The Conversation

Hey, so Natalie’s back. We picked her up at about noon yesterday. That’s a 27-hour long birth. Then she slept yesterday from noon to 7 p.m. It sucks being apart for so long—for her, what sucks is the sleep deprivation, and for me, I’d say it’s dealing with the total absence of any information. When is my wife getting home? Is she OK? How’s she holding up? Is she finding the time to eat, for example? I can’t ask her any of that. I can’t call her during these marathon births—she’s busy helping the birthing woman. So that’s the bad. The good stuff is, reunions. Once she woke up last night, she went off to do the home visit and then came back and we had a long conversation where we got each other up to speed on current events. You know, our World Cup picks, status of the renovation, activities with children and then, holy crap, the fallout of the big disclosure. 

So: My parents. Why did I wait so long to tell them what my book was about? At first it was because I didn’t want to be thinking about their reactions while I was writing it. I wrote the thing as a form of therapy, and for that exercise to work it had to be honest, and for it to be honest I had to put off the conversation with them. All right—that excuse is valid until say early this year, when I finished the writing. Once I finished the writing I meant to tell them. Gah. I especially meant to once we finalized the subtitle, once we decided on the cover art, once my editor drafted the catalogue copy, once Amazon and Indigo posted their listings of the book.

But can we stop this exercise for a second and consider how absurd was my task? To two people who consider their son a relatively stable, upstanding guy, a pretty good father, a loving husband—I had to break the news not only that I had had a drug problem, but that the drug was crack. That is pretty bad. I figured that’d be enough of a shock. One slightly mollify-able by the fact that I wasn’t doing the stuff anymore, that I quit the drinking and the drugs and the whole going out thing, that I might as well be a Minor Threat poster child, these days, I’m so boring and straight edge. But then, on top of that, I had to break the news to them THAT I’D WRITTEN A BOOK ABOUT IT. Having a drug problem is bad enough, in their estimate. But you don’t tell anyone about it. You certainly don’t go and write a book about it!

So then came the Globe thing. There were a lot of long pauses in the ensuing conversations, late that Saturday afternoon. My mom was first. I should have told you, I said, I intended on telling you, I’m sorry you found out through the Globe. Cocaine, Chris? she said. Where do you even get that? When did it happen? I told her the story in broad brush strokes and then told her they should read the book, which I'd send off on Monday. Which I did. They should get it today. That definitely foretells another cringe-inducing conversation. But for now, when it comes down to it, the heartbreaking thing was, how badly I’d misjudged my parents. There were three themes to their reaction: 

1. Anger that I didn’t tell them. But can you blame them? As my mom wrote in an email yesterday, “I guess when one's child did something so incredibly stupid as to risk his life and marriage and try a highly addicting dangerous drug that belongs on skid row and then write a book about it but not tell you about it until you read it in the paper with a million other people some anger may be understandable.”

2. Relief the problem is over. Are you sure you’re OK? Maybe you should go to AA or something. That must have been so hard for Natalie. Yep. It was. And we're still working through that.

3. We're proud of you. Whoa, wha? Yeah, that's unexpected. And boy, does that sting. My dad says, “It’s not how you start the race, it’s how you finish it.” They say they're proud I had the courage to stop the drugs. That's something I'm not ready for. The idea makes me uncomfortable, I suspect because I'm still dealing with the fact I allowed myself to have the problem in the first place. But anyway, my dad made a point of telling his golfing buddies he’s proud of me. That must have been hard. I wish I hadn't put him in the sort of position where he had to make that clear. I wish that was implied. Regardless, this isn't word service to something they think they have to say. It seems real.

In light of all this, I've been wondering, could I be as supportive of my kids as my parents have been to me? I’ve tried to think how I’d react if one of my kids put me in the situation I've placed my own parents. Would I be as supportive if my own kids got themselves addicted to a dangerous drug? But that doesn’t accurately convey the situation. They'd have to do something I found totally tough to understand—maybe something like the Alex P. Keaton scenario, but even more so—they'd have to become born-again Christians in a fundamentalist church that hates homosexuals and believes women are subservient to men. That would be kind of analogous. And would I still be able to love them, to tell them I’m proud of them? I think so. Sure I would. But it would be tough. And if that ever happened, I hope that I would conduct myself with the grace and strength of character with which my parents have conducted themselves, through the whole course of this absurd and bound-to-be-painful situation. (Top photo is by Myron F. Shulgan. Below is a pic from our trip to Toy Story 3.)

Comments

[Jessica Tregaskiss]

I love this picture!

[Leslie Nadon]

Hi Christopher.I luv the pics. Your son must be a superson! You are a truly amazing and inspirational person. I am anxious to read your newest book. I loaned my "Soviet Ambassador" to a brother-in-law who wasn't interested till he read my story in Windsor Life Magazine about you and your book. Now, I can't get it back from him. Everybody reads the article and then wants to read the book. Every time I track it down, its "Wait, wait, I haven't finished it yet." I can hardly wait to do a review on your newest book! You may not realize it yet Chris, but none of us is perfect. WE ALL MAKE MISTAKES! The main thing is to learn from them. And you have learned and because of that, you will be a positive influence on everyone you meet. Like a stone in the water, your actions will spread and just as I hope to help parents and families who are dealing with cystic fibrosis or any other chronic illness with my book about Denise, Dale and Mike, you too have that strong underlying strength that comes from a great family and a great high school. Go, Riverside! You are a winner Chris and do not for a minute think that you aren't. I am even prouder for knowing you. I know Mike would be too. Wish I could give you a great big hug and tell you personally, "It's ok, Chris. You are doing a great job." PS, I have over a dozen copies of Windsor Life for you here and I am anxious to review "SUPERDAD"!!!!! Blessings and best wishes, Leslie Nadon