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“No matter how many copies it sells, no matter how bad the reviews are, writing this book is going to change your life.” Those were the words my writing coach, Dr. Shirley Garrett, uttered to me last April. At the time I didn’t think much of them. Now  as I sit here on this first Sunday of October, with the fall foliage in full swing, I am haunted by her prophecy. I have never been comfortable being a cliché or fitting into a category, but if there is such a thing as “mid-life crisis” I am experiencing it. I have spent the last five months walking around completely confused as to my sense of purpose, or just ignoring it. What used to be a keen focus and an ability to compartmentalize has slipped through the gap that separates my middle left finger and pinky. I am lost, possibly clear on what I want to accomplish yet limp when it comes to execution. For the first time I go back to Dr. Garrett’s words and wonder what is the connection to my cloudiness  and  publishing a book? “You Can’t Do both” was released May 1, 2014. A little over 500 hard copies of the book have been sold to this point and another 400 on Amazon. It’s certainly not threatening the New York Times’ best seller list. It hasn’t been any kind of life-altering whirlwind, yet Dr. Garrett was exactly right, my life as I knew it is upside down. What changed? And what does any of it have to do with the book? Where  am I headed? The publishers of the book insisted that I get myself on Facebook. I had proclaimed many times that I would never be found on that type of social media. My propensity of running from my past, the fear of rekindling any old spark, and a narcissistic  need to be mysterious kept me from any reconnections. On May 15, 2014 I joined the world of “here is my business and welcome to it.” All the years of hiding, avoiding, and being an enigma were over. I was now conversing, sharing, and catching up with high school classmates, college classmates , frat brothers and former students I had taught back in the 1980’s. To my surprise, I was very much like everyone else. I was a kid in a candy store, asking myself why I had waited so long to open this door. I think I have always walked that fine line between self pride and insecurity. I have reasoned that my insecurities prevented me from sharing portions of my life. But writing a book and jumping on Facebook was an indication to myself that I had reached a level of comfort in regard to who I had become. Writing a book  made me realize I want to write. It is strictly an inner need that I believe has always been inside me. When it comes to  my writings I have one goal: to publish a second book. It is hard and tedious work.  It’s ironic because the guy who thought he was happiest with nothing left to accomplish, now pushes everyday for results. As much as I desire to pursue my passion for writing, of late,  I have found myself floundering with a complete  lack of focus. I feel like I have finished something and am resting in an intellectual abyss. Since ‘You Can’t do Both’ was released in May, there are specific things I can point to that have changed for me. For the first time since I was 18, I have allowed myself to head down the road towards home. I have spent my life  determined to not look back, to only see what is ahead. While writing the book I was forced into my past. I realize most of my current angst relates to that. I have revisited and reconnected to people and places that I have hidden from for the last 35 years.  People like my childhood friend Todd Krieg,  my college roommate Steve Digregorio,  my college basketball teammate Chris Kahn, ex students Carol Haywood and Scott Hughes,  and my brother Gary. I went home to Muhlenberg, to New Paltz, to Allentown, to the old yearbooks and newspaper clippings. I got back some of the things I lost and it has brought me great joy. I have discovered things that I missed, opportunities squandered, and it has caused me pain. Writing an introspective book and traveling backwards has  brought me to the proverbial fork in the road .  Timing is everything in life and recently the trail I have been riding on has ended and I am standing still. For five months I have been “on the go” yet my personal growth is stagnant.   I have processed much about my past, along with consideration for my current situation in life. Although little is  clear I feel the change coming on like never before. I am not sure if it all has to do with the book, but Dr. Garrett was right on.  My life is  in major transition. Since  May, I could describe the last five months as my research. How do I want to spend the next 30 years?  What people do I want to spend my time with?  Where do I want to spend it? What do I want to accomplish? I don’t have  the answers but I do know it is time for me to start searching for them.

Last Friday, October 11th I had the Pleasure of being a guest at Woodland Ponds in New Paltz. I was invited by Author Garnette Arledge who hosts her weekly series of contemporary artists. We had a great time, it was well attended. We rediscovered some old friends and made some new ones. Here is a clip of one of the readings.

My daughters were not the only ones who were displeased with some of the  specific content of “You Can’t do Both”. One particular chapter drew more ire than I would have liked or could have anticipated . The story (The Junk Man) was about a local family, who, over three generations have garnered wealth by being successful in the recycling business. Later in my life I became friendly with the family patriarch “George Sanford”. We formed a unique bond that was something in between father-son and brothers. Or as I use to kid George old man to older man.

As time passed, and  George and I shared many  meals and even more libations, our wives (Laura and Donna) also became friendly. ( They claim bumping into each other looking for us). On top of that, George ‘s son, Nick and I went from being very casual acquaintances to good friends. Over time I learned that George and Laura had lost a child to a rare disease at the age of 27.  Just  prior to George passing due to complications surrounding cancer I had started to write the first few chapters of “You Can’t Do Both ( George knew nothing about it). My book was turning into a story about families, the pangs of growing up,  parenting , and plenty of emphasis on father-son relationships including my own. It was shortly after George’s funeral that I decided there was a story I wanted to tell regarding George and the Sanford’s family.

I saw in the Sanford’s family all of the elements I was writing about at the time: coming of age, wealth, ambition, loss, addiction, marriage, love, and mostly father son relationships. Admittedly so, I wrote the story having known George for only seven of his 72 years. I wrote it relying primarily on interviews with Laura and George’s friend since childhood Judge Finley. Purposefully, and quite possibly not correctly,  I wrote it with zero input from Nick.  It was clear before I wrote any words that nothing would be published without Laura’s approval. That was a hand shake deal between two friends. The names were changed at the bequest of Laura and to protect myself against any inaccuracies. To confuse my critics some of inaccuracies were purposeful.

In the end my finished story was turned into a painful tale that many felt shouldn’t have been told. When it was complete I asked myself, “What is this story about  and how does  it fit into the rest of the book?” I have the same answer today as I did then. 1. It is about a close family trying to live life after losing a child and sibling. 2. It is about a man who loved his family and his business with equal passion. 3. It is about a father and son who loved each other as intensely as any father and son could yet struggled to find common ground. 4. It is about an intelligent young man who had all the material things you could ever want in life but battled addiction and finding his place. 5. It is about a mother who dealt with her loss by assuring herself she would never let herself feel that kind of pain again.

The day the hard copies of my book came to my office I called Nick and asked him come see me. I made an unrealistic request to Nick to read the whole book and gain some context before he reacted. Nick left my office with book in hand. Within ten minutes Nick returned to my office. “Your book is way off. I thought you were my friend. You can go fuck yourself.”  I understood why Nick said what he said and wanted to ponder my own intentions. Not totally surprised it was the first shot of a barrage of people who wanted to know who I thought I was to write this. Some of the heat I found very credible, some not so much so.” How well did you know the Sanford’s?”” It wasn’t necessary to talk about Nick’s problems.” “All your other writings have been positive and non-judgmental this story you were nasty and sanctimonious.” “George would have hated this story. George was never disappointed in Nick.” ” Who do you think you are?”How many times did you have dinner at the Sanford’s house?” ” You should have talked to Nick before publishing and not after.

As I look back I do have regret in regards to this story. There is more than just an inkling of credibility to what is said above. As I tediously reread a story I have  read 1,000 times, I do hear a tinge of the mean and judgmental voice that I call out others for displaying. With a do over I would have talked to Nick first – not after. I would have been more sympathetic to Nick’s struggle’s, the same ones I myself continue to fight.  I stand behind the message of this story, however I do wished I had let Nick know about the story before it was published.

I have not seen Nick since that day in May when he told me to go fuck myself. At the time I told him I understood and that I wanted to write a story about someone who turned their life around  and that it is never too late. I told him that in a few years I would write it about him. I have heard that he is turning his life around. He is recently married and sincerely  fighting his demons harder than ever before.  Most importantly I heard his relationship with his mother is stronger than ever. If it means anything, that offer I made that day in my office is always out there.

It was early in the morning when May had just turned to June. One of my assistants knocked on my door, “Todd is on the phone.” The person on the other line had never called my office before. His last name was never mentioned and none of my employees had ever met him; yet, everyone knew why he was calling. In the short moment I had , I searched for an appropriate greeting. “You’re not going to sue me, are you?” was what I delivered. “I don’t know, I haven’t read  the book yet.” We both had a good laugh.   It was the answer I should have expected from my old friend, Todd Krieg.

What do you say to your best friend from childhood whom you have not spoken with in over 15 years? I was hoping he read the chapter in the book , I was hoping it made him feel good about our coming of age relationship, and I was hoping that maybe we could move forward being in each other’s lives again. ” I did hear all about your book. Congratulations.  I heard it was really good.” I couldn’t let him finish, “I sent you a copy a few weeks ago, have you read it?”

“No I’m in Florida and won’t be returning home (Milwaukee) for another week. I promise to read it as soon as I get back.” With those brief words and some informal, small pleasantries, my highly anticipated reunion with my old buddy was over that quickly.

The story of my childhood best friend was a lot easier to write than I like to pretend. It was relationship I had agonized over more than any other in my life. On some level, I’ve known what I wanted to say for the last 30 years. I always knew the story would begin with Todd and myself meeting on the Campus School little league field at second base. Although our memories together get foggy, the way it read was exactly how I remember it and that’s all that really ever matters. Our close knit bond unofficially ended in September of 1984 . It was in the early summer of that year that I flew back from Milwaukee (after Todd got married) and knew I had left a big part of me behind.

In the 30 years that  have passed since then, my old friend and I had spoken maybe three or four times.  Our brief conversation that June morning was pleasant, brief, but somewhat awkward. After it  was over I was left to wait a few more weeks to see how Todd was going to react to my mea culpa to him in print for all the world to read. I was very nervous. My mind went back and forth between two extremes. “I don’t know Rich, it is O.K., but I’m not so sure you got the story right and I’m not so sure our friendship in adolescence was all that.” Or quite possibly, ” Amazing Rich, brilliant job. You captured it perfectly and it moved me to tears. Thank you for the tribute.”

Of course I got neither reaction. Spring had just turned to Summer and I noticed I had an e-mail from Todd. Like the kid waiting to open that last  present on Christmas morning  my heart skipped a beat. I was excited but also ready to be disappointed. After I opened and read the e-mail, I sat motionless, staring into my computer. It was the Todd I had loved as a boy. In very few words Todd was practical, to the point , and sent a subtle message. “Bravo and Congratulations! I started the book Saturday morning and could not put it down until I read it all! Although our friendship may have faded during the middle holes of life, after a strong start, my philosophy in life is that the back nine holds tremendous promise and I am willing to double down.'” Nothing specific, nothing about his chapter, but I heard him loud and clear; ‘I love you too Rich, and I forgive you.”

There have only been two people in my life whom I have ever given consideration over myself. My daughters, Laura and Mary Kate, are the only masters I have served. This notion was put to the test as I was writing “You Can’t do Both”. Periodically throughout the two year process of writing a rough draft of the book my two girls would sneak a peek into Dad’s new hobby. “If you ever publish this crap I will really be pissed. I will never speak to you again if you keep the stuff (lies) about me in there. I don’t care because I will never read one word of that shit anyway.” Verbatim, those were three separate individual quotes I heard from my bosses. It was clear to me they were not tongue and cheek remarks, but rather, not to be taken lightly, hostile threats ready to be executed.

Loving my girls as I do, I took a hard and serious look at what I had written to measure the merit of their protests. After doing so I went as far as to make direct concrete changes and deletions to the transcript before the pre editors viewed it. I was trapped in a dilemma- was there validity to their concerns or was it just teenage anxiety? After making some adjustments I decided not to give the dynamic duo another look at my prose. I sent my rough drafts to the publishers and awaited the hard copy book and the response from my two girls. In typical Mary Kate-fashion she declared she could care less about the stupid book because not only was she not going to read a word of it, neither was anyone else. That left Laura, a girl with a kind heart and sense of fair play well beyond her 18 years. She did read the final version (probably only the dialogue pertaining to her) and afterwards laid down a decree, “I am not speaking to you for awhile and if someday you would like to return to speaking terms, do not ever mention the book in my presence.”

That declaration was made in May, and while myself and Laura are communicating, I am living with her law and have avoided uttering a word around her in reference to my career as an author. These last few weeks Laura has been on my mind with a heaviness I have never experienced. My baby girl who always had one foot into her next adventure, and a presence of worldliness that made her father so proud started her new life as a freshman at Florida State University. As much as I always knew Laura was never long for a world that was anywhere near Kingston, New York I am still confounded at the rack of emotions that her departure has caused for me. Through my tears and reflections I have given much thought of trying to understand the pain that the words in my book caused her. In comparing my upbringing to the way I have brought up my girls Laura felt I portrayed her unreasonably as a pretentious overindulged shallow beauty queen. She was upset that I not only embellished the story but completely fabricated some of the references to her and MK. I attributed the statement, “Pot roast is the poor man’s steak” to Laura, when in actuality it was me who said it. That is just one example of a few that gave Laura justification in her anger and lack of support. To add fuel to the burning book fire, some of the fears she had regarding the way she was depicted came to attrition. “Wow Laura, your dad really trashed you in his book.” and “Hey Laura, Paris Hilton can play you in the movie!” were some of the comments she heard in the hallways at school.

While I am sorry that Laura feels as she does, and truly believe she will feel differently someday, I do not regret the means I used to get a message across. I am fearful my kids had too much too fast. I do wish they could stay in the moment and not concern themselves so much with what is next. I worry they will not live the lifestyle that they have become used to. While I want their lives to be easy and carefree, I’d like them to understand the true test of a person’s character isn’t determined until they take a hard punch to the gut. I wrote my story about the Generation Gap over two years ago and in that passing time Laura has developed into a more grounded young lady than her own dad could have ever imagined. Flying with Laura to college I look out the window and into the clouds. I could see myself that August day way back in 1978, alone, driving a 1969 Ford convertible to Allentown, Pennsylvania. That was the boy fighting back tears, heading to Muhlenberg College. He didn’t know a single person there and was leaving his comfortable life behind. I could only shake my head as I gazed at Laura. I saw my girl at 18 so far ahead of the confused and angry 18-year-old that her dad once was. That Sunday evening in her new room in Tallahassee, Florida, it had gotten to be the dreaded time to say good-bye. I unsuccessfully fought back the flood of tears that I had predicted to myself would not flow. As a puddle of salty water formulated into the hands that covered my face, I could feel my knees growing weak. I had to make my way to her bed to be seated. My beautiful daughter, who I have the audacity to worry so much about, wrapped her arms around me. ” It’s going to be fine Dad, I love you. I promise everything is going to be alright.”