So here we sit at the end of another school year. Let’s face it; if you have a kid in school, they haven’t done anything worth getting up at 6am for in weeks. Neither have the teachers (from public observation; for all I know, they run meth empires in their spare time).

It’s easy to tell that everyone has officially checked out. Even the kids seem tired. Currently, my wife and I are sitting in a small auditorium that was obviously built about seventy-five years ago. The wooden folding seats and crown molding are a dead give away. George probably kissed Lorraine at the Fish Under The Sea Dance here, or whatever. Inconsequential details.

After six years, I’m beginning to feel like a real husband and father again after two decades of mental left turns. Sobriety had a lot to do with it, but the most important change occurred because I spent a few years diving deep into my own mental health. It’s something I ignored my entire life and, unfortunately, it’s too late to benefit my older biological and adopted children. I hope they can forgive me one day.

I’d been instructed at an early age to tone down my “special” or I was going to have to sit at the Special Ed table during lunch time. Such a horrible view of mental health challenges. It was 1979, and you were shunned if different. I picked who I wanted to be and learned how to be him. In hindsight, it was the wrong thing to do. It was a selfish thing on everyone’s part who had a hand in it from the school Principal on down to myself.

Looking back, certain family members, school “friends”, and coworkers took advantage of my gift/curse whenever their needs arose. Everyone gets a mulligan since modern technology was nothing but a stoner pipe-dream TED Talk in a world too primitive to comprehend. Maybe it was mutual abuse, and I was equally as crappy to everyone else.

In the end, if it makes everyone feel better, I’ll settle and let that be the end of it.

I can’t help but feel like I’ve been reincarnated as the person I was always meant to be. Luckily, my book catalog followed, but not much else. My wife, kids, and grandkids are all I really need. Maybe one or two friends if they can accept the transition. I mean, it’s not like I cut my wang off, started using a different bathroom, and changed my name to Charlene. I just accepted my artistic tendencies and drove forward. It would be nice if everyone else would do the same. I don’t need people in my life who have nothing better to do than feed me my own ‘Memba Berries.

If you’re one of those who fear “special”, then perhaps you should flaunt your’s more. After all, when everyone’s special, no one is. I learned that from watching The Incredibles.

On that note, all these kids are winning “the aspiring author” award. Authors are dicks, kiddos. Aspire to be a writer instead. That way, the business aspect of your chosen life could be a choice rather than a social media whoring gone rogue.

Preach truths, toke jokes, and shoplift Amazon.

My kid got honor roll and perfect attendance after a rather bumpy year. Today, I’ll celebrate him instead of some stranger’s book or cat video.

Contrary to popular belief, life exists outside of our phones. I realize this more and more the closer I get to the coffin. I can only hope it’s a mutual discovery among my fellow aliens.