HUBRIS

I've long had the desire to pass on what limited wisdom I have to share. With babies on the back burner until I’m confident that I can both financially and psychologically handle one, I seek to espouse my vast life experience to anyone who’ll listen.

When I stand before a class of freshmen, all wide eyed and bushy tailed, and weave my tale of woe, it’s fascinating to watch. They look me over and ready themselves for another long winded talk about the dangers of whatever. They’ve heard it all before, seen movies, read books. About halfway through they perk up. I grab their attention and they’re glued to the end. I'm always sorry I don’t leave more time for questions.

The questions vary widely, from general inquiries about my age to ignorant questions about what kind of gun I used or if I ‘took care’ of the woman that ratted me out.  I know my message has fallen on deaf ears when a kid asks something like that.  Out of the whole crowd I'll entertain many, interest a few, and truly reach one. The one emails me or gets in touch through the blog to say I inspired them to seek help. It fuels my desire to publish my memoir and go global, or at least to Rhode Island.

But nothing is as humbling as a loved one you just can’t reach. When I finally got sober I entertained visions of converting my brother. I invited him to hear me speak at a meeting in the hopes he’d see where he was headed.

“Wow, you were bad.” He’d say.

“No worse than you.” I’d reply.

“I never stole from Dad.”

I left it alone. I stole to push Dad away, while he remained subserviant. What he couldn’t see was that we were serving the same master--self medicating to cope with the pain.

In the end we parted ways, seven years and counting since we’ve spoken.

So I adopted a surrogate brother, one who listened intently to the advice I doled out. He did more for me than I for him. He gave me faith that although change is optional--it’s not impossible.

But he stumbled along the way, got tripped up by transference. I recognized it for what it was but couldn’t get him to see the forest through the trees. I never imagined the cold, hard, whip of his anger would be turned on us. He left without saying a word.

But that is the punishment for my hubris. Another brother sacrificed on Anger’s Altar.