything I want to have in life.
Having been married and divorced twice, I can't tell you how much I envy you two and the relationship you had. I can't imagine being married for 60-plus years like you two were. I am not naive to think it was always easy, which only makes me respect this great accomplishment even more.
But more than just being able to make a marriage work for so long, your greatest accomplishment is in the kids you raised. A registered nurse, an aeronautical engineer, and a President of a bank. All have been incredibly successful in their careers, no doubt because of the pride in their work and desire to do everything to the best of their ability that you and Grandpa instilled in them.
Aside from what they have accomplished professionally, they have all remained close with each other and would do anything for you. What more can a parent ask for than that? You have truly been rewarded for your great work as a parent.
I often look back at the times we spent together. Spending the summer in Chicago and the summers you flew out here to Southern California were truly some of the greatest times of my life. Watching you walk off the plane every time you flew out here was a moment that I looked so forward to and one that I still relive today.
There are times when one of my daughters wants to climb into my lap when I am having a long day or just want a moment to myself. As soon as I start to push her away, I think of you and how you were always there for me to climb into your arms or rest my head in your lap as you ran your fingers through my hair. How can I turn down my daughters after remembering how you never turned me away?
I can't imagine how lonely you have been since Grandpa has passed. Please know that you have a grandson who thinks of you often and tells his children what a wonderful Grandma I have in you.
I promise you this year that I will do a better job of calling you on a regular basis. But even if I don't, I wrote this today because I wanted you to have this with you whenever you may be thinking, "How come my Brett hasn't called me in awhile?" I want you to read it so you can know that there is no one who can admire you more, respect you more, and simply love you more than I do. I also want you to know that I will always be YOUR Brett.
Your loving Grandson,
Brett
Grandma and her grandchildren
Sunday, August 16, 2009
My girls and I started school this week. I started my fifteenth year as a high school teacher, Kern started sixth grade, Savannah is now in third, Shelby moved into first, and Alani is now officially in school with Kindergarten.
We are now represented in the high school, middle school, and elementary schools in our town. All of us were both excited about the start of school and sad to see our summer of lounging around the pool come to an end.
On Tuesday, I skipped my first period of class to take the three youngest to their first day on the new year. With four daughters, I am often baffled by the differences in personalities that they all posses. One might assume that growing up with the same parents and same environment, there would be more similarities in my children.
Savannah was a veteran of the whole process, Shelby was terrified and crying the whole time, and Alani was... Alani.
Alani could not be more different than the other three. She is fearless, independent, incredibly intelligent, possesses a sense of humor way beyond her years, and has battled and overcome an addiction of using a foul tongue she inherited from her father. Basically, Alani has no idea she is 5-years-old.
When her mother and I walked her into the Kindergarten class on Tuesday, we were surrounded by other munchkins clinging to their father or mother's leg. Alani simply looked around the room, took a few steps away from me, and quickly turned back toward me and looked up.
"You OK, baby?" I said.
"Yep. You guys can go now. I'll see you after school. OK, Dad."
What? She didn't want us to stick around until class actually started like all the parents? She might have been ready for us to leave, but I wasn't ready to go.
"Well babe, I think your Mom wants to wait here with you for awhile. It is your first day of real school and all."
"OK Dad, but I am going to walk around and check it out."
After 20 minutes of waiting to meet her teacher, I left Alani and she didn't seem all that concerned with my exit. She sat down at her desk, opened a book, and started to thumb through the pages.
With that, my youngest and last daughter to enter school was ready to get started. It didn't seem to matter to her that I wasn't all that ready for her to move on to the next stage in her life.
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