Devotion (Earth, Wind, and Fire)

At the age of twenty-two, I seemed awfully young but felt I lived enough for ten people. I had done enough damage that it was time to say goodbye to some vices in my life. These were big steps for me. I never thought I would do it. It went from bad, to worse, to straight up fuckery. My life had become a pattern of bad choices, bad people, and always peering over my shoulder. The true friends I had were gone. They couldn’t handle me or what had become of my life. Who needed Shakespeare in the Park when I would arrive? Now here I was, getting my crippled sea legs to walk on land again.

It was July of 2007 when this transformation occurred. They said drink as much coffee and smoke as many cigarettes as you want. I never smoked really, so I just loaded up on coffee. Hell, it was still better than the speed I had taken to lose weight. Sitting at the diner, I was slurping down another cup of coffee. I had just done a comedy spot and was crying because I was having trouble getting my rhythm onstage sober. Oh and everyone decided to remind me what an asshole I was when I drank. Far from the child my mother raised and lost, I bemoaned my life to a group of new friends. They knew Bill and Bob, friends of mine along the way. As they entertained my young and stupid, the song “Devotion” began playing. A drop top with an ethnically ambiguous couple drove by. The song was slow, smooth, and relaxing. It was serenity and peace, something you don’t know after your 8^th cup of coffee.

 “Isn’t that the Temptations?” I asked.

“No, it’s Earth, Wind, and Fire. Of course a young, white girl would get them confused.” The black queen said sipping his coffee. He eyed me up and down with a mix of curiosity and contempt. His voice was low and languid just like the music. He said his name was Lenox just like the Avenue. Lighting his cigarette, he puffed into the night. Adding to the smog that was New York in the summer, I could feel us all reaching an early grave. Our stupid choices hadn’t killed us, maybe all the second hand smoke would.

“They all wear similar outfits and have Afros. How the hell was I to know.” I replied.

To my pleasant surprise Lenox laughed. “This is very true. However, they would know how to do their lipstick and keep it in the lines.” Damn that hurt.

“Snappedy snap!” Someone yelled. It was a Puerto Rican kid who’s name I didn’t get and who disappeared after that night.

The whole table laughed now. “Maybe a more neutral shade is all I am saying.” Lenox said taking another puff of his cigarette. As a black queen, he fearlessly rocked pink. He styled hair and was obsessed with clothing. “However, I will forgive this. We could still possibly be friends. However, if you had confused the Supremes with the Vandellas, there would never be a chance, Child.”

Time went on and that summer scene became a mere memory. Things got worse as I really had to come to terms with who I was. Instead of being cool and tough like the potential girlfriend to The Marlboro Man, I was more or less a dork. I had no skills when it came to men. The fact I had left a man who hit me and made me give up my dreams also left me with some trust issues. It also left me doubting my talents as a ventriloquist and comedian. Of course there was the fact I was always on thin ice with my boss…..

Things got better. People began to see I was growing up and doors began to open. I saw I was a good puppeteer and could do shows for all ages easily. That it was okay to be sensitive, hell sometimes it is one of my best qualities. I am coy as hell when it comes to dudes, and sometimes they think it’s adorable. I also had friends who for the most part obeyed the law. So yeah.

Then things got real. Some of my friends didn’t leave the lifestyle. I saw them continue to be tornados in the paths of those they crossed, and continually screw up their own lives. The rest of us grew up as they stayed jogging in place. Then there were those who experienced the joys of homelessness and jail. Finally, there were those who the lifestyle claimed. Yes, I know people who have overdosed, been murdered, or have taken their own life. Oh and in between there I experienced money problems, career uncertainty, and things not happening on my clock.

However I refused to give up. My puppets became my children and my career my only lover. Through dedication and hardwork, I got on national television not once but several times with my kiddies. I began doing shows for all ages. People recognized me on the street or at gigs from being on TV. I wrote and published a book. As a writer I managed to get my work into places deemed hard to break into and cliquish. As a comedian, I began to do well in front of audiences I never dreamed would like me. I also started doing shows for children in hospitals with my puppets. My same boss who wanted to fire me most of the time years earlier gave me an amazing opportunity because of my writing. I went from looking like hell to selling my own calendar on my website. If I ran into the old April on the street, I probably wouldn’t know her. If I did recognize her, I would probably try to lose her like a welfare mother does her sixth kid that she gets care giver money for.

However, I ran into the old April in several different ways this week. Some of it has been people from my past popping up. Some desperately want to leave the life style but keep getting sucked in. I want to help them, but they don’t want to do what it takes to get out. There is a part of me that feels guilty for not being able to help them. However, I feel selfish because I was able to get out.

This week I also counseled a friend of mine trying to exit a toxic, abusive relationship. She’s got some wreckage in her life. Her best friend and roommate hates her currently. It’s not her fault. The relationship is like a drug. I was there for the both of them. My friend who was in it telling her it’s like a drug, and it’s going to be a while before she feels okay. Also telling her to keep ignoring her ex’s pleas to come back. And her bestie telling her that my bud’s conduct wasn’t personal. The relationship is like a drug. I was also able to tell them there was life afterwards and the answer was to chase your dreams. I know because that’s not only what rescued me, but it’s what pretty much kept me from killing myself.

Last night a comedian friend confided in me he stopped drinking after his life got too crazy. He was feeling good but riding the rollercoaster. I basically told him his comedy would only get better, I know mine did. What I also told my pal was he wouldn’t have to become entangled with crazy women anymore. Oh, and he wouldn’t have to be humiliated the way he was ever again. I encouraged my friend to write more. It would cure his sleeping problem and would keep him sane. I know it’s what helped me, kept me sane, and kept me from blowing my brains out.

Sometimes I beat myself up for not being exactly where I want to be. But I am where I am supposed to be and am doing just fine. If I continue to walk into the light I have a shot of getting there. I can also tell people hell is hot as a mutherfucker, I have been there. I can also tell them that they can get out, I know cause I did.

This morning I was messaged by a booker I worked with during my exit from that lifestyle. He told me he had been following me and how proud he was of all I was doing. That is when it hit me. If I didn’t take the journey I did and didn’t get out, none of what I am doing would even be remotely possible. These days, my big worry is my DVD taping at The Metropolitan Room. Liza Minelli and Joan Rivers perform there. I am sweating to make it all come together. As I headline theatres and chase my punchlines, I am only getting funnier.

My naysayser may call me names and my enemies may use this as ammo against me. Truth be told, for as dysfunctional as the old me was, she is always going to be a part of my fabric. I am not ashamed of her. If anything, I am proud. And haters, please tell me something I didnt know about myself. Those I know who are struggling to get out or lost to the lifestyle, my victories are not merely for myself but for them as well. Just like I want these things for myself, so would they.

In my mind’s eye, I see Lenox with his cigarette, puffing away. I don’t know what happened to him. Word on the street was he fell back into drugs and was homeless last time I heard. In my mind though, he is still robust, funny, and on point. As he ashes his cigarette in my flashback, he quips like he always did, “Fag, they call this that in England.”

Then I hear his deep laugh. The sound always gives me comfort. It is bright and clear as ever as spring is now trying to make an appearance. I say winter is like an ugly girl at a party who is just dampening the place and just won’t leave. Lenox somewhere agrees. He taught me Earth, Wind, and Fire were different from the Temptations. He taught me to keep my lipstick within the liner. As the sunlight hits my skin, I hear “Devotion” from an ambitious, open window. Someone with cabin fever is doing spring cleaning. They are throwing out the bad and keeping the good. It is a sign of growth. It is something we should all do at all times of our lives. It is something that I did once upon a time that changed everything.

 “Thru devotion, blessed are the children.”

Love

April

I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl

www.aprilbrucker.com

Come see me at the Metropolitan Room April 22nd at 7pm

Wrestling With Angels

Growing up I attended church. One Sunday I remember hearing the story of Jacob and the Angel. The story goes that Jacob wrestles this angel and gets pinned. In the tale the angel calls Jacob by name and they wrestle. It was a big deal apparently for someone to know your name in those days. Now it is easy with the internet. Anyway the angel pinned him and gave him a new name, Israel. The way I always understood the story was that the angel pinning Jacob was an allegory for the universe bitch slapping us from time to time back into reality. I am not terribly religious but have always enjoyed the symbolism.

This week has been a hard one. While things are starting to get better life has been kind of rough this month. It has been hot, so hot that my air conditioner is useless. Not to mention my audiobook was taking longer than I thought it would. As for the chip on my shoulder about being a female comedian, that has become a cinderblock. While I have been on TV a few times, I am by no means a household name. Sure, I am funnier than a lot of the guys performing, but this is a sexist business. The women at a certain level don’t help. It’s asinine that I pay for stage time because I am well past the open mic level, I have three fan pages and my followers max out. Some ass weed asked if I wanted to do a bringer. I asked if he owned a TV. My royalty check has been taking forever to get there and I hate having to chase people for money. Oh, and no one around me has been acting right.

Thursday I ended up doing a show at the Phoenix House. It is a therapeutic community, and in this case for young guys. Usually they are court mandated there. I do it with recoverycomic.com, headed by Keith Godwin. The guys range from ages 15-20, and for as young as they are have hit it pretty hard. For me, the trip is usually a mix of fun and emotional. Fun because I usually have a good time. But emotional because when I was a little older than they were I found myself at a bottom with food, diet pills, booze, an abusive relationship, and other bad decisions. I found it was either get my shit together and join the guys I was dating in jail. I found that it was either get my shit together or get another man like my ex who would eventually kill me. I found it was get my shit together or not live to see my twenty third birthday. I did and am grateful.

The show was a lot of fun and the guys were a riot. The dug May Wilson and myself. As a matter of fact, they informed me they had an extra bed in case we wanted to stay. I would have to say they were a good audience overall. They liked the comedy as well as the improv dudes. It gave them a chance to be a part of something. Of course they were on their best manners helping me with my suitcase because it had been forever and a day since they had seen a woman. I left one of my books with them for reading material. Not only so that they would get a chance to pass time, but to let them know they could do this too if they stopped going the way they were and turned it around.

That is when my boss called me and asked me if I could do a birthday cake show girl. I said sure. It was in Jamaica, Queens. Yeah, it was early but things have been slow and I need the money. The next morning I woke up. I got to the train and made the long trek. When I got to Queens I ended up in front of the place. It was a Health Center. The contact insisted on coming outside to get me. Glancing, I saw a group of men playing basketball and some women chilling. I was at a drug treatment center! What were the fucking odds?!?!? I took a deep breath. Maybe it was a mental hospital. Not that one is ever better than the other. I googled the place on my iphone. Drug treatment center. BINGO! What the hell was God/The Universe trying to tell me?

I was then met  by a guy who asked if I was mandated. I said no. A few minutes later a black butch woman came out and helped me with my suitcase and brought me to the contact. I think she had been hanging out and was a regular trouble maker. But she was my friend. In a place like that you need a friend like her. It’s because the men in there are all gnarly in one way or another, and as a white woman with all her teeth I would be fresh meat. Walking in to meet the contact I felt a walk down memory lane that wasn’t so pretty. Somehow, I got out of that part of my life alive. How I did not end up as a client in a facility like that is an act of God, period.

The telegram ended up going well, but it seemed like the eternal wait in the contact’s office. The people were cool, and a lot were staff. In places like that many of the staff are former addicts themselves. I felt fine after delivering the telegram, and the contact was kind enough to walk me out. What were the odds my ass would end up in two drug treatment centers within twenty four hours of each other?

Just as my shocked ass was riding the bus back I ran to my second stop. My boss called. Apparently I left my hat there. Oh shit, my show girl hat. Monday I go to get it back. Maybe there is still something I have to do there. Maybe it is the fact I still haven’t dumped that little bit of attitude I have been sporting as of late.

Today I passed on a telegram job to do a shoot. In an odd twist of fate my boss’s camera was stolen, the shoot was cancelled, and it was too late to do the telegram job. I talked to my boss at the TV station about what was going on with me after a ten second explosion on my host page. I ended up telling him. He told me perhaps it was the universe telling me I had to be a power of example.

I thought about it. Lately I have been bitching about being a female comedian. I asked myself what was more important, the cinderblock on my shoulder or making people laugh. Thursday night at the Phoenix House showed me making people laugh was more important, and not to let the bullshit stand in the way of what I loved to do. Yeah, the TV shoot was cancelled but there will be others. Yeah, I passed on the shoot but there will be others. But these days I have TV shoots, jobs I love, work for people who love me, and write books. None of that was true once upon a time. Maybe I am not where I want to be, but these days I have a legit shot at getting there.

These days I worry about when my next book talk is, if my sound engineers will finish my audiobook, if I will be on TV again. I worry when strangers don’t recognize me on the street. This shit is what is known as luxury problems. I remember when my roommates wanted to kick me out because my ex and I would get violent when we fought. Or worse yet, when I had to get a separate mailing address so he wouldn’t find me. Those are real problems. Actually, aside from my whining my life is good. I have some awesome things on the burner. Maybe I need to finish cleaning my bathroom now that I work enough to maintain my own apartment. And as I am bitching and yelling I hear some of my friends who lost their lives going down the wrong path yelling at me. I also think of my former friends still going down that path. I think of how they reach out to me from time to time with updates on how shitty the bottom is and how they just keep hitting it. I also think of how blessed I am to have gotten out.

I think the angel pins us all in different ways. I am not saying this to convert you, but life gives us the backhand when we need it from time to time.

Yes, the angel knows my name and I lost the wrestling match. Translated, the cinderblock is off my shoulder and I think I have been humbled.

Love

April

I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl

www.aprilbrucker.com 

Grateful

I have been in a rut the last few weeks. Granted, it has been sort of my own shit coupled with familial drama and cosigning my own shit. Not to mention Wednesday at work was real rough. Just some phone drama. Long story. Dont feel like talking about it. My boss is a great man though. Still just the usual BS.

Yesterday I reached a whole new low when I just wanted to walk into the freaking river and disappear. Not drown. That would involve death and a funeral is a pain in the ass to plan. I would just disappear into the sunset with a sign nailed to my door that read, "Dear Asshole, April has gone away never to return. If you want to find her, go fuck yourself."

As I just felt this hellacious depression akin to death set over me I found myself in a convo with my friend. This particular friend is a good soul who knew me when things were starting to get rough in my life. We fell out of touch cause that just happens sometimes and a lot happened in between. But the planets and stars aligned and our paths crossed once again. I mentioned something and then he ended up innocently pressing me for details and I ended up revealing a part of my life that he doesn't know about. Mind you he is a true friend and didnt judge me. But it just felt awkward.

That is where the shame set in. I still remember being POW skinny and a mess. With me tethered was a psychotic ex fiance who happened to be stalking me at the time. When we were together I was his punching bag. I remember the sunglasses and the coffee and how I just let that SOB run my life. I remember how he told me him or the puppets. I remember how I had to get a different mailing address. Oh and then my mom had his name on the refrigerator in case I disappeared. Then there was the promise he made that he would kill his mother to get her insurance policy. That way we could set up house. Yes, want to know more details? Want to know how he used to harass guys I was dating after we broke up and how my life became a nightmare? Didnt think so. And that is just the tip of the iceberg.

I have written and performed about that part of my life quite a bit. It still doesnt make it go away though. The walk down memory lane was weird. My buddy meant no harm. Again he didnt judge me. I was pointing the finger and calling myself names like I always do when this happens.

Then I realized I was out of that part of my life. It is the past. There is only two ways I could let it haunt me. Is if I have a nightmare, which happens from time to time when the ex is chasing me, or if I let history repeat itself. Some people do and others do not.

I remember turning twenty five and thinking my life was over. To me it was old. Actually I was surprised I lasted as long as I did. I had a meltdown on that birthday and then took charge of my own life. I started performing my own one woman shows and made some funky puppet videos with gay celebrities. I still remember Michael Musto greeting me in his pajamas. That summer I drafted my first novel. The following year saw me on TV with my puppet children, making more videos, broadcasting on the web world wide, and surprisingly recording music. Twenty seven saw a number one song online and the publication of my book. Not bad for an old woman.

So far twenty eight has been fruitful. My book is getting into stores. I am possibly doing a book talk at an Ivy League University. On top of that Mensa said my book was a must read. The audioversion of my book is nearly finished. While my voice will forever haunt Archie and Anthony, it is a project that has been worth doing.

My problems today are that a certain store has the online version instead of the online and the print version of my book. My problems are will my musical, one woman show, and screenplay be picked up? Will my crush who is employed like me back? Will my composer be able to tolerate the fact I am so dyslexic when it comes to reading music?

And then the crisis of faith at the career level? Where to go next? To act again seriously? To pursue the music thing? To write another book? To try to pursue the standup again? To webcast again?

Bottom line, these are luxury problems. I have come a long way from who I used to be and where I used to be. When in doubt I always have to remember these days I am present enough to be employed and that I am not a stinking shit mess of drama. My life is really good. It is my decision to influence how happy or miserable people and external forces make me. If I keep going in the right direction not only will I be where I want to go, but I have a fighting chance of going further.

Yes, I am grateful.


Love

April
I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl
Paperback available on Amazon and 877-Buy-Book
E-Book available on Kindle and Nook
Audiobook available on itunes and Audible this Spring
www.youtube.com/aprilthestarr
Portion of proceeds go to RAINN

Something I Can Never Have (Nine Inch Nails)

I recently had a friend of mine fall off track. Yes, as in no longer sober. As in abscond from his court appointed drug program. Actually abscond is a fancy word for took a detour on a twenty four hour pass and then go on the run missing court. Essentially fucking up. I don't know what hurts my heart worse. The fact he was doing so well for once and slipped and is now going to be a guest for Club Fed, or the fact I blew him off the last two times he wanted to hang out because I was busy with my life and my career.

This is a particular friend I love and care for. He was excited and proud of me when I published my book. I remember once we were chilling and I didnt know whether to mention my book to my other friends, cohorts from the wild phase of my life. My friend said to me, "You need to tell them about your book, April. These people know that if they get their shit together they can do cool things, too."

Things had been looking good for this friend too. He was talking about teaching dance again, because he had once toured with a national show. He was talking about going back to school. Then this all happened.

Some say jail might be a better place for him. The lack of freedom will make it hard for him to get in trouble. Maybe there will be twelve step or other drug rehabilitation resources. Maybe the time behind bars will help him.

But maybe not. Jails make people worse. And jails are terrible places for drug addicts. Not to mention my friend is gay and might be a target for other inmates.

I guess I miss my buddy and his texts. I also get sickened by what drugs do to people. I think of all the people I lost over the years as a result of their drug/alcohol abuse. I have known people who have overdosed, been murdered, or killed themselves because they couldnt take chasing the freaking dragon followed by the terrible lie. Drugs rip apart families and destroy lives.

The worst part is society just tells people to say no. Saying no is not enough because addiction is a disease. I don't think they should even send drug addicts to jail.

On the other hand, my buddy knew what he was doing when he absconded. It had nothing to do with me. It was his decision. He knew what was going to happen.

I want to visit him in jail before they move him to Club Fed, but I feel like a bitch cause I will get to go home and he won't. Either way, tonight I am putting together a package to get my book in another store. During that errand I will write a letter to my friend and let him know I still love him and care.

I will also keep him in my prayers and hope that God guides him the right way.

Love
April
I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl
877-Buy-Book, www.buybooksontheweb.com paperback
Ebook available on Kindle and Nook

Nephew of Sam

It was the summer of 2007. I was up and down, falling apart and being built back together. At the time I was making an attempt to stop drinking which would ultimately be successful as well as to kick the diet pills as well as the destructive eating habits. Most of the time I was tired. In between meltdowns I fought with my mother. While usually my best friend, she had become something of an adversary. I was twenty two, desperate to live my own life. She didn’t understand that I didn’t want to tell her who my friends were, what club I was performing at, and I didn’t want to wish her a goodnight over the computer.

At the same time I wasn’t acting like an adult. About a year earlier, I had been stalked by an ex-fiance of mine who wanted me dead. My mother had every reason to worry, after all, she had my ex’s name on her refrigerator in case I were to disappear. During this phase in my development I was dating ex-cons. Nice guys were scared away when they found out my an old lover was stalking me, shame on them. Especially when he would start harassing them online. However, cons weren’t scared of that sort of thing. Being crazy and messy like myself, they sort of welcomed the drama.

At the time, I was seeing an ex con by the name of Keith. I had met Keith in the neighborhood, and while we weren’t serious per se, we were friendly and he always was taking me out. Keith had escaped from prison at one point. Although recaptured, Keith was still a bad boy. My mother wasn’t thrilled about my choice in men and goaded me to dump him. Somehow though, I couldn’t. In between my ex-fiance and the damage there and wanting to live my own life, I didn’t want to listen to one word she said.

On this particular day, my mother and I had a terrible fight. It was one so horrible I hung up on her. I remember slamming down the phone, cutting her off coldly. Who was she to control me, or what I believed to be controlling. I believe I even told her I hated her. Looking back, the defiance was rather childish, but at the time I felt like an adult.

That day, I was at the diner with Keith when I met one of his old friends, Darryl. Keith had known Darryl during one of his many times when he had been a guest of the state. Darryl was on and off drugs, and he had gotten so bad at one point his dealer had apparently cut him off. He looked like someone who had been through the mill. His hair was brown and scraggly, combed over to hide the fact he was balding at the top. The shirt he wore was too big, probably torn off of a corpse somewhere. The shorts he wore were too tight, hot pants. When Keith asked Darryl where he found this fashion collision of hell he replied, “The lost and found of the flophouse I am staying in.”
We laughed, as Darryl revealed a mouth with missing teeth, probably from hitting the pipe a tinge too hard. The teeth in his mouth were black from decay, which would have been the nightmare of any dentist there was. Nonetheless, despite the fact his face was eaten by years of wear and tear from hard living, he seemed like an okay dude. 

We sat outside where Keith and Darryl could both smoke. Keith and Darryl both needed the nicotine seeing that they were trying to kick respective drug habits. While Keith was more successful, Darryl was struggling. Both men bitched about the law, the prison system, parole, and life following the law. Keith reminisced about the cat burglaries he committed, and Darryl regaled us with stories about the car radios he used to steal while living in the Bronx. I sat silent as the third wheel companion.

Finally, the subject of David Berkowitz came up. It was after some man, crazy as hell, came running down the block screaming about a dog giving him orders. “It is certainly hot enough that I could kill, dog speaking to me or not.” I said laughing.

“Actually, he was the minister once when I was in prison.” Darryl told me.

“What?” I asked.

“Yeah, he’s a serial killer turned minister. I never bother with serial killers. I steal, don’t kill. Too much blood.” Keith said as he took a puff from his cigarette. Despite the worn out look he had from years on the street, Keith had a machismo about him that was dead sexy.

“You guys knew Son of Sam?” I asked in disbelief.

Both men shook their heads. “Yeah, he was a good guy. After being imprisoned, he became a Born Again Christian. I became skeptical at first, but then I saw him preach and said, ‘I could get into this.’ So I started going to church whenever he was preaching in chapel. He was good to hear.”

“Wow.” I said, “Did you guys ever talk?”

“All the time. Once he told me I had anger issues.” Darryl replied.

Both Keith and I burst out laughing. “That’s like Robert Downey Junior telling you that you have a drug problem.” I said.

“Or Kate Moss telling you to eat.” Keith countered. We all laughed again.

“Yeah, he said that once I managed my anger I could manage my life.” Darryl told us.

“But he takes his orders from dogs.” Keith reminded Darryl. I shook my head in agreement.

“I know. I told him this and instead of fighting with me, he leveled. He said that he was doing a bunch of LSD, had a psychotic break, and that the dog talked to him and told him to kill. Really, the LSD opened the door because he couldn’t keep a lid on his anger.” Darryl said.

Keith and I sat silently for a minute. That was intense, heavy, and ultimately strange. “That was a memorable defense he had in court. Never had one like that.” Keith said.

Just then I looked down at my phone. My mom had called twice. I wasn’t talking. There was nothing to say. “Who called?” Darryl asked.

“My mom.” I said contemptuously. “She’s nagging me again.”

“Mom’s do that.” Keith said.

“Yeah, but she’s being a pain in the ass.” I growled and proceeded to tell them the story.

Instead of an agreeing audience, I got two people who stared at me as if I were speaking a foreign language. When I finished, Keith proceeded to tell me how hard being a parent was. While his eighteen year old son was not speaking to him at the moment, he said he missed his kid and was ashamed of getting arrested and being away. And he also told me he wondered if things would have been different if he had a mother that nagged him. Maybe he wouldn’t have started committing burglaries at ten years old. Then maybe he could be there for Keith Jr., instead of constantly worrying about whether or not his son was okay.

“My mother makes me so crazy I think I might start taking orders from dogs.” I said, still not convinced they understood.

That’s when Darryl decided to lay the proverbial smackdown. “You think you know everything and you want to live your own life don’t you? You think you can just hang up on your mother and it will be okay. Well let me tell you, after years of fucking up my family won’t speak to me. At least you have your family calling you to nag you. Stop being such a little brat and call your damn mother and apologize.”

“It’s late.” I whined.

“I’m sure she would love to hear from you, especially thank you and I’m sorry.” Darryl snapped. “And maybe I love you would be good. Your mother just doesn’t want to see you screw up your life. Shame on her for being a good person and caring about her child and who she hangs around with.”

I nodded. “Can I go around the corner?” I asked as I threw down five dollars.

Keith handed it back to me. “I got you.” He said.

I bid both men goodbye and then called my mother. To my pleasant surprise she was up. We ended up having a fifteen minute heart to heart conversation where I apologized and told her how grateful I was that she was my mom, but most importantly that I loved her. She told me she just wanted to know who I was with so I would be safe, and that’s all she wanted. What was best for me.

When I hung up the phone I realized in my quest to prove I could be my own person, I had made plenty of bad decisions. I had almost married a nightmare, and dated plenty more after. The best part was that while I was being my own person, guidance was only one dial away. Sure that guidance might not have always approved of my male company, but she supported me in anything I did. She was my mother and my best friend, and I was blessed to have her.

After that evening I never saw Darryl again. I heard through the grapevine that he had relapsed and was locked up again. Maybe he never got the whole living sober thing, or got the memo on how to live a so called successful life, but he taught me one of the most important lessons of my young adult life:

Your mother is always your mother. You may not agree with her on everything, but she always has your best interest in mind. Don’t treat her as an enemy.

Love

April