The Stage Is Set - Post #2

Hey all! Jeff here. I am writing you at the beginning of my third life. My first life ended back in late summer 1997 when I fell from a ladder. If you want to skip everything that follows and take away one absolute truth, that truth is, it takes two people to work a ladder. Simple enough. But I was unaware of that little gem at the time and had to learn the hard way.
I was 35 years old, living in typical suburbia, outside a typical metropolitan city, in the wondrous country that is Canada. I was not-so-long married and primary provider to an incredible wife and two young kids. My son Spike, was 6 at the time. Me daughter, Bubba, was 4.
I got up every day, way too early, and ran around like a manic trying to deal with the pressure and the stress of making it happen. And I came home way too late, all too often, even while desperately trying to irk out just a wee bit of time to spend with my lady and the kids before it all past me by. Not an easy balancing act when you consider that primary source of our income was generated by yours truly from commission based sales. Anyone that’s done that knows it’s all about a reinvention of one’s self, every minute of every day, if you want to be successful.
Now I tended to defined success on a much broader scale, which put quality time with my family at the top of that list. Followed closely by solid commitments to extended family, friends and work collegues. Not exactly the typical sales model to excel in a sales career.
At the beginning of this tale, I had signed Spike up for lessons in the martial arts. Tai Kwon Do to be specific. I did so for all the right reasons including enlightening the kid on such matters of building his confidence and self esteem, teaching him respect for others and, of course, the physical exercise might just burn some of that energy that just doesn’t seem to shut off, often enough, in a six year old boy.
Now when you unilaterally commit your kid to such an activity, and you know in your heart it it’s for all the right reasons, the better interest of the child, etc., you also know, without having to discuss it with your partner, that you will both share in the making-it-happen. Not so. When you commit ‘em, you also commit yourself to getting him to and from, on a regular basis. Everyday. Every week. Every month. Just cause.
This commitment meant racing from work to either the house or school, a minimum of twice a week, through horrendous traffic, often late leaving and late arriving and late delivering the kid to his class. I would then sit in the gallery panting and sweating, trying to calm down, while watching Spike learn to kick ass down there on the mats. Did I mention, at this point in my life, I was likely a good 40 pounds overweight? Well it took me about a month of this before I realized, if I don’t get down there on the gym floor with him, and get busy, the stress of all this is going to kill me. I also realized that punching out willing participants might be just what I’ve been looking for. Conversely, a few good shots to the head might actually do me some good.  So I signed up. The decision saved my life. But not in the way you’d expect.