Introduction
In May of this year Dr. Mitchell and Josey released their fourth book. The three prior books were written to help others process the curve balls of life. Josey retired at the end of 2019 after a 30-year career as a police officer. In those 30 years he did a lot of different jobs while he wore the badge. His hope with retirement was to pursue his passion for helping others navigate the curve balls coming and also after the curve balls hit. At the end of 2021 Josey started realizing that he was struggling with retirement. The following story is the last story in book four. Book four was titled The Ringing In My Ears. The purpose of book four is to help others with the retirement process. It’s a collection of over three years of short stories in the life of Josey as he navigates his new path from his old job. If you are inspired or moved by this story, please share with others. Our hope is to help people catch those curve balls and not be hit by them.
Heather
Mr Bob Seger
I think the first time I met Mr. Bob Seger was in 1990. I never heard his voice on my dad’s radio that played in our garage growing up, but I did hear his voice in 1990. In 1990 I was introduced to two men who would become phase two of my upbringing. Their names were Jesse and Billy. They had done the job that I was preparing to do for many years before I met them. In many ways they were like a dad to me. They taught me the old saying of, “Do as I say not as I do”. Their passion for the job left others in conflict trying to understand why anyone would want to pretend to be something they are not. They soon nicknamed me Kid because I was so young. They guided me on that sometimes dark and lonely path and made sure that evil never found its way to my body and soul. The mistakes they made would never be made by me, they made sure of that. My situation was somewhat unique in that I was always alone when I was pretending to be something I was not. For the most part Jesse and Billy always had a partner when they were pretending to be something they were not. They both made it a point to come visit me in these dark places and sit on my sofa at 3 am and listen to Mr. Bob Seger. It was then that I understood why a man would stress his vocal cords to sing. The man had passion. His words would be clear, and the ringing in my ears from life would be dialed out.
I stood there on the pond back behinds my parents’ house looking at the boat dock. The cool fall air was blowing against my back, but the sun was keeping me warm. My youngest son and I were headed back in the morning to our home many miles from here. The boat dock is the second one on this pond. The first one left after I moved away. There are lots of trees now around the pond banks and this boat dock looks like its ready for a replacement. I recall as a kid when the winter was cold enough that we would ice skate on the pond. For a brief moment I can see dad keeping us entertained with his skating moves. As the winter shifted into spring, I can see us fishing in the pond and when the wind was right you could smell the hot oil from the house as mom awaited the fish to be fried. As the summer approached, I can see me jumping into the pond after picking up square hay bales all day on a neighboring farm. Sometimes I would take off my clothes and sometimes I would just jump in. I would swim out to the dock in the middle and right behind me would be my childhood dog swimming with me.
The longer I stood there on that fall evening the more the memories came. It was like a movie, but the pictures moved so fast it was hard to keep up. The summer of 1989 I worked with my father in the quarry. We did not work together but we rode together in his pickup truck with no air conditioning. The only thing that sat between us on the ride to work and the ride home were our dirty lunchboxes. Dads had more dirt and age than mine. I never appreciated the money that dad earned for the family until I saw firsthand what it took to make that money. Some of the fondest memories I have of my dad are in the cab of that non-air-conditioned truck. Dad never said much but, on those rides, he told of the man he was and the better man that I should be. After work we would fish in the pond and one evening, I caught a monster catfish. I remember standing there like a rock holding that fish for the picture.
By the spring of 1995, I knew every song Mr. Bob Seger sang but the toll of pretending to be something I was not, was taking its toll on me. His words were sometimes hard to hear from the ringing in my ears. I would come fish with dad in the pond while mom was making her famous deer meat burritos. I’m not sure if dad knew how much static was in my head or maybe he did but he never talked about it. He would apologize for the lack of fish we were catching, and I simply said, “It’s better than being there with those people.” I look across the pond dam and the sun is hitting a cedar tree that was not there when I was a kid. I can see my soon to be bride in the boat with me and I’m now apologizing to her for not catching any fish. She smiles back at me and somehow through the beard and long hair she sees the man I am trying to be.
As the sun worked its way off my back the cool evening air brought a darkness to the pond. I looked over at the large pontoon boat that allowed dad to still fish even though complications from cancer took his ability to walk. His days of ice skating were gone but the pond calls to him to preoccupy his mind from the pain his body feels. As the movie flashed before my eyes the years went by fast. My tight haircut and clean face found its way back to the pond but not as much as I would like. I see our boys fishing with dad on the pontoon boat and my dad being difficult. Dad said, “I cannot be the grandpa I want to be.” I said, “They don’t care you cannot walk they just want to have a grandpa”. Between the nerve damage and the medications, the man on the pontoon boat was my father, but the father I knew had left a long time ago.
I look to my left and the setting sun has found its way to the stone monument that holds what’s left of my father. At the base of the monument is a concrete statute of his dog. My father never was a dog person but in 1993 I was in a single wide mobile home attempting buy narcotics from a woman when her dog backed me in a corner. As the dog was debating on biting me the woman said. “I cannot control him, and I wish I would find him a good home”. I told her I knew some people who had a farm and could use a good watch dog. I think that was the longest 300 miles I have ever driven with that off-the-chain dog in the car as we went to my parents’ home. They named him Crow Dog and he died being my father’s best friend.
I look back to the house and see a young boy walking towards the pond. For a moment I think it’s still part of this fast movie but as the boy approaches its my youngest son. He says, “Grandma says supper is ready. She fried the fish we caught”. I said, “Tell her I will be there in a bit”. He says, “You ok daddy?” I said, “Yes baby just thinking.” As he walks back to house the sun has now set and the day is gone. I stand there like a rock but not the rock I was some 30 years ago. I look across the pond and the water is at its peak height because the water is touching the statute of Saint Mary. Dad added the statue to the pond after I moved away. A lot of things had been added to the pond after I moved away but the memories have never changed. I retired six years before I was mandatory. I felt there was a reason, a force, a calling that made me make that choice. For almost three years I have struggled with that decision. I miss my old job. I have worked a few fires on what we call the private side and it’s not the same. When you respond to investigate a fire at 2;00 a.m. the fire is out but it is very much alive. The loud fire trucks, the looks on the exhausted fire fighters faces, the wet ground my boots would sink into, and the victims. The victims are sometimes alive and dead but no matter what they all need to be cared for in the same fashion. My approach with victims was with passion not to be confused with its sister called compassion. The dead need just as much attention as the living. When you work a fire weeks later the above is all gone, and all that left is the pure destruction of a fire. That’s why I say at 2:00 a.m. the fire is out but it’s very much alive.
As the night settled in on the pond, I could see the kitchen light and knew that mom was ready to serve up supper. The air was getting colder, and the night sky was getting brighter. I’m not sure how the following came to be, but it came. Not from a falling star, a preacher’s pulpit, or even from Mr. Bob Seger but it came with such force I felt out of breath. I stood here on this pond bank and watched almost 45 years go by and at intense rapid pace. How did it go by so fast? I have spent the last three years questioning leaving six years before I was mandatory. Most of my retirement plans have been a challenge, so why did a force encourage me to retire early? I thought God had a plan for me and he did, just not the one I originally thought. He just showed me the plan on a pond bank. If 45 years could go by like a bullet, then I’m pretty sure 6 years could go by like a rocket. I’m confident our boys will one day appreciate the fact that their dad did what he did so he could attend more games, share a lunch box, and have more time to teach them to be a better man than he was.
A few weeks later on another pond bank miles from my parent’s pond, our family was gathered around a fire next to our cabin with no running water or electricity. In the cooler months you can find us there on most Saturday nights since I retired. I attempted to explain the above revelation to my family but to be honest I did a piss poor job. When this writing stuff started for me, I was in the sixth grade, and I wrote for me and the desk drawer it went in. At some point the writing left the desk drawer and found it’s way to you. I have figured out other ways to help with the ringing in my ears. I have other ways to dial the music in and I can hear and feel the passion. I think for the most part I write now for you, the victims of life. Though I am no longer on a fire or explosion scene there will always be victims that need a guy like me with passion. I’m confident I wrote the above not for me, and not for you, but for two young men that I shared a lunch box with after I retired. I need them to read this when they have that fast-paced movie played before their eyes on their own pond bank.
I never did buy any narcotics from that woman but got a free dog for my parents and transformed my father into a dog lover. We lost Billy years ago on his Harley. They said he just went off the road. The chrome ring that held his headlight on his Harley sits in this room where I type these words to you. Jesse and I have not spoken in years. The job was hard on him and I’m pretty sure it became hard for him to hear Mr. Bob Seger. If the above finds its way to you Jesse, I love you. If you have followed the blog, you will know that I took guitar lessons and decided the guitar case would be better used as a gun case. I cannot play an instrument, I cannot sing, dance, and I write like a very uneducated person. I do have 16 years of education and lots of certificates in many things but to be honest I have only read one book in my life. The book was called One shot one kill. It’s about a Marine sniper in Vietnam. I read it on a very long plane ride and thank God it was a short book. I tell you these things because all I have to offer is passion. I have a passion for life and a way of life that I recall from that pond bank many years ago when we stood as one nation under God, and we were a rock. A solid foundation of hard-working people who made me want to be a better man so I can stand in that foundation, so the next generation can see our shortcomings, our mistakes, and become better people than us.
I never met Mr. Bob Seger but I feel I know him well. I feel he did his part with the foundation and even if you do not like his music you should love his passion for what he does.
I still have days where my ears ring but not as often as it was. I have come to internalize the ringing as a reminder of the seasons my life has lived.
For thirty years I focused on our nation but now I see the plan is for me to focus on two young men. As for our boys the movie continues to play at a fast speed and I’m at peace with early retirement. The passion I had for the job is transferred to the passion to be a bigger part of their movie and one day when I’m nothing more than ashes, our boys will know their father tried hard to be a rock.- Josey
International Critical Incident Stress Foundation
United States Marine Corps – Training Command
For more of Josey’s stories with Dr Jeffrey Mitchell, got to https://crucialmoments.org/
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