06/15/2026
15 years ago, I sat in my Dr.’s office awaiting test results. 2 weeks earlier, after my yearly physical exam, my doctor found abnormalities in my white blood cell counts. Years of smoking may have finally caught up with me. I never had the desire to quit because I was inhaling a pack a day from the to***co cloud that hovered around The Marquis II.
There I was, alone, waiting for the conversation that may change my life on the other side of the door. The results were negative. I never realized how many tears would come with relief. My thoughts drifted as I vaguely remember my doctor, once again, telling me I had to quit smoking. A wake up call.
I tried quitting for the next 3 months and did pretty well, but the smoke surrounded me, and I quickly fell back into my routine. Not even the fear of Cancer could knock my ship off course.
April of the following year, I found out I was going to be a father. I would find out 5 months later he was to be my son, and 9 months later I would hold Cristian for the first time. I would find in my son the one thing missing in my previous attempts to quit. He was my purpose. I couldn’t hope to stop, I had to do the work. On 5/13/12, I smoked my last cigarette.
I’ve had a lifetime of bad hands dealt to me these last 8 years. Construction, a pandemic, an IRS filing mistake, a robbery, check fraud, and an entire generation not wanting to go out. With each battle, I couldn’t hope things would get better. I had to figure it out. Cristian and Olivia depended on me figuring it out through struggles they would never know.
I’ll be 49 next month. I finished a 14 hour shift yesterday and will be here for another 18 hours tomorrow. It’s not where I thought I’d be, but I must work. When I’m at my most tired, I like seeing my photos of my kids cheering me on here at The Deuce. They are my reminder that hope is not a plan. You can only walk halfway into the woods, because the other half, you’re walking out.
Endeavor to Persevere.
