Taming of the Dude: One man's Journey with Jesus

Chapter 5 Who's your daddy?

Chapter 5 Who's your daddy?

Malcolm Forbes, 'He who dies with the most toys wins','

Pretty early on in life, I showed signs of OCD (Obsessive-compulsive Disorder). Now I know many people think of famous tv show personalities like "Monk" which depicts OCD as a person who sees the minute details that are out of character, or out of order, and simply cannot move on. They get stuck until whatever is off is made right. It can be a loose string that stands tall, waving in the wind, declaring that this cloth stands for all hobos and transients. It is a disgrace, and until you pluck it, or simply destroy the offending cloth, your life will be that one of a shabby, unkempt hobo. Well, I was not that kind of OCD. My OCD was maybe more carnal obsessive. My OCD might be labeled obsessive carnal disorder. For me, it was more like I would get a thought and the thought would pitch a tent, start a fire and begin roasting hot dogs. It was moving in and it was not going to leave until I fulfilled that need. So, as other OCD friends were keeping their rooms clean, and the rooms of their neighbors clean, I was going from one carnal need to another. I have already mentioned the porn problem, but even at a young age, there were signs of OCD. I am told that around the age of 3 or 4, I had decided I needed something. Where we lived was next to a Ford Car Plant. There are busy roads due to a heavy flow of workers going to and from work, along with trucks doing pickups and deliveries. It also was close to a high business area that went from a single lane of traffic to four lanes of traffic. It was in this busy business section that my need lived. It is where you could see the smoke from the campfire. On this particular day, I wanted caps. Now if you are not familiar with caps, let me explain. Back in the 70's when Star Wars had not made its screen debut with lightsabers, we mere mortals still used old technology. We played cops and robbers or cowboys and Indians. Mind you, the Indians did not need guns that shoot caps because they used a bow and arrow. I think that is why they lost. My OCD started its recording, "Kev, I think you need some caps. Yes, Kev, if you had caps then we could have fun." Kev, we are not having fun right now. It is boring sitting here without caps, Kev, it is not that far to walk and get caps." (I think it was about a mile and a half away in traffic that does not stop for stray dogs or kids under the age of 6) " Kev, your mom will not mind. I think she would appreciate you getting the caps and not bothering her. Kev, you can do this. Kev, we need caps. Are you going to get the caps?". Now, to be honest, I am usually pretty good at ignoring the wee voice of incessant noise, but I do cave after 4 or 5 minutes. So, as any 4 years old would do, I left the house. I went for a walk. I crossed one extremely busy street. No problem. I crossed another busy street, a few honks and a swerve, but no problem. I arrived at KMart, which I guess no longer exists. I went in, I walked around and found the caps. Now, this is where a 3-year-old brain does a reality check and realizes that he does not get an allowance, therefore has no money for the caps. I stood in the aisle for what seemed like hours, debating if I should take them, or walk away. As you might have already guessed, Mr. OCD started in. "I want them, I want them, I want them." It was a pretty convincing argument. I tried to argue back, but I had nothing. OCD wanted them and, well, OCD always gets what it wants. Now I am not sure if it was the fact that I was standing for a long time staring at the caps, or me taking the caps, or the clerk was concerned that I seem not to have a parent, but I was soon followed. I did not know I was being followed until I was about to go out of the store and I heard a voice say, "Hey, are you going to pay for those caps?." I jumped, squealed a little and peed a little. I was caught and for sure was going to get into trouble. However, I turned and saw the clerk. I gave him a puzzled look and said, "pay for what". He told me that he saw me pick up caps in the toy section. I quickly started patting my pockets and acted surprised when I felt the caps. I pulled them out, looked at them with a confused face. I looked at him with a confused face and said that this is a mistake. I must have accidentally put the caps in my pocket. I quickly went to the toy section and ever so lightly put the caps back. I returned to the exit and left. Mr. OCD did not say a word. He packed up the tent, doused the fire and never mention the caps again that day. I slowly reflected on the events that happened. I thought about how thankful I was that I did not get punished or caught and that I would need to do better next time. I crossed two more streets. I think the way was clear. My head was in a bit of a fog, so I am not sure how I got home. When I arrived home, mom asked if I was out playing. I said that I went to the mall and I needed an allowance. For some reason my mom freaked. She started to yell and give me trouble. The odd thing was that she was mad, and yet she did not even know that worst of it that I was almost arrested for shoplifting. It was probably at this point that I realized I needed a positive role model, a father.