Winter Is Over & Valuable Lessons Learned

Vaughn

Vaughn Hardacker here: It’s April, and I have survived another winter. The sun is shining (I sacrificed a goat to the Sun God/Goddess). Truthfully, from a weather perspective, this past winter was mild. We had very little snow through December and January, and the genuinely frigid air (the one thing Canada sends to us–possibly because there is no tariff) didn’t arrive until mid-February … about when my heating system croaked. We’ve had two consecutive mild winters (some people blame it on global warming … if so, I say: Bring it on! People who complain about it should spend a few normal winters up here in The County. Has anyone noticed that people who live in a particularly cold or impoverished place give it a name that makes it seem special?) Anyway, things are warming up, although we’ve had snow every night for the past week, and more is forecasted in two nights before this will post. It melts during daylight, but it seems as if Old Man Winter is saying: “Don’t get too excited. I ain’t done with you yet.” No big deal. Anyone who has lived in The County knows that winter ends in late April, followed by Mud Season (called May by residents who live south of us- which includes 99.99999% of the world population), and then we have two days of summer. I’m not complaining; after all is said and done, my wife of 35 years passed, and I was laid off from the high tech company I worked for (in the last nine years of my high tech carrier, I worked for seven different companies. So if any of your children are thinking of a career in high tech, give them this advice: “Why don’t you get a career where you will have a future? Maybe the wonderful world of fast foods.)  Many high-tech companies do not have a pension plan. They have stock options. When I worked for Nortel Networks, I told my closest friend that I would sell them as soon as my options matured. He thought I was insane. That spring, Nortel shares sold for over $100.00 a share He said, “When I retire, my stock will make me a millionaire. By the end of the year, Nortel stock was selling at $1.00. In conclusion, when I finally had enough of the rollercoaster ride, I left southern New Hampshire and returned to The County. My retirement? Social security.

Now that I’ve had my rant. I want to take a few minutes to thank everyone who has so generously donated to my Heating Fund. Some background. Some of you may be familiar with my background. I grew up in an alcoholic family. Our glass was never half-full; it was half-empty. Anyone who was, or appeared to be, better off than us was to be denigrated. The old I knew them when syndrome. In 19889, while living in the Chicago suburbs, my world crashed. My career was a joke, if that, and my family life was at a crossroads. My wife and daughter left and returned to Maine. After two weeks alone, I drove straight through to Caribou, intending to bring them back. I knocked on the door, and Connie (my wife) opened it. I smiled; she didn’t. “What are you doing here?” she asked, then slammed the door in my face. I turned around and drove back to Illinois. Upon return I knew that I was up to myu butt in alligators … and they were snapping. Somewhere during that twenty-three hour drive, I had an epiphany. I resolved that I needed help. Enter the most formidable woman I have ever known, a counselor. She listened to me for a few minutes and then asked some questions:

“Are you a drinker?”

“I like a beer now and then.”

“Define now and then.”

“I have a few drinks.”

“That’s not how many. Let’s get things on the table right now. You came to me for help. The only way I can help is if you give me honest, straight answers. Not evasive B.S. Are you a drinker?”

“Yes. How many depends on what I’m dealing with. On a good day, I have four or five beers. On a bad day I break out the bourbon and don’t stop until I can see light through the bottom.”

“What about anger?”

“Anger? I get angry, everyone does.”

“OKay, show me your happy face.”

I did.

“Now show me your angry face.”

I did.

“Show me the face you show to people you like.”

I did.

“Those you don’t like>

I did.

“That’s what I figured. You only have one face–anger.

“One last question. Do you set personal goals?”

“Yes.”

“Do you attain them?”

No answer.

She made some notes and then said two words that I had no idea what they meant. She said, “Adult Child.”

She must have hit a nerve because my answer was flippant: “Isn’t that an oxymoron?”

“Not really. Adult children believe that to get their alcoholic parent’s approval, they must go above and beyond. Therefore, they set goals for themselves that God couldn’t meet.

Then she gave me the bad news. “Adult children of alcohol addicted parents stop maturing the first time they drink alcohol, which is usually in their mid-teens. They only feel one emotion, anger. They distrust anyone who attempts to help or assist them. When asked a question about themselves, they either deflect it or lie. I’m not sure about which things you’ve told me are true and which aren’t. Do you isolate?”

By now, I was uncomfortable with the way this had gone. In the past, I had always been able to lead people down the rabbit hole of my choice. The petite brunette looked across the desk at me and said, “Let’s get this straight. If I am going to be able to help you, it will not be easy. I will advise you what I believe you need to do. YOU, not I must do the work. It won’t be easy; growing up physically is not your issue.” She tapped the side of her head. “Maturing here,” she touched her chest near the heart, “and here. That’s the bitch. Not everybody is looking at you when you enter a room. We have a word for that. We call in grandiosity. The world is not watching you, nor finding you lacking. Truth be known, there is more than one person in the room going through the same things. You are not all that unique.”

She gave me the information for a group called Adult Children of Alcoholics, a self-help group based on the principles of AA. I attended faithfully. Now I know why people look to me whenever there is a calamity or emergency situation. I can handle it. I am an adult child; I grew up in a chaotic environment. I’m so good at dealing with these situations that I get uneasy when there are none–so I create one…

I have been stand-offish for most of my adult (and I use that word carefully) life. People may think I feel I’m above everyone. However, the truth is I’m scared half out of my wits. I don’t know how to start a conversation with someone I haven’t known for a long time. However, if they approach me and I don’t seem receptive, it’s not because I’m stuck-up. It’s because I don’t know what to say!

When the boiler that heats my house and provides hot water broke, and I was given a quote of $14,000.00 to replace it, my knees went weak. My neighbor from across the street came over to lend us some space heaters (If you’re reading this, I owe you big time, Deb) and said, “I’ll start a gofundme for you.” I had no thought of doing that. After all, no one had helped me in the past, so why would they do so now? I am now almost 78 years old, and once again, I have learned a valuable lesson. I am an adult child, and we are shame-based people who do most things unassisted. The lesson I learned from this is that people will help as much as possible. However, before they can help, they must know you are in need. To date, we have raised enough to see the light at the end of this long, cold, dark tunnel. Rather than dwell on the why of my recent winter problems (cataract surgery et al.) I face the sky and say: I know, Lord, this too will pass. All I need to know is what lesson I should learn from this.

To everyone who assisted us in any way (I can’t ignore the simple things like prayers and people expressing their condolences). Finally, some of you readers have known me for a long time and have seen me when I’m suffering from an adult child syndrome we call Stinking Thinking. I want to say it’s not about you. It’s about me learning a lesson I’ve ignored for years if I have ever hurt or embarrassed you (especially a person whose initials are KF).

I’ve always said that my true friends tell me what I need to hear. Not what I want to hear. So it’s time for me to shut up and listen.

THANK YOU ALL!