Crushed Cans

The hind of his heavy-duty, well-worn work boots swiftly crushed the can of bud light he so carefully placed on the ground. It sounded like a lays bag being crumbled. From the way in which each corner was decorated with crushed cans, I could tell he got a kick out of both drinking and destroying his stress-reliever. What he didn't get a kick out of was, "kicking carpet". On the job, he was focused and fueled to get the job done, yet his mind always seemed adrift. Focused and adrift. What planted this paradox in his character? I watched him intently, wondering what he was trying to drink away. The shush-crack-pop of a can in his hands caught my attention as he opened yet another bud light. It was calming, the coo of the can.

Installing carpets was his daily do and apparently drinking alcohol too. Yet, who was I to judge? Beer also helped me to lift those weights of life that I could barely bear. I was bare-faced in my judgment only because his pain wore no clothing. His pain was apparent and nude from his life being stripped of pleasure. It was wearing no clothing, bare from the hustle and bustle of desperately trying not to crush under pressure...and so he drank. He drank and then he crushed.

A macho, manly man he was, my father. Hands-on and hefty in his ways. To see him go from so strong and "kicking carpet" to feeling so weak and bedridden from cancer, crumbled the core of me. One of the first things he said to me when I first visited him in the hospital was, "Stop drinking alcohol son." When I saw how thin and frail he looked, I trembled with tears. His quick response was, " I'll be alright son." Even with cancer eating away at his body, he embodied the "I can" mentality. I thought that because he did so great at "kicking carpet", he could kick cancer out too, but he passed in early 2019.

That year was a rough year for me, needless to say. I crushed more alcohol cans than I can remember. I ignored the pleas of my wife to put aside the booze. Yet, my pain became bare and hard to hide, much like my father's. A can of beer could quell the queasy feeling in my gut and so I drank. I couldn't kick the grief and so I drank. All through 2019, I gulped down gallons of grief. Then came the year 2020. That's when the word "health" took on a whole new meaning. Coronavirus curved the mindsets and habits of so many, including myself.

"Here you go babe," my wife insisted as she gently placed my coffee mug on the desk next to my laptop. Only there was no coffee in my cup. Instead, it was her "immunity tea". I drank while she hovered over me to ensure that I took that first sip. I felt like a kid being forced to eat his greens. It was a cup full from a batch of her very hot, homemade, Jamaican, lemon-ginger-honey-garlic-aloe tea (Whew! Need I say more?).

"Thanks, it packs a punch," I replied, "just like alcohol," I said jokingly.

Of course, her side-eye had me swallowing more tea than I could handle. I didn't want to get a spanking. The only thing I was missing was a bib and a high chair. As a side note, I secretly love when my wife babies me. Soon I was drinking more of her herbal tea than she was. I think she went from zealous because of my new habit to jealous of it! Still, I occasionally bought a case of beer. Funny how my father told me to stop drinking yet, when I missed him the most is when I drank the most. Deep down, I wanted to honor his wish but was too soaked in grief and anger to even know where to start. Of course the next day, I woke up to empty beer cans and bottles. My wife would empty them down the drain. I feel blessed every day for such an amazing wife. Yes, I'd be a bit upset (wanting to scream on the top of my lungs "a bit" upset) but would walk away humbly with a single tear in my eye. How can my wife be so damn tough and terrific at the same time?

The year 2021 was slowly approaching and my wife had already taken up a new health craze (Yes! She would go crazy about it!). Juicing had become her new norm. Like many others, I could feel the thrill of the upcoming year. They too could hear the soothing coo of the cans: I CAN lose weight or I CAN be financially free, I CAN start that new business or I CAN care less. Whatever their "can" was, it was something to look forward to for the New Year, especially post COVID. My can was: I CAN stop drinking for good. I had a promise to stand by for my dad and the same to fulfill for my wife. The New Year was a chance for a clean slate, a fresh start.

Yet, I was worried about what would happen after the new year. Would I, within the first week or two, like so many others, abandon my goals? Would I destroy the possibility of fulfilling my promises? Would I go against my word? My promises to myself? Would I "crush my cans"?

The New Year finally arrived. He knocked at my door with a suitcase in hand. I happily invited him in. I think he took a liking to my wife who had started her New Year's resolutions about three weeks prior. He turned to me while seated on the couch of my mind and opened his suitcase which was neatly packed. In it were commitment, persistence, dedication, love, forgiveness, a plethora of other resolutions as well as the qualities needed to achieve them.

The New Year was searching tediously, mumbling repeatedly, "I have something special for you...I have something special for you...I have something special for you..."

"Ah! He exclaimed after much digging, "Here it is."

To me, he handed "I CAN".

That "I can" stemmed from my decision to focus more on my health and wellness. So, for the New Year I joined my wife and her juicing. I'm proud to say I'm now a part of the celery revolution (I'm sure my wife is too). The celery revolution is a global movement that involves drinking a tall glass of celery juice on an empty stomach every morning. One amazing benefit that I have found through research is that celery may help to fight cancer. Each glass I drink commemorates my father, his fight with cancer and his last wish of me. It's been going strong (with much thanks to my wife) and I enjoy my new found drink. I'm now full of energy and my mood has bettered. I'm still gulping the grief away, but in a better way.

As I look back, I can say there's no going back! This is a fresh start I aim to finish. I will never settle for CRUSHED CANS again.