Bohemian Rhapsody

On this date, six years ago, I was sent to prison.

Never in my life have I ever had a reason to look forward to November 2nd. In 2012, November 2nd was the date of my sentencing. In 2012, November 2nd was the day I was taken away in handcuffs. In 2012, November 2nd was the day I was escorted away from freedom and into prison. Before 2012, November 2nd was still a sad day — the anniversary of my grandmother’s death. So as far as I have been concerned, November 2nd has been an anniversary I have mourned every year since 1994.

Oddly, however, I have been looking forward to today — November 2, 2018. On the six-year anniversary of my condemnation to prison, a film I’ve been waiting months to see was released.

And when I found the opportunity to see the film the night before its release, I jumped at it! Last night, my wife and I went and saw Bohemian Rhapsody.


As most of my closest friends know, my favorite band is Guns N’ Roses. However, a very close second on my list of favorite bands is Queen.

As a kid, growing up in the 1980s, I was first introduced to Queen via the soundtrack of the classic 80s film, Flash Gordon. In fact, the Flash Gordon Soundtrack was one of the first albums I ever owned. From then on, I was a Queen fan.

And then, on November 24, 1991, Freddie Mercury — the lead singer (and face) of Queen — passed away as a result of complications from AIDS.

I remember his death the same way I remember the death of Kurt Cobain — it just didn’t seem real since his immortal voice existed in the music he left behind. So I didn’t particularly mourn his death because I still had his music, and to me, his music was the entirety of his existence.

As I was growing up in the early 90s, I became a fan of the film Wayne’s World, which more-or-less reintroduced me to the full musical catalog of Queen through the scene when the characters of the film listen to “Bohemian Rhapsody” in the car.

Something simply drove me back to the music of Queen. Before I knew it, I was listening to their entire Greatest Hits album, start-to-finish, loving the sounds and artistry of Freddie Mercury, Brian May, John Deacon, and Roger Taylor — Queen.

And to top it all off, on April 20, 1992, at Wembley Stadium in London, England, the Freddie Mercury Concert for AIDS Awareness was held. At this point, I was a full-fledged Queen fan. This concert was truly unique. The first half of the concert was packed with the biggest mainstream rock musicians of the time — Guns N’ Roses, Metallica, U2, Def Leppard, and others.

There was a time when wondered why I bonded with the music of Queen so much. I mean, they’re clearly a band who peaked far before my generation began to embrace music. I liked their music in the 90s, but I really like their music now — especially “Bohemian Rhapsody.”

So why is “Bohemian Rhapsody” now a song I can listen to and find comfort?

Well, now I underhand why.

And the reason is simple: I liked the music of Queen before my sexual assault — before I was raped.

So it is as if somehow the music of Queen (and “Bohemian Rhapsody” especially) can take me back to a time when life was normal. So I find myself grasping onto this music like it is some ephemeral link between who I am now and who I was then.

Closing my eyes and listening to songs like “Bohemian Rhapsody” takes me back to a time when life may not have been ideal, but life made sense — and there is tremendous comfort in that.

When I was 13-years-old, my parents divorced. As a result of this divorce, my dad got a one-bedroom apartment. I remained living in our house. After a short while, they literally swapped — my mom moved into that same apartment and my dad moved back into the house.

Therefore, I would regularly visit my mother in her one-bedroom apartment every-other-weekend; I think this was an agreement in the divorce decree, but I have no idea.

brsingleBut here’s the thing: No matter who lived in that one-bedroom apartment, I did the same thing; I went into the bedroom’s large walk-in closet with my Walkman and my backpack full of cassette singles and listened to music. It was all I could do to build an emotional wall between myself and the strife of my parents’ separation. I listened to tapes — mostly cassette singles.

This was 1992/1993 — I still have many of the cassette tapes, including “Bohemian Rhapsody” (which, oddly, was the B-Side of “The Show Must Go On,” another great Queen song).

I remember many of those days, sitting on the floor of the closet of that 2nd-floor apartment, listening to those tapes, closing my eyes and escaping the bitterness of losing my parents’ marriage.

I honestly think married people with children who divorce not only end their marriage, they also take their marriage away from their children.

Granted, I don’t “blame” either of my parents for their divorce — it is what it is. But there is no denying the impact it had on me.

But in all honesty, I was 13-years-old. I needed married monogamous parents. I needed a model for what relationships should be. At the most impressionable stage of my adolescence, I needed a pillar of certainty regarding relationships.

But that’s not what I got.

What I got was an example of accusatory unfaithfulness from both sides of the battle-worn trenches of my parents’ divorce. In fact, my therapist has suggested that my parents’ infidelities contributed to a mindset which led to my own infidelities because that was the “norm” instilled upon me as an impressionable teenager.

So, psychoanalytically, marital infidelity became a subconscious “norm,” which contributed to my tendency toward my serial affairs and perhaps even my eventual crime. I’m not sure I believe all that, but it seems like a reasonable theory.

But still, I only blame me.

So anyway, last night, my wife and I went to see the film, Bohemian Rhapsody. And even through the amazing music, the incredible acting, and the engaging storyline, I found myself connecting with one of the film’s major overall themes, and it hit me hard.

During the late 70s and early 80s, Freddie Mercury lived a very self-destructive lifestyle — sex, drugs, alcohol — and in 1985, he learned he’d contracted AIDS.

During the late 2000s and 2010s, I lived a very self-destructive lifestyle — sex, drugs, alcohol — and in 2012, I was sent to prison for having a relationship I’d had with a former student 2010.

Freddie Mercury eventually realized that his out-of-control and self-destructive behavior was, indeed, rock-bottom.

I had the exact same revelation in 2010.

For Freddie, his past caught up to him when he learned that he’d contracted AIDS as a result of his behavior in the early 80s. My past caught up to me as a result of my behavior in 2010 when I was arrested in 2012 for the relationship I’d had with my former student in 2010.

Sitting in that movie theatre, I connected with this thematic parallel immediately, and it literally gripped my soul. It was as though I was watching my own downfall, played out on a grand scale. During the film, there is a moment when Freddie Mercury (portrayed amazingly by Rami Malek) realizes all-at-once that his life has been completely out-of-control; he came to the realization that he was, at that moment — standing in the rain — at rock-bottom. That’s when I saw his eyes; the utter pain and anguish in his eyes. I knew exactly what those eyes meant because I’d seen those eyes before; I saw those eyes in 2010 as I looked at myself in the rearview mirror of my car following the fourth (and final) “instance” with my former student. I know I will always be thankful that we never had sex (even though we certainly crossed the physical line), but that seemed immaterial at the time. The pain and anguish in my own eyes was the realization that I’d deteriorated, as a person, to such a depth that I thought it was permissible to have a physical relationship with her. That moment — for me — was my rock-bottom.

Following that moment, I confessed everything to my wife — including the affairs I’d been having with other teachers and the relationship with the former student — and I told her I didn’t want to be that person anymore. And she has been my foundation and support ever since. However, even though I’d vowed to her and God that I would live a better life, that did not stop my past from catching up to me two years later.

I was arrested on March 9, 2012.
And on this date in 2012 — November 2nd — I was sent to prison. I spent 763 days in prison. The consequences I paid for my past are not nearly as severe as the consequences Freddie Mercury had to endure, and perhaps I should be thankful for that — and I suppose I am. But regardless, as I sat through that movie last night, it felt like I was seeing my own personal downfall being portrayed in a grand metaphor featuring one of my all-time favorite musicians. It was such an emotional rollercoaster. throughout the film, tears rolled down my face. And I even cried a little in the car after the movie was over.

People who know me well know I’m a “film buff.” I mean, seriously, in three of the four books in The Noir Series, every chapter is named after a movie title and includes a quote from the movie. Just as I love the art of literature, I love the art of cinema. So needless to say, I connected to this film on a deeply emotional level.

The pain and anguish which accompanied my realization in 2010 that I’d truly hit rock-bottom in my life was a pain nearly incomparable to anything I’ve ever experienced. It is my prayer that no one ever has to experience that pain and anguish; and yet, I know it is what was needed for me to realize how out-of-control my life was at the time.

Today, on this 6th anniversary of my imprisonment, I’m still living with the lasting impact of the out-of-control life I lived — alcohol, drugs, serial affairs, and crossing the worst possible line as a teacher. I still live with the pain of knowing how much I hurt so many people, including the ones I love; I would willingly live in more pain if it meant lessening theirs.

I read a quote once which said, “The best apology is changed behavior.” There is nothing I can do to alter the past, nor can I escape the consequences of my destructive choices. However, I can move forward in a way which is not only exemplified by positive choices, but also contributes to the fight against what I did as a teacher. That is why I wrote After 3PM. That is why I’m willing to give speeches. That is why I am willing to be a target for pessimists who think I should be hanged on the schoolyard lawn or just find a dark corner and die (both of which, I’ve literally been told).

I can’t just do nothing. So just as Freddie Mercury’s death prompted further awareness and research into the HIV virus (starting with the tribute concert), I too am trying to find something positive and constructive from my own bad decisions and self-destruction.

As Freddie sang, “The Show Must Go On.”

Sins of the Father

No matter what direction I turn, I find myself standing face-to-face with someone I’ve hurt. Be it some random public interaction with someone from my past or someone within my own family dynamic, I am repeatedly reminded of the lasting pain I’ve caused in the lives of other people as a result of my horrid choices. And recently, it has gotten worse.

Today is the official mainstream release date of my second book, Life Noir. It’s Book #1 in a series of four books about how I hit rock bottom and managed to claw my way back to what resembles a normal life. It is written as a first-person memoir, chronicling my life from my pubescent years in high school in the 90s, all the way up until the moment I walked out of freedom and into prison on November 2, 2012.

I would not breathe free air again for the next 25 months.

“763 days. That’s 18,322 hours. That’s 1,098,720 minutes.
And I felt every — single — one.”
Life Noir, p. 210

I have never pretended to think my choices only impacted me. And until the other day, I thought I was at least mostly aware of how I’d hurt the people I love. But then, out of nowhere, something else was brought to my attention. It seems that my daughter has not been dealing with things well lately. As her father, I have always had a positive (and, for the record, appropriate) relationship with my daughter. She grew up bragging that she was a “daddy’s girl” and even today, we (mostly) get along great. She makes noticeable efforts to relate to me by cheering for my favorite baseball team (the Boston Red Sox) with me, reading books she knows I’ve read and liked (such as the Left Behind series), and asking me to help her with her considerable knack for crafts and creativity. On the surface, we have a great father/daughter relationship. But below the surface, things are not so well.

Without going into detail about the issues my daughter is having, suffice it to say she has been having some silent-but-serious struggles. These struggles prompted several students at her school to tell the school counselor, who subsequently spoke with my daughter, then called my wife. As it turns out, my daughter is still feeling a lasting sense of abandonment and trauma from my three-year absence (two years in prison and an additional year before the Kansas Department of Corrections would let me see her).

I do everything I can think of to try to restore our father/daughter relationship, but the fact of the matter is, there will always be that three-year hole in her life when she was without a father figure in her life. And it causes me lasting pain to know that it was my own destructive choices which caused a cascading domino effect, leading to the traumatization of my only child. How am I not supposed to hate myself for this?

In my car, I listen to a lot of SiriusXM Satelite Radio. If asked, most of the people who know me would assume my channel-of-choice would probably be the 90s on 9. But honestly, it’s not. Sure, I like to jam some 90s music once in a while. But more often than not, my radio is set on SiriusXM Channel 128: Joel Osteen Radio. Pastoring from Houston, Texas, Joel Osteen is a nondenominational Christian pastor with a huge church and a nationally-syndicated broadcast of his sermons. In recent months, my wife and I have been making a concerted effort together to grow in our faith. And for me, listening to Joel Osteen’s sermons in my car whenever I drive has become a notable part of that. Joel’s father was also a nationally-known pastor, John Osteen; Joel loves to talk about his dad and how he had such a great father. Joel often credits his father with much of his own success.

I had a great father. My choices were never his fault; there were a few major contributing variables regarding the choices leading to my imprisonment, and none of them were the fault of my father. However, I also know that my daughter can’t really brag that she had a great father. In the eyes of many people (including a significant number of Christians), I am the worst kind of person because of the choice I made which ended with me going to prison. If there’s one thing Joel Osteen talks about repeatedly, it is God’s unconditional forgiveness when someone comes to God with a repentant heart. And that, essentially, is me. In fact, the subtitle of my book, Life Noir, is: “A Repenting Villain’s Memoir.” Therefore, I know God has forgiven me and I’ve put the entirety of my faith in Him. But that does not change the fact that the choices of my past have hurt the people I love most.

Today is the day my Memoir is officially being released. According to Webster’s Dictionary defines a memoir as “a narrative composed from personal experience” — a book by me and about me. And yet, if there is one thing I’ve painfully learned throughout my experiences, it is this: My life is not about me; my life is about the ones I love.

My daughter has told me time and time again that she forgives me for being gone. And while I believe her, I know she is still dealing with the aftermath of my choices, even if those choices were made nearly a decade ago. She did nothing wrong; she merely had me as her father. And her father made a terrible choice which had a painful impact on her life — this will never change.

My sins are not her sins, and she shouldn’t have to suffer for what I did. But she does.

How am I not supposed to hate myself for this?

I keep asking God this question — I’m still waiting for an answer.

My Own Prison

I’ve been to prison. I spent 25 months in prison — 25 months away from my wife, my daughter, my parents, my friends, my family — torn from the ones I love due to my own destructive choices. And I am not so narrow-minded to assume I wasn’t the only one “doing time.” My wife, my daughter, and my family had to suffer through those 25 months as well, and it has had numerous lasting negative impacts, especially for my daughter.

But that prison sentence eventually ended; I was eventually allowed to go home. And yet, the 25 months I spent in prison is nothing compared to the life-long prison to which I am confined within my own mind, heart, and soul. Read More

Do You Believe?

Over the years, my personal relationship with “religion” has been nothing short of a rollercoaster. Before, during, and after prison, I have (on some — and often many — levels) struggled with what I should believe, from a “religious” perspective. My core beliefs have always fallen within the “Judeo-Christian” context, but being a person who often overthinks everything, I’d never been content with a singular truth. Read More

The Grand Mosaic

My wife and I just went to see the film, An Interview with God. It was a good movie and I really enjoyed the intellectual banter and discourse between the reporter and the man claiming to be God. The plot of the movie is simple: A journalist conducts three interviews in three days with a man claiming to be God — The God, in the Judeo-Christian sense.

So this reporter spends three days asking God questions about the world, about theology, and about God Himself. But in nearly every conversation, the topic turns to the life of the reporter. Thus, as the interviews progress, the reporter struggles with his on introspective context rather than his objective journalistic context.

This film, of course, is intended to (among other things) prompt the viewer to ask him/herself, “What would I ask God?” Read More

This Purgatory

Please don’t tell me everything is wonderful now!

That phrase, painfully shouted by the band Everclear in their song “Wonderful,” perfectly describes where my mind is right now.

Today I was cleaning out our storage room and I came across several spools of old CD-R disks. They were ambiguously marked, which made me curious what was on them. Several said “CPU BACK-UP” but had no date, so I was curious what I could have backed-up from an old computer I had years ago. However, I wasn’t quite prepared for what I found.

Read More

Some People…

Some people are merely petty, childish, bitter, and immature. And I just experienced a profound example of this concept.

My wife and I sat down to dinner with some friends at a local eatery recently. And as we were preparing to leave, a guy walked up to my wife and awkwardly stood there, looking at her without speaking. After a few more awkward moments, he finally extended his hand and spoke to her, slurring a drunken sloppy sentence resembling, “Hi, do you remember me?” The words stumbled out of his clumsy mouth in the same way he would later clumsily stumble out of the restaurant; it was painfully obvious that he was quite inebriated. Read More


It’s late at night.

Or, perhaps, it’s very early in the morning.

It’s dark outside.

It’s dark inside.

It’s raining.

I am sitting on my back porch, listening to the raindrops around me. They’re not merely raindrops; they are like the ones which make huge flat orbs on a windshield while driving through a late night storm — the ones that hit with an accentuated “thud.” I hear them hit the porch roof above me. I hear them plop into my backyard pond. I hear them falling.

Falling. Read More

Torturous Euphoria

I have my dream job!

Not many people can say that. I certainly took an unconventional (and unfortunate) route to get here, but I have achieved my goal: I am a full-time writer. Thanks to a pair of publishers who have taken a chance on me, my professional life’s #1 priority is my writing career. Everything else I do is simply what else I do. Everything else is just the other stuff — stuff that fills the gaps between the time I spend writing my work-in-progress. Read More

No Way Out

Allow me to share a parable I recently heard on The West Wing:

This guy’s walking down the street when he falls in a hole. The walls are so steep he can’t get out. A doctor passes by and the guy shouts up, “Hey you. Can you help me out?” The doctor writes a prescription, throws it down in the hole and moves on. Then a priest comes along and the guy shouts up, “Father, I’m down in this hole can you help me out?” The priest writes out a prayer, throws it down in the hole and moves on. Then a friend walks by, “Hey, Joe, it’s me can you help me out?” And the friend jumps in the hole. Our guy says, “Are you stupid? Now we’re both down here.” The friend says, “Yeah, but I’ve been down here before and I know the way out.”

This parable perfectly illustrates why I do what I do — why I wrote After 3PM, why I make speeches, why I give interviews — that is why. I’ve been stuck in the depths of the issue I’m fighting — and I know the way out. Read More

“Post Hoc, Ergo Propter Hoc” — Chapter One

There is something about the smell of blood — it never leaves the memory. When blood is experienced in mass quantity, there is a smell, and it smells like no other airborne emanation, except blood. It is the essence of life, but it is the emanation of death; it smells warm, even when it’s cold. It isn’t red, it isn’t maroon, it isn’t vermilion, it isn’t burgundy, it isn’t crimson, it isn’t scarlet — it’s blood. And blood in mass quantities, especially in an unfamiliar crimes scene, casts a dark shadow from the floor upon the entire room, upon the entire building, upon the entire world. Read More

You: 2.0

You will always be you. I will always be me. And there is nothing either of us can do about that. We’re stuck. You are you and I am me. And for some people, that’s perfectly fine. But for some of us with a regretful past of poor choices and unfortunate experiences, it almost seems like a dream to be someone else, if only for a short while.

But let’s be honest, that won’t happen. You will always be you and I will always be me. Yep, we’re stuck.

But there is still hope, there is still an option: Upgrades. Read More

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