It’s Thursday.  It’s September 25th.  It’s the day after my (step) father’s birthday.  I received a text yesterday at 1:33 pm, that said, “Reminder, Dad’s Birthday, September 24th.”

So.  in honor of my step-dad, but REAL father, Jerry T. Dennis, here are some stories I remember about him, and a little bit of his history.

If you don’t know my dad, I compare him to SuperMan, and RoboCop.  He seriously will live through just about anything.  My dad is in a wheelchair from a car accident he had, as a result of heart attack while driving.  (They said it’s a wonder he lived.)  As a result of that accident, they had to rebuild the left side of his body.  His insurance didn’t cover it, so, he didn’t get his hip, or the metal things he needs in his leg.  About a year ago, he suffered a stroke, thus, losing most of the right side of his body.  The doctors said he would completely recover, but from his lack of motivation and depression, he did not do the excercises.  He used to tell me, “I buried my wife, and a daughter, I am alone and I’m old, I am a recovered alchoholic and drug addict,I will eat what I want and do what I want.”  My dad is stubborn as a mule. (He’s from Texas.) My dad also has small fits of dementia, probably brought on from diabetes, which can make life with him interesting. He also suffers from Hepatitis C.

My dad is funny in the fact that, with all of that going on, he knows his kids so well.  I called him yesterday to explain that I honestly thought his birthday was the 26th. To which he replied, “I know, you think that every year.”  Wow.  It’s amazing that my father is able to do that.

He is also the man who sat me down a year ago, when I started drinking again and Andrea left me and said, “Son, I don’t interfare with your life, and I let you make your own stupid decisions.  But, Andrea is the one for you.  I don’t know what you’ve done to screw this up, but I am sure you did something.  If you have any brains in you, you will straighten out and get that girl back.”

Before that, my father never once told me what he thought about any of my girlfriends.  He never once said anything about my decisions.  He simply told me he loved me regardless, and would support any decision I made.

I am starting to think my dad has always known whats best for me.  He has always known what I need to do to grow up.  My dad is…. My dad is…. I don’t have words.

When I was 10 years old, my mom got sick of my dad’s drunken stupers.  She told him if he did not quit drinking she was taking the kids and leaving.  That was a Saturday night.  The next day I woke up and my dad was gone.  We were certain that he had left us.  about 2:30 in the afternoon, my dad showed up with more life than ever.  He had all sorts of goodies he had gotten from a church.  He told us that he had quit drinking and accepted Jesus Christ into his life.  My dad has not had a drop of alcohol since. (15 years)  Looking back, that was probably my first experience with the Holy Ghost. If I only knew then.

One day, my mother and I got into a HUGE fight.  My dad grabbed me, took me to his jeep and started driving.  (Like he always did to break the tension.) In the middle of one of his long LOOOONG lectures, I inturrupted and said, “Dad, you’re an idiot.  Mom is cheating on you! She has been for a long time!  Why don’t you just leave.  She is using you! She doesn’t Love you!”

That’s when he looked at me and said something I will NEVER forget.

“Son” He always made sure I knew he considered me a son. “Son, The day I married your mother, I promised you, Adrienne, and God that I would never leave your side, I would never let you down, I would always be here for you.  I am not going to break that promise.  I love you son, that is why I am still here.”

wow.

My dad, now is weak.  My dad now needs someone to help him.  In all honesty I get annoyed.  When he calls I dread it.  I love hearing his voice, but I still kind of dread his long stories.  As he grows older, he makes a little less sense.  I can’t wait to hear the end of the conversation when he says, “I love you son.” Still reminding me that my father didn’t abandon me, just a guy with some sperm and a temper.

His ability to forgive and love unconditionally is a true example of Christ’s love.  And I guess my relationship with him sums up my relationship with God sometimes.  He is strong, has always known what’s best for me, and has always always loved me, unconditionally.  A lot of his suffering was so I didn’t have to. I dread to hear what God has to say, because I might not like it.  But I long for the end of the conversation when he says, “I love you son.”

Today I chose Yootthaphichai.  His friends and family call him “O”.  You can too.  He is 4 years old.  He is an errand runner for his family and in Kindergarten.  He has been waiting for over 6 months!  He needs us for his education to continue, and to eat a healthy meal daily.  Please, if you find it in your heart, click the picture below or click here.

To Sponsor any Child of your choice. Click Here!

Personal and Family Information:
In his home, O helps by running errands. He lives with his father and his mother. His father is sometimes employed as a farmer and his mother is sometimes employed as a farmer. There are 2 children in the family.

As part of Compassion’s ministry, O participates in church activities. He is also in kindergarten where his performance is average. Soccer, singing and walking are his favorite activities.

Your love and support will help O to receive the assistance he needs to develop his potential. Please pray for him.

God, please help us remember that you love the entire world the same.  Help us set aside our selfish wants, and remind us that there are people out there whom we are called to.  God, you are wonderful, and we are grateful for everything you have given us.  Help us use what we have to improve your kingdom.

Amen.

So, I get to the site today to choose a kid.  And the site is down for maintenance.  Go figure right?  Well, I am going to post one later today.  When it is back up and my work has slowed down.  Maybe on lunch?  BUT.  What can we do until then?  Well, you personally can keep checking here.  This link should take you to a list of kids who have been waiting for longer than six months.

Find it in your heart to sponsor, and if you do, comment here.  It’s not hard to find a reason.  Just look at some of those kids.  Now, remember, without your help, these kids will more than likely die.  It’s not “without us, these kids won’t get a new PSP.” or “Without us, these kids will more than likely end up in a gang.”  Without us, these kids will more than likely starve.

We can make a difference.  Do you want to make a difference?  Then click the link above.  You don’t have to comment here.  The option is always open though.

Looks like I have a lot more “family issues” than I care to admit.  I’ve been confronted with this issue recently, and it pains me.  It hurts like that voodoo guy in Indiana Jones has ripped out my heart while it is still beating.  That’s it.  I feel like I am watching my heart beat, knowing it’s not inside my body.

Growing up, my folks had addiction problems.  My older sister, Adrienne was very much a caretaker in teaching me how to be a caretaker.  She would tell me, “Sometimes Mommy and Daddy need to be alone, so that’s why we have to cook for them.”  She would tell me, “Mommy and Daddy are tired, we need to get them ready for school.”  She would tell me, “Mommy had to go to a clinic, she tried to kill herself, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t love us.”

That’s how I became Uncle Brother Andy.  I don’t know how much of their childhood my sister and brother remember, but I remember every single second.  I remember their first day of school.  I remember getting beat up on the bus, by the bully Evan Sheffield, because he tried to take my brother’s book bag.  That was the first time my lip ever bled.  I remember him beating me up the next day at school, because he was pushing my brother, and I stopped him.  That was the first black eye I ever had. I remember chasing him down in the woods while he was swarmed by bees, pulling his clothes off of him.  Carrying him inside, and throwing him in the shower, to get the bees off of him. I remember having too much back swing in baseball and hitting his face with a bat.  I remember him almost needing reconstructive surgery.  I remember feeling awful.  I was just trying to teach him how to hit a home run. (A feat I never accomplished)

I remember when he cut his knee, from ankle to knee, to the bone, and sitting in the emergency room with him all night, while my mom sat in the waiting room on the phone.  I remember gathering him, my sisters, and my dog up, when our house was on fire, and dragging them out of the house.  I remember running back in to wake up my parents.  I remember when he was really young, he wouldn’t take a bath unless I was in there with him, making him laugh. I remember stepping in between him and mom several times.  She NEVER laid a hand on him.  I have scars, physically and emotionally from protecting my brother.

I remember running in when my folks were fighting, and telling him, “It’s ok, Mommy and Daddy are just tired.”  I remember telling him, “Mommy had to go to a clinic, but she still loves us.” I remember getting him dressed for school, I remember helping him with homework, I remember teaching him how to play Nintendo, the computer, and how to pick locks. I remember teaching him how to tie his shoes.  I remember getting him his first three jobs, so he could work with someone he knows.  I remember painful things, I don’t think he would appreciate me putting online. I remember when he loved me.  I remember.  I remember like it was yesterday.

When I was an addict, you could say that I was not the “Big Brother” to look up to.  I was not the kind of person that anyone would respect, and frankly he was embarrassed to be related to me.  I would have been to.  When I sobered up, I moved in, and I tried to parent him again.  It’s hard not to.  To me, I helped raise him.  I was too hard on him, but it’s because I care.

I knew he didn’t like me.  I just found out that he will not speak to me.  He won’t come to my Father’s Birthday dinner if I’m there.  He said his life is better when I’m not around.  I wonder.  Can that be entirely true?  Would his life have been better if I had not interfered?  I don’t know what to say to him to make it better.  I don’t know if there is anything to say to make it better.

I can’t say anything else.  I am getting anxious remembering his childhood.  I am getting anxious thinking of how the future will be.  I am sad.  I love my brother.

Ten days before Andrea and I started speaking to one another, rather than just knowing one another was probably one of the toughest times of my life.  A little before the first of the year, I had decided that doping was not the way I wanted to spend my life.  So, I proceeded to lock myself in my room and sweat, shake, cry, vomit, scream, vomit some more, and just want to die in general.  On the 12th, I decided to go out to get a beer, to take the edge off.  (Ha)  I ended up running into some “friends” of mine.  One being my dealer, who was obviously really missing my daily financial contribution of about 150 bucks.  So, she decided that she would give me some “free dope”.  One rule.  There really is no such thing as free dope.  It’s just a ploy to get you hooked, either again, or for the first time.  But, I took it.

That night, a friend who had no where to live asked if she could crash at my house.  I didn’t mind, I had an extra room, so what the heck?  Right?  When we got to my house, she started wigging out.  I was saying goodbye to another friend, and as I spun around to see what her problem was, I see a 4 foot long Red Bull mirror being swung at my face.  I didn’t even have time to react.  It just hit me.  I stumbled backwords, feeling the blood running down my face.  I didn’t know if glass had caught my eye or what, so I just stumbled around.

I heard a scream, I opened my eyes, she had grabbed a broken piece of glass and had her sights set on me.  Next thing I knew, I had been stabbed in the stomach, and was being cut all over with this piece of glass.  The only thing going through my mind was my mom’s voice.  “I don’t care what happens. Never.  Ever.  EVER hit a woman.” I was trying to figure out what I could do without hitting this girl.

Finally, I was able to grab her arms. (by now, both hands had pieces of glass, covered in my blood.)  I spun her around, and she stumbled to the ground.  I immediately sat on her.  Holding her arms with my knees.  I sat there for about 20 minutes while she kicked and screamed.  Finally she fell asleep.

Looking back, I assume she was wigging out on dope.  At the time, I just thought someone wanted me dead. After she fell asleep, I got up, stumbled to my bed, still bleeding and laid down.   (It was about 3:00 am on January 13th. A friday)

That morning, I was being poked.  I woke up to see a sherrif hovering over my bed.  I immediatly realized that my room probably looked like a murder scene.  But that is not why he was there.  His mission for the day was to evict my family.  yay.  I helped move some of the breakables out. (The guys that move you out don’t pay much attention to fragile stickers.  I had learned this two evictions ago.) After an hour of helping, I had to get to work.  I got a ride in, and when I got there, my boss handed me my last check, and told me I couldn’t work there anymore, and I that I needed to get help.  wow.  I knew today was not going to be a good day.  I got a ride back to my [former] house.  I got my dad.  I loaded him, and his wheelchair and my brother up, took them to a pay by the night, extended stay hotel.  I paid for two weeks, and I left.

With the rest of my money I went out, bought a mass quantity of dope, and alcohol.  Thinking back, I don’t believe I had intended to live past that night.  I went into the bathroom at the bar and did the entire bag of dope.  I paid the bartender, and stumbled out the door.  I walked up highway 78 a couple of miles and stumbled into the woods.  Laid down, and went to sleep.  I don’t know how long I was “asleep” but something woke me up, and I had an urge to live.  I walked to a gas station, stole a beanie hat, walked around back, to an outdoor bathroom, locked the door, and curled up.  That is where I spend the rest of my night.  That is also where I spent the next few nights, without drugs.  Without anything but time to think.  That, to me, was rock bottom.

I went back to my dad’s hotel room.  He let me crash on the floor.  The day before my birthday I went out, just for beer.  Still sobering up.  And got arrested for driving under the influence. When I got out of jail, I got on my dad’s laptop, got online, and sure enough, the most beautiful woman on the face of the earth was online.  I chatted her.  She informed me that she was supposed to be at my surprise party, that was called off, because I was in jail.  We haven’t gone but a few days without talking since that day.  A few months after starting to talk to her, I accepted Jesus Christ into my heart.  My life has NEVER been the same.

I count my sober day as January 13th.  That was the last day I ever did drugs.  Ever.  It took me a while to realize alcohol was also a problem, but I realized it.  Thank God!

I look back at these days, and just can’t believe it.  Two days ago, Andrea and I were kind of freaking out about having to take money out of our savings.  OUR SAVINGS!  Praise God that we have a SAVINGS!  Two or three years ago that was non existent!  I am a completely different person and there is no one to thank for that but Jesus Christ!   Really, it’s….. it’s…… beyond words.

Thank You God!

I believe God pulled me