Joe Frasier, State Department, Farsi, and more!

 

We lost a great fighter, and man today.   “Smokin Joe” Frazier died after a short battle with cancer.  I suppose the kindness is in the fact that he didn’t suffer as long as so many do, but it just really stinks seeing your childhood hero’s pass away.

It reminds us of our own mortality I suppose, not that I need any more reminders of late. But it brings back the excitement of the times when Joe stepped into the ring with Ali. His left hook sent Ali to the mat for the first time in his career, and the picture of Joe walking away from a STUNNED Ali gave hope to every underdog, that by practice, determination, and an unstoppable will to win can make you a contender, perhaps a winner.

Joe only won 1 of the 3 bouts, but the final one, the “Thriller in Manila”, was described by both fighters as their closest experience to death.  Joe could not see out of his battered, closed eyes, and his manager had to hold him back from answering the bell.  Ali had not even risen from his stool in the ring yet, as he too was trying to decide if he could go another round with this man that just would not fall.

Next:

I have my next telephone interview with the State Department tomorrow.  I am equally as scared as I am excited.  But the idea of  yet another adventure in life is so very tempting.  Meanwhile, I am trying to learn the Arabic dialect/language of Farsi, which is spoken in the area where I hope to serve.

My last conversation with my Mother concluded with her writing an email telling me she was writing me out of the will.  LOL.  After she sold all the things my Father wanted me to have at auction, and then put the college funds with my ex’s in charge of them after her death, I had come to the “give a shit” frame of mind long ago.

One of the early lessons of sobriety is that not everyone will forgive you, nor be willing to see you as the person you are, rather than the person you were.   I am just the first case I have heard of where their Mother took such a stand.

My therapist concludes that it must be that I was adopted as an infant, and that perhaps the strong maternal bond was never made.   Perhaps I didn’t burp correctly.

The other lesson from sobriety in this regard is, that it is our responsibility to make any and all amends for our actions, regardless of the part the others involved.   I have done so with my Mother, and she gave great lip service to my amends.

The third, and final lesson from sobriety that I will share with you, is that as recovered alcoholics that have cleaned up our own side of the street, “we will crawl before no man”, and I will not.

I wish her peace.  Such resentment robs us of the time we have to enjoy life.   And that time goes so very quickly.  But that is her journey, not mine.   Either she will find it, or she will not, but ultimately, its none of my business.

Enough for today, but much to share, so stay tuned.

 

Mark

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