Archive for the ‘My Stories’ Category

Posted on March 9, 2010 - by Andy McMahon

A very important day in my life

I’ll take you back a few years. 

I had been up all night with a friend.  I had been tweaking out, and hadn’t slept in about 4 days.  It got to be about 8:30 or 9:00.  My friend said, “Oh man, I gotta go to church!”  Wow.  What should I do?  I guess I could go with, I mean.. I don’t want her to have to drive me all the way back to my house. 

“Ok, I can tag along.” 

She went to get ready for church… I paced back and forth in the kitchen for a while, and then busted out my stash.  I did enough to ‘get me through the morning.’  As we approached the church, I got a little nervous, but comforted myself that I could blend in without being noticed.  When we got there, she was pretty talkative, and introduced me to several people.  They were all pretty nice, but I could tell they didn’t quite know what to make of me. (At that time, I was 100 pounds or so.) 

Once the gathering slowed down a bit, she grabbed me and said, “Come on, we’re going to see my friend.”  Of coarse I followed.  I sure as hell didn’t want to be left alone.  We walked through some hall ways into an office area.  Around the corner, there she was.  A young lady, whom I had seen before, at the bar.  Black hair, a smile that made me hurt, a style of clothing that made me happy and a slightly weird look… something like, “Why the hell did you bring this dope fiend here?” 

She was nice enough to me.  We didn’t talk long.  We never had before either, just the friendly cordials as I was pouring her a drink, or knocking a few drinks off her bill.  We went back out to where service was about to start.  I’ll be honest.  I don’t remember much about the sermon.  But I remember that painful smile, and that black hair like it was yesterday.  It was the first time I had seen a person from the bar in ‘the wild’.

That day, I realized there were some people who could live life normally.  That day, I began to starve for a ‘normal life’ out side of the bar fights, alcohol, and drugs.  That day, an angel was introduced to me.  I didn’t even realize it. 

Had  I known, at that moment, that the woman sitting in that office, with the smile that made me hurt, would one day be my wife and the mother of my child, I would have stopped getting messed up right then.  I would have laid it all down.  But, that’s the day it started.  The hunger.  The drive.  The want.  The tiredness of my life hit me, the moment I saw that beautiful smile, outside of the bar.  I realized life was bigger than karaoke night and Jager bombs. 

I didn’t return to that church for close to a year.  But when I did, it was a home coming.   I am so glad God brought me to where I am today.

Posted on November 13, 2009 - by Andy McMahon

Friday the 13th

 The date that I always avoided in my past. Friday the 13th.  Superstitious or not, things always went wrong on that day for me.  The last time that happened was January 13th, 2006.  I got stabbed.  I got evicted.  I got fired.  I quit using drugs. (because I had no money)

Looking back I see that all of that was the working of God in my life.  I can truely say that Friday the 13th, that day, is one of the most significant days in my life.  It was a true turning point.

Now I welcome every day, and dread none.  A wonderful life is upon me.

Posted on May 15, 2009 - by Andy McMahon

My Pops.

I don’t remember a lot of things about being a really little kid.  I remember our carpet was a weird color, (I attribute that to the 80’s)  I remember my parents got along (or seemed to get along) a lot better when I was little.  I remember catching flies with my sister, and I remember what my dad looked like.  I mean.  I remember very specifics about my dad.

My dad had a mustache, and always tried to kiss us, and we gave him a hard time about the scruff. My dad was always wearing a suit.  My dad always wore sunglasses, very similar to aviators, but a little less Top Gun and a little more… Miami Vice.  I remember that he always wore a belt. (Just wait til your dad gets home)  and I remember that no matter where we went, he demanded respect for all of us.  Best of all, I remember hearing change jingling around and knowing that daddy was home.

I have been thinking.  What do I want my little kid to remember as.  Should I have a beard or shave?  Should I keep my glasses or get contacts?  I think these kind of things stick with a person their whole life, and I want them to be good memories.  Should I start carrying around 3 dollars in change, so that whenever my son (ok ok, or daughter) hears the noise of change jingling, they think of dear old dad?

It’s rough.  What if we do have a girl, and I keep the beard.  What if my daughter grows up to be attracted to creeps with beards.  To top it off, some creep with beards AND tattoos!  *sigh* I don’t know if I can handle that.

What if I shave my beard, and my son grows up never seeing one, or being scared of them.  All because I shaved.  Jeez.  Maybe I’m over thinking it, but some of the earliest things I remember are the ones that stick with me, in my good memories.  I will never forget my dad’s mustache, and the sound of change jingling.  Or the smell of old spice and cigarettes. (and sometimes vodka or beer..) I love those things.  I want my child to look back and be happy. It’s a lot to think of.

What do you remember about your childhood that lights up your day?

Posted on May 7, 2009 - by Andy McMahon

Show-Off

I love it when God shows off.  When I feel like He did something just for me.  Like He is saying, “There ya go Son, that’s for you, I hope you enjoy it. But don’t forget, that’s really nothing compared to what I can do.”

click the image to see the larger size

When I look at this stuff, I realize I don’t give God nearly enough credit.  I don’t look at what is right in front of me, and realize how lucky I really am!  Holy wow.  I don’t think there are words to describe the Love running through me right now, the emotions from looking at these pictures, the absolute gratitude I feel for the blessings I have received!

Praise God!

Posted on April 23, 2009 - by Andy McMahon

Mornings ain’t my thing

It seems like at night, I have a lot more to say.  Too bad my mind can’t ‘jot things down’ as I’m falling asleep.  My brain works about 100 times faster at night, and has 100 more things to say.

So, for this morning, I thought I’d say.

Where in the world is Friday???

Has this seemed like the longest week ever for you?

Posted on April 17, 2009 - by Andy McMahon

It’s Happening.

I went to the Stone Mountain laser lightshow last weekend with some friends.  We had a good time, and it was nice to get out.  But something happened that night, that I don’t think any of us will soon forget.  It might even be one of those moments that you remember forever.

Before the show started, and everyone was gathering in, a lady and her family sits down next to us, looks at us and says something along the line of, “Oh thank God! older people!” and continues to talk about how she’s so thrilled she found older people.

Older people!?! That was the first time I have been referred to as ‘older people’ by a complete stranger.  It stung.

Last night, I went to see my sister in law in a play at the highschool.  After the play we all gathered around and ate dessert and drank punch.  While I was standing there, one of the kids from the play walked up to me and said, “Are you Amanda’s dad?”

……

………

…………

ouch.

I know I don’t look like I could possibly be the father of a 17 year old.  I know.  But, what has now clicked is my age is starting to show.  I am no longer ‘just out of high school.’

Do you remember the first time something like this happened to you?  The moment you realized you aren’t ‘young’ anymore? Go.

Posted on April 8, 2009 - by Andy McMahon

Best Friends.

My best friend growing up was Matthew.(the huge one in the middle)  I met Matthew in Kindergarten, on the first day.  We all gathered into the Gym, and they pulled out a parachute.  We would fluff the parachute into the air and the gym teacher would yell out stuff, and if you matched what she yelled out, you would run under the parachute, and…. Well, I don’t remember what the point was, maybe it was just to get to play under the parachute.

She yelled out,”If you have a birthday in January or February!”.  So, I’m running around under a fluffed up parachute, all of a sudden, the biggest kid I have ever seen in my life ran up to me.  He stopped, looked at me and said, “You are my best friend now.”

Honestly, I was a little scared, and then.. happy.  I looked at him and said, “OK!”

Turns out we rode the same bus, and lived in the same neighborhood.  From that day forward, I don’t think we went a single day without at least talking to each other.  All the way through elementary school, to middle school, and high school. (Meeting Omar, our other best friend, in 2nd grade) If I got in a fight, Matthew had my back, (Which was nice, because like I said, he was huge.)  If I was losing the fight, Matthew would pick up the other kid and throw him. Literally.

We built forts together, we had sleepovers together, we went on vacation together, we did Easter and Christmas together.  We smoked our first cigarette together.  We were inseparable.  Our neighborhood had dubbed us, “The Three Muskateers” because if you saw one of us, the other two were somewhere close.  If there was trouble, we were blamed, whether we did it or not.  (In all fairness, we normally did it.)

Matthew died six years ago, when he was 20. I was in Atlanta, and got a call from Omar.  I picked up the phone, and Omar simply said, “Matt’s dead.”  I immediately drove to my mom’s house, ran inside, and there he was, lying on my couch, lifeless.  He had taken a morphine patch, but chewed on it… slipped into a deep sleep, and choked.

That was the end of our friendship.  No goodbyes, no I’ll miss you, nothing.  Just a phone call, and a quick glance at my lifeless best friend, before he was moved to a stretcher, and taken to the morgue.

Over the years his death has come back and knocked the air out of me.  He wasn’t at my wedding, he wasn’t around for me to call and tell him I’m going to be a dad.  He has not been around to watch me grow out of addiction and in to sobriety.  He isn’t here now, for me to pick up the phone and call. ( I imagine we’d text now.)  He isn’t here.

There have been times since he died, before I ‘believed in God’, where I would lay in bed at night and talk to him.  I would tell him how my day went, and ask him to look out for me.  I don’t know if he really ever did, but it’s nice to think that maybe he put a word in for me.

I miss him.  I’m at a time in my life where I really wish he was around.  In really happy times, I want to pick up the phone and call him and Omar on 3-way.  And in really sad times, I want him to walk on over to my house, and go walking in the woods with me.

There are just times I sit down and wonder what would have happened had things been different.  I wonder if I had picked up the phone 45 minutes earlier, and given him a ring.  I wonder if he would have walked with me in recovery.  I wonder what he would have said at my wedding.  I wonder a lot of things. One thing I do know.  Matthew, I miss you brother.

Posted on February 17, 2009 - by Andy McMahon

Childhood Memory

It was like any other Saturday morning.  I was awake, watching Dennis the Menace. (The one with real actors, in black and white)  Both of my sisters were sitting there and we were eating popsicles, the cornerstone of any nutritious breakfast.  My brother was running around being my brother.

I think it was a commercial break, my brother came running in with his Popsicle, and sat down next to me.  He was really quiet.  About ten minutes later, the smoke detector went off.  I jumped up.  I ran in to my parents room.  They were still asleep, looking back, obviously they were out cold from their night of extensive drug use.  I looked towards their bathroom, and saw smoke pouring out of the closet.  I turned around, and saw both of my sisters kind of wandering around wondering what to do.  I told both of them to get outside, where my brother had already gone.

I ran back into my parents bedroom and woke them up.  It took about five minutes.  My dad jumped up, grabbed the fire extinguisher and ran towards the closet.  He let that closet have everything he had.  I am pretty sure the fire was out.  Then I heard something like an explosion.  My dad told me later that his match collection couldn’t stand the heat and they all went up in flames.  (There were a lot of matches.)  Shortly after that, my dad came running out of the closet.  Right then I heard our fourth of July surprise.  My dad had traveled to buy us fireworks.  A lot of them.  He wanted us to have a fun 4th.

At this I realized that the fire was not going out.  So I ran downstairs, woke up our babysitter, and got my dog, Bandit.  I ran outside and tried to wave down a passing airplane.  I don’t know where I got the idea that an airplane would save us, but, it seemed logical at the time.  I guess I should say, the airplane didn’t save us.  I did notice however that my parents were not out of the house.

I ran back into the house.  My dad was in his room.  I don’t know what he was doing to this day, but I think just trying to get stuff that he knew we would need.  My mom was on the phone in the dining room.  It was so hot at this point that when I went to get my mom, the phone was actually melting in her hand.  I looked over at our ’study area’.  Where my dad kept all of his exotic pets and fish tanks, and all of the water was boiling.  I knew we had a problem.  So, as fast as I could, I ran downstairs and grabbed my Teddy Rupskin.  There were a lot of things I could do without, but I didn’t think I could do without that.  When I came back upstairs, I grabbed my mom’s hand, and pulled her outside.  My dad followed right behind us.

A little while later I was talking to one of the firemen, and my brother walked up and handed him a lighter with three simple words.  “I did it.”  My 3 year old brother was playing with a lighter.  He burnt his toe and got scared.  He couldn’t blow the fire out so he ran in to the living room and sat down.  He took the lighter from the top of my mom’s cigarettes.  She slept right through it.

That day sticks in my head like you wouldn’t believe.  That day signifies the beginning of our house hopping.  Eviction to eviction.  That day was the beginning of a hard life.  That day, looking back showed me how much I love my family.  Certainly I was no hero, but at my age, to be running back into a burning house for my mom and dad, (And teddy rupskin) wasn’t an easy thing to do.

It’s crazy thinking of that day, and everything that has happened since.  I don’t know how to end story telling.  I don’t have a moral, besides, don’t play with fire.  I don’t have a happy ending to that day.  I can’t even tell you that my mom fired that babysitter. I can just tell you 20 years after a house fire, it still runs through my head like it was yesterday. I can tell you that some 20 years later, I’ve found my way.  20 years later, it is just something that has made me and my family stronger.  20 years later.  Wow.

Posted on December 17, 2008 - by Andy McMahon

I Don’t Like to Talk About it.

I was molested.  It’s weird, I kinda always just thought boys can’t be molested, so I guess it was never really a big deal.  I was around 6.  It was quite embarrassing, and I won’t go into details.  Looking back it’s just disturbing.  My babysitter, whose name I still remember clearly, was 16 years old.

At the time, I thought nothing of it, because, I guess, I wasn’t old enough to think anything of it.  My mom acted as though she thought something of it, but that wasn’t the last time we would have that babysitter watch us.  (It was the last time for quite a while, but I guess desperate times call for desperate measures?? I don’t know.)

It wasn’t until a little over a year ago I confronted that issue.  The hurt, and mental blocking.   Andrea and I had ‘taken a break’.  I was on a quest (Triggered by Andrea) to work out the hurt in my life I never dealt with.  The hurt of loosing a parent, a sibling and several best friends.  I had no intention of working through this because I just pushed it to the back of my mind.  While I was praying one night, it just hit me.  All of the embarrassment, pain, strife and anger came out.  I was bawling.  Laying in Gods arms and just crying.  “Maybe this IS a problem.” I kept thinking to myself.  “Maybe this is a root of some of the things I’ve done.”  I don’t know, I’m not a psychologist, but maybe that had something to do with the way I went about life.   Maybe this explained my early hunger for promiscuity.

When I finally told Andrea, I don’t think she knew what to say.  If I remember correctly, I think she said, “Wow.” and paused for a few minutes, (While I bawled)  Then she said, “Just let it all go.”  (I don’t think it was until later we talked about the forgiveness aspect, though I could be completely wrong.) What she said was perfect, and helped me move forward in healing.  What an amazing woman. (Even when we were on our ‘break’.)

That’s what I did that night.  I gave it all to Jesus.  I know it sounds so cliche to say that.  “Let go, Let God.” blah blah.  I know, but that’s what I did.  I think sometimes it takes me being completely broken to be able to completely ask for Jesus to heal me.  I don’t know if that speaks something about my personality, or why I was agnostic for so long, but I have to be completely broken down.

Looking back on a year ago, I see an angry, broken, unhealed man.  When I look at myself today, yes. I still see bits of that anger.  It comes out sometimes, and that is something I pray about hugely.  But I am NOT broken.  I am NOT unhealed.  A year ago, Jesus wrapped his arms around me, and told me that everything was ok.  That it was not my fault, and that I did not have to suffer anymore.

How amazing is the healing touch of Jesus Christ?  How amazing is a man that starts in a manger, all the way to jail, beaten and then hung on a Cross to die. Only to rise again three days later, and give this World eternal hope!  How amazing is it that he is still healing to this day!  How amazing that I can say I have been healed.  I have been loved!  Praise God!

Posted on September 25, 2008 - by Andy McMahon

Short stories about my father.

It’s Thursday.  It’s September 25th.  It’s the day after my (step) father’s birthday.  I received a text yesterday at 1:33 pm, that said, “Reminder, Dad’s Birthday, September 24th.”

So.  in honor of my step-dad, but REAL father, Jerry T. Dennis, here are some stories I remember about him, and a little bit of his history.

If you don’t know my dad, I compare him to SuperMan, and RoboCop.  He seriously will live through just about anything.  My dad is in a wheelchair from a car accident he had, as a result of heart attack while driving.  (They said it’s a wonder he lived.)  As a result of that accident, they had to rebuild the left side of his body.  His insurance didn’t cover it, so, he didn’t get his hip, or the metal things he needs in his leg.  About a year ago, he suffered a stroke, thus, losing most of the right side of his body.  The doctors said he would completely recover, but from his lack of motivation and depression, he did not do the excercises.  He used to tell me, “I buried my wife, and a daughter, I am alone and I’m old, I am a recovered alchoholic and drug addict,I will eat what I want and do what I want.”  My dad is stubborn as a mule. (He’s from Texas.) My dad also has small fits of dementia, probably brought on from diabetes, which can make life with him interesting. He also suffers from Hepatitis C.

My dad is funny in the fact that, with all of that going on, he knows his kids so well.  I called him yesterday to explain that I honestly thought his birthday was the 26th. To which he replied, “I know, you think that every year.”  Wow.  It’s amazing that my father is able to do that.

He is also the man who sat me down a year ago, when I started drinking again and Andrea left me and said, “Son, I don’t interfare with your life, and I let you make your own stupid decisions.  But, Andrea is the one for you.  I don’t know what you’ve done to screw this up, but I am sure you did something.  If you have any brains in you, you will straighten out and get that girl back.”

Before that, my father never once told me what he thought about any of my girlfriends.  He never once said anything about my decisions.  He simply told me he loved me regardless, and would support any decision I made.

I am starting to think my dad has always known whats best for me.  He has always known what I need to do to grow up.  My dad is…. My dad is…. I don’t have words.

When I was 10 years old, my mom got sick of my dad’s drunken stupers.  She told him if he did not quit drinking she was taking the kids and leaving.  That was a Saturday night.  The next day I woke up and my dad was gone.  We were certain that he had left us.  about 2:30 in the afternoon, my dad showed up with more life than ever.  He had all sorts of goodies he had gotten from a church.  He told us that he had quit drinking and accepted Jesus Christ into his life.  My dad has not had a drop of alcohol since. (15 years)  Looking back, that was probably my first experience with the Holy Ghost. If I only knew then.

One day, my mother and I got into a HUGE fight.  My dad grabbed me, took me to his jeep and started driving.  (Like he always did to break the tension.) In the middle of one of his long LOOOONG lectures, I inturrupted and said, “Dad, you’re an idiot.  Mom is cheating on you! She has been for a long time!  Why don’t you just leave.  She is using you! She doesn’t Love you!”

That’s when he looked at me and said something I will NEVER forget.

“Son” He always made sure I knew he considered me a son. “Son, The day I married your mother, I promised you, Adrienne, and God that I would never leave your side, I would never let you down, I would always be here for you.  I am not going to break that promise.  I love you son, that is why I am still here.”

wow.

My dad, now is weak.  My dad now needs someone to help him.  In all honesty I get annoyed.  When he calls I dread it.  I love hearing his voice, but I still kind of dread his long stories.  As he grows older, he makes a little less sense.  I can’t wait to hear the end of the conversation when he says, “I love you son.” Still reminding me that my father didn’t abandon me, just a guy with some sperm and a temper.

His ability to forgive and love unconditionally is a true example of Christ’s love.  And I guess my relationship with him sums up my relationship with God sometimes.  He is strong, has always known what’s best for me, and has always always loved me, unconditionally.  A lot of his suffering was so I didn’t have to. I dread to hear what God has to say, because I might not like it.  But I long for the end of the conversation when he says, “I love you son.”