The Last Ass Whooping

Growing up in a Pentecostal household, spare the rod, spoil the child was much like the eleventh commandment because my father believed strongly in it.   This was before the diagnoses of ADD and ADHD became the excuse for every child unable to pay attention or keep still.  Then, it was just a lack of discipline and would not be tolerated in the Dove household.  I was simply a child that didn’t know how to act, and that could easily be fixed by instilling discipline.  Over time I learned that if I didn’t want to receive a spanking, I would learned how to behave in public, bring home good grades, and “honor thy mother and father.”  It had been some years since I had received a spanking and I was now a senior in high school.  Days of causing trouble were behind me.  I was a straight A student and pretty responsible compared to many of my friends.  It was a matter of time before I would make a bad decision.  This would turn out to be the most memorable.

            Growing up in the trailer court the only things that seem to change from year to year was my age.  The days of the summer would begin the same.  It started off with either a bowl of Honey Nut Cheerios or Corn Pops at the kitchen table.  Some days Momma would surprise us making pancakes, eggs and bacon, but that didn’t happen too often.  Trying to cool a tin trailer during the midday in the summer was impossible, especially since we only had two small window units.  We learned quickly to cherish the days of the “big breakfast.”  After breakfast my brother and I would sneak and try to change the channel from Barney that my sister had been watching since she woke up.  That would always lead to the same result.  Mom would grow irritated from the bickering and yell, “You know what, y’all always messing with your sister!  Go find something to do outside and don’t bring your butts back in here until lunch!”  We would go and throw on some play clothes and disappear.  The Maryland heat and humidity were always unbearable but never seemed to bother us or the rest of the hard heads in the neighborhood.  Pretty much the same thing was done every day.  We would head over to Anthony’s house, two trailers down, and play a game of 21.  After a few games and more of our hoodlum friends out, there were too many to play in the driveway and not step in the oil spot that was left by Anthony’s father’s Pinto.  Our morning would transfer from basketball to football.  We would go through our ritual of picking teams by having a race to see who the king of the trailer court was.  I loved winning and getting the first pick.  The game would start off as tag, but always end up as a full-fledged tackle game.  Nobody wanted to go home for lunch, and it wasn’t until someone’s parents leaned out their front door and yelled for them that we’d take a break, and everyone would take that as a hint and head home.

            On this particular day, the famous lunch call was made.  My brother and I had started to make the walk home, and we noticed our mom coming around the corner in the “grocery getter.”  My dad had bought two identical Crown Victoria station wagons, one in steel grey and the other in tan with wood paneled sides.  They were the kind of cars that even though everyone knew it was my family coming; but I still ducked down to prevent being spotted.  It was a usual hot and humid day, and even though we lived right around the corner, the walk up the hill looked longer than what it actually was.  “Look at y’all all sweaty.  It’s too hot for y’all to be out here running around like that.  Come home and get some lunch and a glass of water.”  I was parched, but knowing that Pops was home, I ran the risk of getting trapped in the house for the rest of the day for going in and out of the house, even if it was the first time that day.  It was a better gamble staying outside drinking out of the water hose and waiting for mom to come home even if at the point of dying from heat stroke. 

That was the moment I thought it would be a genius idea to catch a ride on the hood of the car.  I began to jog and pace the car.  After about 30 meters I committed and jumped.  Crack!  That was the sickening sound of the windshield cracking under the weight of my landing on it.  What I didn’t take into consideration when timing my jump was that the car would still be in motion as I was in the air.  My heart collapsed at the sound of what I knew was something that wasn’t just going to go away or over easy with the ole man.  I felt even sicker as I looked through the spider-webbed windshield at my mom, who simply just shook her head at me because she too knew the outcome of this was not going to be a good one.  As she pulled off and I watch the car round the corner, the heckling began.  Brandon, one of my friends that had seen what happened, said, “You better call the cops now, man, cause Pops is going to kill you.”  My father was the neighborhood dad.  He had built a rep that he was not to be messed with by adults or kids.  I knew what was in store, and I didn’t need to hear it from anyone else.  I started to walk to the house with the, “I don’t give a crap” demeanor.  It was more of a defensive mechanism I used to fool myself that it wasn’t as bad as it was. 

That’s when I heard that unmistakable call.  “WILL-I-AM!”  Pops had a way of pronouncing my name, especially when he was upset.  He was that upset.  As I turned the corner I seen him standing on the porch, shirt off with a pair of cut off polyester jeans that he had had since before I was born.  It was at that moment that I understood why his nickname was Big James Dove.  He appeared to be slightly bigger at the moment.  I walked up and he didn’t say a word.  While walking up the steps toward the front door, I didn’t know if at that time if he was going to let it go as a mistake or if he was going to send me to an early grave.  It turned out to be the latter of the two.  As I was trying to squeeze by he asked, “Why do you always feel the need to show off in front of your little friends?” 

“Nobody was showing off” I replied.  That comment must have sparked something in him because at that moment he grabbed me, lifting me off my feet and throwing me through the front door into the kitchen against the freezer.  It probably shouldn’t have, but it caught me by surprise.  By time I had picked myself up from the floor, he was on me again.  Trying to push him away from me I yelled, “I’m not a man! Get off of me!”

 “You got that right!  You’re not a man, so stop acting like one in my house!” he responded as he dragged me into the living room.  Somehow I ended up kneeling in front of the couch with him sitting on my back and punching me in the back of the head.  I was helpless and counted this as the end. 

That’s when I felt a sharp pain across the back of my legs.  At the same time Pops jumped off me making a yelp that I never expected to come out of him.  I looked to see what had caused the pain in my legs.  It was my mom.  She had found one of my dad’s belts and had begun to swing it like a wild woman, hitting us both with the buckle end.  “You two are not going to be tearing up my house,” is what I can remember her saying.  My dad and I looked at her dumbfounded.  Here was this tiny woman only standing at 5’2”, 115 lbs. that rarely ever raised her voice was now beating two men that were much larger.  It was so surprising that we all looked at each other and laughed. 

So while receiving my last spanking, I would have never guessed it would have been from my mother.  It had been years since my brother and I had received numerous spankings alongside each other.  This time it was me and my father.  A lot had changed since the last one that took place sometime in middle school.  Not only had I grown physically, but I had also grown mentally.  The mistakes that I was making were ones that I knew were wrong.  It was at this point that I knew I had to mature and become more responsible.  The windshield would come out of my next paycheck and I realized I would be no longer treated as child.  Seeing my father holding his back, I also understood that even as a grown man, you are never to old get an ass whooping!

Dissecting President Obama's "A More Perfect Union"

           After avoiding making race a key issue in his campaign and choosing to concentrate solely on his political stance, Barack Obama was forced to respond to a controversy stemming from sermons given by his pastor, Reverend Jeremiah Wright, which could have ended his Presidential Campaign.  Having a successful campaign and the possibility of being the first African American President, the inevitable topic of race was being brought to the forefront by not only the general public but his running mates and the media.  In his speech, A More Perfect Union, he distance himself from the comments of Rev. Wright, but not the man who represented much more and used his own experiences to tell the story of both sides.  With this effort he showed that America could not move forward together until we recognized that racism was still a problem.

            Being biracial, President Obama had the advantage of seeing racism from both sides, piece them together and come up with what he seen as a misunderstanding.  He condemned the statements of Reverend Wright, but seen his “rant” as feelings and thoughts of a generation that still suffered from humiliation and doubt that has not gone away.  These feelings although not expressed openly as they were during the times of the Civil Rights Movement, were still topics of discussion amongst the community. This revealed that even though laws have been removed and added to create equality, the mindset of man still needed improvement.  Disowning Rev. Wright as a man would mean for him to disown his white grandmother who helped raise him for her fear of passing a black man on the street and because she used racial and ethnic stereotypes.  They both were a part of what made him and both citizens of the same country. 

These comparisons show the problems America is facing and how they are all linked together and affect us as a whole.  In his speech he declares that racial injustice cannot be ignored, and although discrimination was less overt than in the pass, it still must be dealt with immediately before us as a nation can move on.  Nevertheless time has passed, along with new laws; he shares that many of the disparities suffered by the African American community can be “directly traced to the inequalities passed from the earlier generation.”  Coming from inferior schools and the inability to buy property for commerce, join the unions or the police force, did not allow black families to become successful and “bequeath to future generations.”  This ties into how the white middle class family feels they are not as privileged by their race.  Many of them had worked hard for their position in society, only to lose it because of the recession and hearing that African American families are getting an advantage because of an injustice that happen years ago that they themselves never committed caused resentments build over time.

The title of the speech, A More Perfect Union, showed that President Obama viewed the Union that our forefathers had envisioned had to a certain degree come to past, but still had room to grow to create more equality.  This was a process and could never be solved, but the openness to change by future generations would put racism further behind us as a country.  This same change would allow us to move forward and make history by electing the first African American president.  President Obama ends his speech by using anaphora to almost the same effect as Dr. King by using the statement “This time.”  This gave the idea that yes the country had moved forward , but there is still room for growth.  There is still room for equality. We have come to another point in history where we must start again.  At this point in our Nation’s history, the perils we faced would affect all citizens regardless of race.  His fight for Presidency was not the cure for racism. It would not make all men equal, but illustrate the progress we have made.  We may never live in a perfect union, but generation after generation continues to show that it can be perfected and we could in fact have a more perfect union. 

How hard was it really?

Over the last 13 years I have been part of the finest organization on the planet. The United States Marine Corps.  Not one time did I ever seriously consider why or regret the fact that I had joined. From the beginning, it was a perfect fit. It was easy.  But at the same time I forgot about the most important organization, my family.  Now, 7 years from retirement, I'm without my family and the career that I neglected them for.

Now looking back over what has been an interesting career (if we can call it that) I notice that being the Marine was the easy part.  I could wake up at 0500 in the morning go for a 3-6 mile run, get the boys started on the daily tasks and manage a platoon of at times up to 70 Marines and million dollars of equipment.  Putting together a patrol order and briefing it was a breeze.  Going on patrol and engaging the enemy was fun and gave me a rush that I felt was needed.  Leaving home for a year and volunteering for assignments that I didn't have to, was a sense of duty.  But what I failed at was finishing up and the day and going home to be a Father and Husband.  After a day of work I need what I thought was time to myself which often led me to spending hours on the computer on different forums or in the recliner sleep waiting on dinner to be cooked by the wife, who was at the time a Marine also.  I became complacent and figured that because of my success at work, she would love me for it.  We had what I thought was everything.  The house, the cars, the dogs and the fenced in back yard.  Come to find out it's what she cared less about.  All this time I was thinking that being the successful Marine is what she wanted.  What she really wanted was a Father to the girls and "a rock" to her.  Someone that she could depend on when she had a bad day.  I had lost touch with what I wanted from the beginning.  I told myself that my family would come first and they were who I was putting on the back burner.  Just simple things like getting in the floor and playing with my girls, reading a book to them or sitting on the couch doing crossword puzzles with her where things that I let go. Instead I chose to work extra hours at the office or take what I thought was much needed time to myself.

Over the last 3 years, I have had time to put things into perspective and learn from my mistakes.  It's funny that what I neglected is what I need and want most now.  One thing that I was always told by my leaders in the Marine Corps is family should always come first because there will be one day that the Marine Corps will show you the door weather you do 4 years or 30 years and once you're done all that you will have left is family. Now I have neither.   I now look back and wonder how was it easy to excel in one of the most elite organizations on the planet and fail at what should be natural.

Starting over I have a new outlook on what should take priority.  With my new found sobriety I have made steps to becoming a better person, a better Father, and a better mate.  I refuse to believe that I will never have a family of my own again. Yes there should be a sense of pride in what you do for a living, but at the same time the most important things should come first.  I've have learned and mom-ma always told me that hind sight is always 20/20 and when it becomes fogged is when you have a problem because now you are failing to learn from past mistakes. You can not afford to lose those that have the potential to be there for you forever. 

Seems like I have been giving my all for everyone else to reap the benefits of the better you. I have put my heart out there for you to grab with no agreement. My trials seem to weigh heavy on the imaginary lines of acceptance. The picture on the wall is the perfect imagery to the outside world. My confliction is that the framed image is what you have been chasing. My tender lust for a better you is what I hold onto. Betrayal of the moments untold and unseen. The lies of thoughts not spoken or written. Temptation that chews and swallows faithfulness. Ones prediction of the best moments to be shared, but only with one who shares the same love. Now turns into the forbidden moments with your selfishness. As I pave the roads with blood, sweat, time and patience, the painted lines have not been started by your motivation or dedication. I am in the midst of staring down the shallow halls of compromise. As I see that your wants and needs shall forever remain your truth. My addiction to your physical and the admiration I have of your passion for life keeps me engaged in your world. As I tip toe around what’s most important to me, I forget about my afflictions. Will our moment ever come to satisfaction or am I just hoping for a conciliation. As my words go without agreement. As my actions go without compassion. As you turn away love with excuses……I still hold onto an arrangement. A truth to me but a fascination for you. Astime goes on I know that others will comprehend my sincerity. I ask that you grasp the meaning of True Love before deception encounters you. My prayers have always been with you. My prayers have always been with us. My prayers have always been with our family. My Prayers are now for Me.  


By: Phillip Spence Jr.

Asking for Help

Like all humans, we want to be proud of what we accomplish and things that we do in  our everyday lives.  In our relationships with our significant other, as a parent, or a friend.  When we destroyed our lives and relationships with our usage, we are no longer in a position to be trusted.  We tend to shut down and become afraid to ask for help and try to handle this problem on our own as we done in the pass.  The thing is that it's impossible because of all the harm that has been done.  We must learn new and appropriate behavior , without the help and support of professionals trained in dealing with alcohol and substance abuse.  Pride becomes a roadblock, an excuse your subconscious tells you in order to keep on drinking and using. 

Along with being too proud to ask for help, we may also fear being dependent on others for our care as we try and kick the habit.  No one likes to think of themselves as dependent on others.  We learn to face the fact that there's no way you can go through this alone.  Support is absolutely needed through counseling and guidance. During the course of our treatment, we learn new coping skills and techniques so that we will be able to steer clear of the drugs and alcohol that has so compromised  our lives.  

We will not be successful if we don't learn to lean on people who have gone through the same that we have.  If not we will find ourselves trying to fix something that we have no knowledge of.  Only making a mess of a messed up situation. 

Change

The hardest part of recovery is that it requires us to change.  We might be intrigued by the idea of recovery.  We might be inspired by stories about recovery.  We might be very well convienced of our need for recovery.  These and many other cognitive processes are relatively easy for us.  But the doing of recovery will be hard because we MUST change.  And change is difficult.  We are angry that we have to change.  We feel shame that we need to change.  And we are afraid that we will not be able to change.  We know that there will be moments when we find ourselves saying "I can't do it.  It's too difficult."
When to it comes to others around us, change can be difficulty in that aspect.  They expect the behavior from us that they have become use too.  Many are use to having to be in control or do for us and it's something that THEY must overcome and we cannot sacrifice our sobriety for anyone and at that time we may feel even lonelier thatn when we used.
Being a single father an the only "friends" that I had don't come around anymore. Many say it's out of respect because the only time we did hang out was when we were drinking.  I find myself alone a lot of times and I ask myself, is change worth the loneliness that I feel at times.  I look at how far through life I have come after I have left the Oaks and there is way more positive than negatives.  It started with honesty though.  With honesty comes the opening for change. This has caused a lot of hurt feelings by not going to my old places and hanging out with the old friends.  They don't understand why I can't go and not drink.  But I have to explain it to them so that they understand.  It's only then that SOME understand and are willing to let go.  Change is the most difficult and the most wonderful part of the recovery process for me.  It engages us in a major internal battle.  It is not comfortable battle.  But our capacity to change is the key.

What is Sobriety?

Abstinence, just not drinking is positive. Yes. But it is a sterile-non-activity. It doesn’t mobilize us to feel good or to support us but total abstinence is the only way. We need to put a new positive activity in place. We can learn to actively live sober. This is why NA, CA, and AA work. Positive activity.  It is the first drink which triggers, sooner or later, the compulsion to drink more until we’re in trouble again. We self sabotage our sobriety, plain and simple.  We must do what it takes to stay away from the 1^st drink or hit of whatever is capable of altering or minds.  An Addict is an Addict.
To me sobriety is a way of life.  Being able to live a better and more purposeful life.  By applying the principles of the program and allowing God (Higher Power) to direct me, has helped me move through challenges that I would have thought impossible before.  Sobriety is so much more than not using your drug of choice. Abstinence and sobriety are necessary. Both play an equal part on healthy and meaningful living. It gives us the ability to accept reality while affirming in your life both faith and meaning.