If you have followed this blog from it's inception, then you'll remember my mention of the "Morning of the Orange." This was the last straw crisis that prompted my coming clean about being "crazy" after 36 years of hiding it. To fully understand the event, you must first understand my lifelong on-again off-again relationship with oranges. Throughout my childhood, my mother would always have a glass of orange juice with breakfast. She made it from concentrate in this translucent, tubular, container. Every now and again, I would try it, but I couldn't deal with the pulp (I called it pits as in "Oscar, you know I can't stand pits in my orange juice!"). C'mon, fist pump for the obscure Odd Couple reference? Ok, then. Let's just say that orange juice was something I never quite settled into.
Fast forward to college. The dining halls served orange juice with breakfast and, considering breakfast was usually left over pizza and coffee, I thought I'd give it a try. A guy has to have his fruit, you know. Well, you can imagine my surprise to learn that college dining hall orange juice didn't have "pits!" This bit of free experimentation gave way to eating fresh oranges which were delicious. The citrus fruit, once held as the bane of my childhood, was now my friend.
Fast forward to adulthood. After graduating from college, I took a job as a pastor. I was the Associate Pastor of Youth and Music. This is much like being the Associate Pastor of Chaos and Insanity. I worked for a self-serving, manipulative, evil, tyrant of a man that everyone else called "Pastor." We'll have many conversations regarding this phase of my life as this blog continues, but for now you only need know that I was severely used and abused by someone who was supposed to love Jesus. This led to the stomach issues. I worked in these inhuman conditions for 6 1/2 years during which, and for years afterward, I could no longer eat oranges because my stomach couldn't handle the acid.
Fast forward to last fall. I decided that, since I had been out of parish ministry for seven years, perhaps I could give oranges a try once again. I began by eating one for breakfast. I waited and nothing ignited. While I still can't eat them after noon for some reason, I can eat them for breakfast. This became the new breakfast ritual: 1 orange and 1 bowl of dry Kashi cereal. Enter vehicle, remove lid from cereal bowl. At first stop light, score the orange with handy dandy Pampered Chef orange scorer thingy. While driving, peel orange carefully placing peels on the lid of the cereal bowl. Eat orange making sure to chew equally on each side of the mouth. Eat cereal, two pieces at a time so as to promote equal chewing in each side. In the rare case that there is actually an odd number of cereal pieces, simply bite the last one in half and chew equally on both sides. Place the orange peels safely inside the cereal bowl and place the lid securely on top. Leave in truck and dispose of peels when you get home. (This is the first half of the breakfast ritual. We'll talk about part two another time).
My wife is a bit of a worrier. She was concerned about me peeling an orange while driving, so she began trying to help me by peeling the orange for me. At first I would make excuses and rush out conveniently leaving the orange behind. Then she would send one of my children out with it so I wouldn't forget. On these occasions, I would end up throwing the orange away, because I didn't peel it. One fateful day, as I was trying to conveniently leave the orange behind, she confronted me. This was after the "Night of the Pillows" (more later) and she wasn't going to accept the brush-off. "I can't take it because you peeled it!" I exclaimed. "I'm concerned about you peeling an orange while you're driving!" she said. "You don't get it, this is MY THING! I STARTED THIS, AND I SHOULD BE THE ONE WHO CHANGES IT, NOT YOU!" "IF YOU'RE AFRAID, YOU NEED TO FIND SOME WAY TO DEAL WITH YOU IRRATIONAL FEARS, BUT CONTROLLING ME ISN'T GOING TO WORK!" Angry footsteps. Door slam. completely bewildered sobbing wife left behind.
I reached my truck and drove off as I completely freaked out. I knew what I had done. I knew full well the damage that would remain if I didn't undo it. I knew I needed help. There was a very real danger that this secret could cost me my marriage, my children, and everything that mattered to me. I simply wasn't willing to pay that price, so I called a friend who had been through something similar and began this journey. Facing Leslie that night and coming clean was one of the hardest things I've ever done, but it was the first step toward fighting my way out of this nightmare. Today, I see Coach again and take another step. One at a time, World. That's how we're going to do it. One at a time.
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