Coming Home

When I was seventeen I joined a cult.  Do I have your attention?  Yes?  Good.  I didn't join a cult, I joined the Order of DeMolay.  Why?  I was bored.  I had a car and no where to go.  I was in high school and while I wasn't unpopular, I had no real social life.  What I found was way more.  If you had told me in February 1993 that this would be a defining event in my life I would have told you that you were insane.  My senior year was ahead of me.  College was ahead of me.  Football was my whole life.  DeMolay was at that time an outlet, nothing less and nothing more.  I didn't know that in less than a year everything I thought I knew about life would change and that DeMolay would become the one thing that I would care the most about.  I learned so much about myself in this group.  I learned to harness my ambitions.  I learned to speak in public.  I learned to respect those different from me.  These are all great things.  I also learned how to be arrogant, a bit self absorbed, and to manipulate my peers.  I don't say this as a detraction of DeMolay.  If anything the sense of belonging it provided me simply amplified the other things.

The last few years have been the most exciting and the most trying of my life.  I have a beautiful and amazing wife.  I have a beautiful little boy who lights up my life.  I have been blessed more than I deserve.  Three years ago, I went back to my roots.  As wonderful as things have been, I was missing a part of myself.  Recently, I have started to feel whole again as old friendships have been renewed.  It's never been easy for me to admit that I need help.  Recently I was reminded of a simple truth...  nobody can help you if they don't know you need it.  In a round about way this is also a thank you note to Rick, John, Shawn, Mike and Brian.  You really are among the finest men I will ever know.

I would be remiss talking about DeMolay without mentioning a few really special people who mean(t) everything to me.  Fred K. Bauer, you had a heart of pure gold and a quiet dignity about you that I truly respected.  I miss you everyday.  Chris Sylvia, I was your wingman and deputy but you were my brother and friend and I hope someday we might find that common ground promised in the retirement song.  Paul Weston, all I can say to you is "Talk to me Goose." It doesn't matter if hours or years pass between our conversations it always feel like it's only been a few minutes.

Well, if you are still reading this then you obviously have as much time on your hands as I do and if that's the case then you have my sympathies.