I went on a couple of dates with Mike. He was cute and fun, but not ideal boyfriend material, so we ended up becoming friends. One night before we went to dinner, he showed me a picture of his younger brother Keith, who has dark, wavy hair, strong features, muscular arms, and lines in his cheeks from his natural smile. "Everyone says he looks like a Brazilian soccer player," said Mike.
The first time I heard Keith's voice on the phone, I could not tell the difference between his voice and Mike's. At first, I thought Mike was playing a joke on me, but thirty seconds into our conversation, I understood exactly how different these two brothers are.
Keith is a deep and soulful guy. He wears his heart on his sleeve, is present and wonderfully open and honest. Our conversations travel to many destinations. I understand his thought patterns, which are clear, connected and similar to mine. No subject is taboo. He makes no pretense about his life, who he is or where he's been. So, what's the catch?
He was addicted to drugs for half his life and has been sober for just the past two years. If I have any interest in dating Keith, I know what my friends will say, "Really? After all the time you've been looking for a solid relationship, you're really considering dating a former drug addict? Are you nuts?"
I attended twelve years of Catholic school. The old nuns, dressed in their habits, constantly drilled into our skulls "sex and drugs are bad for you and are the devil's way into your soul." However, the older we got, and the more our hormones raged, we of course had to discover why everyone is going to hell for having sex and doing drugs.
The first time I smoked pot was after school my junior year in high school. I was with Mary and Maggie, driving around in Maggie's parent's car, an old silver Ford Granada that we nicknamed, "The Grenade". One of Maggie's older (and really cute) brothers gave us a skinny, little joint. We smoked it, and went to visit him and his friends at the local University. We thought we were really cool and giggled all afternoon long, until we got paranoid, thinking someone may have seen us smoking pot in our school uniforms and report us to the principal.
We drove back to Molly's house with the windows down in freezing cold weather to rid the car of any residual smell. With 10 kids in her family, Maggie's parents were savvy to drug use and none of us wanted to get grounded or expelled.
When I was 21, I moved from my provincial, mid-western hometown to New York City, where drugs were readily available. I tried most recreational drugs. I didn't like coke. I didn't like feeling edgy and wired and I never understood its appeal. However, in order to avoid any pressure from my peers, I rubbed it on my gums, which increased my appetite for cigarettes all night long. My hair soaked up the smoke like a sponge and stunk so bad that I had to pull my curls into a bun on my head just so I could fall asleep. The next morning I inevitably looked and felt like crap. My teeth were fuzzy and I reeked of smoke.
Cocaine was Keith's drug of choice. "What's the difference between drug addicts and people who do drugs but don't become addicted?" I asked Keith. "Genetic predisposition," was his response. "But that is not an excuse," he continued. "There are no excuses." Is it really genetics? Some people must have the genes but don't become addicts for 17 years. "I had a problem and I had no choice other than to become strong enough to deal with it," he said. "It's been a very un-shallowing and humbling experience every step of the way."
Clearly Keith's drug story is much more intense than my G-rated initiation. "Addiction is the devil controlling you when you have no faith in anything else," he said. "As soon as I developed an ounce of faith in my higher power and in myself, I started the fight to get my life back." Maybe those old, mean, sexually frustrated nuns actually knew a thing or two.
I've never been married, have no kids, no skeletons in the closet, and not so much as an outstanding parking ticket. I have designed my life to be as drama free as possible. Should I even toy with the idea of dating Keith, knowing his history and the imminent reactions from my family and friends? "You will face that type of ridicule," he says, "which is what I hate about all this. I want to protect you from it, but I can’t."
At this stage in my life, is it possible to meet a man who doesn't have some type of baggage? We all have different challenges and issues-- some of us confront our issues, learn and grow from them-- and others don't. With Keith, I know what his baggage is upfront. With any other man, I could spend years only to discover his 'demon' is something worse.
I flipped open a copy of the new Vanity Fair today and saw a picture of Cary Grant running on the beach. His quote read, "All my life, I've been going around in a fog. You're just a bunch of molecules until you know who you are." -- Hollywood's Glory Daze, LSD aficionado Cary Grant, circa 1952.
I have always stated I want to be with a man who is honest, knows who he is and is comfortable in his own skin. However, I never thought a sordid, drug-filled past could be a potential tool, and part of the package of a man I might develop a relationship with.
"I don't struggle with drugs anymore," said Keith, who has devoted his life to helping others stay sober and educating people about addiction. "My soul wants continued peace and my heart wants to be content and happy."
Isn't that what we all want?
