Thoughts from the long shift at Grand Central station

It’s strange to think about how long ago that was. It was late October and snow had begun to fall in Upstate New York. The sky was gray and the roads were mostly empty. I was sitting in the back seat of a van, heading quietly down Route 17 with a bag of my clothing at my side, and a reformed junkie to drive me to my new home.
He tried to calm my obvious nerves by insisting, “I think you’re going to be fine.”
“I’ve heard good things about this place,” he told me.
That was 24 years ago….

24 years ago, I was driven down a dirt road and through a series of fields. “This must me the place,” said the driver.
On the right was a large farmhouse, which was set upon a hill, and a smaller house was set back in the distance. There was another house on the hill, as well. This one was a two-story, center hall, with off-white siding.
Down the hill, there was a statue of The Virgin Mary, and at the bottom, there was a big red barn.
Behind the barn, there was a field with cows. Inside the barn, there were pigs and pig pens.
There was a station where the cows were milked, and a deep trough behind it to catch their droppings. There was a field of sheep nearby, two geese that roamed the property, and a peacock.
I leaned forward and remarked, “I don’t know about this place.”

As we turned into the long driveway, we passed the two-story house. I noticed a man walking down the front steps. He was wearing a brown robe with a tan colored rope around his waist.
I asked, “They have monks here?”
The driver explained, “I think he’s a priest.”
“What do I need a priest for? Besides, I’m Jewish.”
“Relax, kid. You’re going to be just fine.”
“I don’t know about this place,” I said.
Then the driver opened the door to let me out, and as I stepped down onto the muddy road, he put his hand on my shoulder and confirmed, “It doesn’t look like you have a choice.” Then he took my bag, slung it over his shoulder and added, “Might as well make the best of it.”

Maybe if I were closer to home, I might have run. Perhaps if the nights were not so dark and cold, I might have slipped away and been home by daybreak. But I was far from home….I was far from anything familiar, and as it seemed, I was about to enter into a new world.

24 years ago, I walked through a door and the person I had been was stripped of who I was. They (and by they, I mean those that lived in the house) took away my music. They cut my hair, they took away my leather jacket, they took my concert T-shirts, or anything else that linked me to my previous life, and then they tossed these things into a fire. I’ll never forget that…

I arrived before dinner and sat with the rest of the students (or inmates, depending upon the opinion) and I was quickly told “Make sure you eat everything on your plate. Otherwise, it sits in front of you at every meal until you finish it.”

Again, I thought to myself, “I don’t know about this place.”

Then I heard a piano introduce a song, which was sung before every meal.

They sung, “Praise God from whom all blessings flow

Praise Him all creatures here below

Praise Him above thee Heavenly Host

Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost

Amen”

This was the beginning of the end for a Long Island burnout. This is where I began to change. This was also the last place my Old Man saw me and said, “You’re doing good, son. I’m proud of you.”
Someday, I will tell you more about this place. I will tell you the do’s and don’ts of therapeutic living, and why it was important to say, ‘Male,’ or ‘Female,’ when someone knocks at the bathroom door. I will also tell you why I had to wear a sign that said, “Ask me why I am a spoiled brat.”
I will tell you about the time I was told to sit in the corner, and I will discuss the meaning behind $100 sanctions.
And, of course, I will tell you about the friends I made.
I will tell you about The Family I never forgot about and the people that helped save my life.

…….man, 24 years. That was a long time ago

Enjoy your evening, folks.