A month ago, almost to the day, I pulled a good little plastic dude from the depths of depression and showed him one hell of a good day. Yep, Pink Ducky.

He was stuck in a real bad routine of sitting in a rotting, moldy bath-tub bag, alone, cold, depressed. So I showed him a good time!

Well, after posting pictures from his day on Twitter and this blog, Pink Ducky became a star. He got an endorsement deal from Jared Galleria of Expensive-Ass Jewelry and got paid!

I kinda lost track of the little guy cause he was so damn busy. Then, on Saturday I woke-up to the smell of waffles wafting through the air. Everyone in the house was asleep, so the first thing that came to mind was, “Oh shit, someone broke in my house to make waffles!” Thinking of family first, I grabbed a bat and walked downstairs holding the wifey in front of me for protection. And much to my glee I found Pink Ducky!!!

“You’ve been in a slump,

And feeling like a chump,

So I’m crankin’ out some waffles and here to say,

Today is gonna be YOU’RE day!!”

“Why the hell are you talking in rhyme’s Pink Ducky,” I asked?

“It’s kind of a long story,

But if you really wanna know the whole thing will be on Maury.”

“You were interviewed on the Maury Povich Show? Damn Pink Ducky, you’re a rock star!”

Anyway, the conversation continued…. But the bottom line was, the little bastard wanted to lift my spirits and enjoy a day together. So…we caught the first train to the city.

Then, he brought me to the Sears Tower.

Once we got up top he said, “Everything you see here can be yours if you try,

Damn..this is getting scary…we’re up pretty freakin’ high.”

After telling Pink Ducky the rhyming stuff was getting pretty damn old, we headed out for some grub at Ada’s Restaurant.

Then, we went to the Marshall Fields building (Macy’s) and wrote letters to Santa.

Not five damn minutes after Pink Ducky wrote his letter, Santa freakin’ delivered. That’s the luckiest Pink Ducky I’ve ever seen in my life.

Then, after dodging falling ice, having to deal with Pink Ducky having an “accident” cause the bathroom was broken, and buying him a pair of Crocs – the #2 ranked article of clothing on the list of things I can’t stand….#1 of course being the Snuggie – he decided he knew what my problem was.

“You know what’s wrong with you baby?

You’ve got to learn how to get down and sexified with your lady”

So we pounded a shitty PBR and headed home.

Then he whipped-out the guitar and showed me the art of serenading.

Took me on a tour of my wifey’s naughty drawer.

And showed me how a glass of red wine always helps get thing started.

But none of it helped. Pink Ducky failed. I tried to break it easy to him that I was still pretty depressed but he kept getting calls on his cell phone and said he had to run off to “a thing.”

In the end – it was kinda cool hanging out with the little fella again. And I do miss him. And I can’t freakin’ wait for the Maury show so I can find out why the hell he talks in rhymes.

It’s been just over a week since I lost my job.

I’ve woken up in the morning, helped get the kids ready for school and out the door. I’ve written blog posts. I’ve cranked-up my obsession with working out to a level to where I’m sure I’ll get injured soon.

I’ve been pissed as shit. I’ve been depressed. I’ve spent my time feeling helpless, letting distractions rule me, and occasionally fed-off bursts of incredible support and energy.

Yeah…right now, I feel like a victim and I’m not scared to say that. But it’s been nine days…and now I straddle that line.

On one side I can continue to slip…turn a blind-eye, wake up months from now with still nothing.

On the other, I can move on, flip my chin to what’s left behind, all while leaving small motivational bits and stories in my wake.

The way my son looks at me after everything he does makes me feel like a rock star. The way my daughter snuggles closer to me in the mornings when I crawl into bed with her to wake her makes my heart break. My family is my motivation. But pride, as a man, is my downfall. And my pride’s just been buried six-feet down and a tombstone reading “you were fired” has been slapped down forever marking my time on this orbiting rock.

But I won’t dwell. I won’t be gotten the best of.

I’ll never forget laying in bed with my wife in college, then after we first moved in, then after we had kids….and a million other times where I’ve said…. “I’m gonna make $1 million before I turn 30.” I’m 34 now.

But with time comes lessons, some learned harder than others. Risks – bring on a whole new meaning. Love – we could all write books about love. Family – it’s what defines you, and later, you find the pen in your hand with a wife and children eagerly looking at you to begin writing their chapters. Jobs – they’re the essential component in the glue holding everything together but it DOES NOT make you the person you are.

The loss of my job does not define me. It’s humbled me. It’s made stop dead. It’s made the musical soundtrack of my life adjust yet one more time. It’s made my vision of life, family, love, profession….change…..again.

When I was a kid I told myself I’d never be like my father. When I was 10, I told my brother the same. When I was a teenager, I told my future wife the same tale. When I was in college I wrote endlessly about it. When my first born entered our lives I journaled this continued promise vowing this transformation would never happen.

My current situation has me closer to being my father than I could have ever imagined I’d experience.

So I’m putting the gloves back on. The mouthpiece is back in. And I just glanced over my shoulder to see if my family showed up for their front row seats. And I can see them all lined up, leaning forward, looking at each other for reassurance, but throwing fake confidence my way. And I’m loving it…cause I’m about to cross back the fuck over and move on..far….far away from that dividing line…and fulfill a promise made long ago….to more than provide…but BE someone.