The Pursuit

By Eric Hughes

Eric Hughes grew up in Berkeley, a San Francisco suburb, in the 1960s. Although his parents provided a comfortable middle-class existence, it was precisely that, an existence. It lacked the loving family dynamic he saw in his friends and neighbors' homes. He longed for that happy, idealized sitcom family he watched on television.

When dysfunction and temptation prevailed, Eric took solace in baseball, but without the loving support of his family. As a young adult, Eric relentlessly pursued a better life and achieved some financial success, but his temptations and dysfunction nearly took his life.

What could only be touted as divine intervention, Eric's life would take a profound turn. He found peace within his spiritual faith and a newfound love of God. However, he soon realized that true happiness didn't come from a materialistic life but from the family dynamic he craved as a child.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Dec 18, 2023
• ISBN: 9798350936414

Book preview

The Pursuit

We all have the desire to be happy. Truly happy. But do we know what happiness is? Do we even know how to be happy?

Throughout my life, there have been numerous times I thought I was happy, but when I look back, I was not. I mistook success, wealth, and a dream home as happiness. I misunderstood the accumulation of nice things as happiness. Those are highs. Like the rush of endorphins you feel when you win a game or contest. Highs are intense, often short-lived, and can leave you feeling empty afterward, even sad or depressed. And these highs become addictive. You want more highs to feel happy.

Happiness is long-lived, soothing, and calming. It includes joy and the peace of God, which passeth all understanding (Phil. 4:7). In the past, I found brief happiness within my faith, serving the Lord and the people of God in the Body of Jesus Christ. For over twenty-eight years, I have been learning how to deny ungodliness and worldly lusts and live soberly, righteously, and godly, in this present world (Titus 2:11-12). Then I realized that desire that was inserted in my heart had taken a back seat to my pursuit of true happiness. When I started trusting in my faith again, with a new mindset, it began my journey toward finding happiness—the real deal. When I built my dream house, I thought surely that would lead to happiness— but it was just a high. Designing and building my house was a great accomplishment, but simply a beautiful structure; happiness was found within my soul—with my family inside our loving home.

It took me many years, a greater understanding of myself, the deaths of people close to me, and the strength of my faith to finally guide me to realize what happiness means. I can’t bring them back, nor can I go back in time and change my past, but I can live the rest of my life with a smile, and surround myself with those I love and would do anything for.

As painful as it can be, learning from one’s mistakes, life experiences, twists and turns, epiphanies, and the love and trust of God makes us who we are. I am a better man today because of these experiences, and I hope you’ll enjoy reliving this journey with me.

Family Matters

Berkeley, California. On the east side of the San Francisco Bay, home to UC Berkeley and the 1960s free speech movement. It was 1962, I was two years old, and we had just moved to the San Francisco suburb: a very middle-class place, a very middle-class existence. My father, Arthur, was a janitor and often worked late, and my mother, Norma, worked for the U.S. Department of Justice with more of a nine-to-five schedule. We had a two-story home on Sacramento Street with my older sisters, Linda and Michelle.

Despite being born Eric, my mom began calling me Ricky at a very young age. She used to take on babysitting jobs, and one of her friend’s sons was Ricky. She always remembered that as the inspiration to call me Ricky. My sister was really surprised she didn’t just name me Ricky. To this day, we’re all curious because no one we knew was named Eric. But the nickname stuck.

At that time, I thought my given name was Ricky. Each year, on the first day of school, when the teacher took roll and called out Eric, I would raise my hand and let them know I preferred to go by Ricky.

As time passed and I was about eight years old, I made friends with different kids in the neighborhood; I noticed something different about their families. It wasn’t that they were richer or poorer than we were, and it certainly wasn’t about race; none of us really saw color back then – we were just people. But they did something my family never did. It seemed simple, but they had dinner at a specific time each night, and everyone was at the table together—a family unit, sharing their day over a home-cooked meal. We talked about the importance of education, music, sports, and respect of others, just like the family values we all saw each night on television. When dinner was over, we couldn’t rush out to play, oh no. The table was cleared, the dishes were washed, and the trash was taken outside – and I didn’t mind. It felt like this is what a family was supposed to do. We didn’t have that.

Our home on Sacramento Street in Berkeley.

All of my neighborhood friends had both parents except for one. My younger friend, John, moved to Berkeley with his mom and younger sister. He was mixed race and didn’t necessarily fit in as much, but that didn’t matter to me. He looked up to me as his big brother, and as someone he admired and aspired to be. From his perspective, my family had the television situation comedy values because I had both parents. If only that were true.

Back home, my mom would make us dinner, but my sisters would eat at one time, I would eat at another, and since my dad wouldn’t arrive home until late, my mom would often leave a plate for him on the stove, or he would fix something himself. There was never a family atmosphere. I didn’t realize then how important that would be to me. How much I longed for normalcy. How much I longed for a loving, close family.

I would spend a lot of time with our neighbor’s kid, who lived around the corner, Tootie. I would hop from our backyard into theirs and often spend the night, hang out, etc. He and I are still friends to this day. They had that family dynamic and did everything together. It was nice. Tootie’s mother always had him involved in music or educational-based activities, and oh, was she strict! She wouldn’t let him get away with anything. I was always impressed with his mom. She went from a career as a pharmacist to being appointed by California Governor Jerry Brown to a special healthcare project.

They would take a family vacation each year, which always made me sad. Not that I wasn’t included or that I missed my friend; it was because my family never did that. I’m sure there was a bit of jealousy when I was young, but it was one more thing the other families did, and mine didn’t. They occasionally included me on day trips, mostly on Sundays to church, San Francisco to see the Chinatown parades, and the beach-side amusement park Playland. And as inappropriate as it was, I will never forget the Big Fat Laughing Lady, who always made me smile. Those were the days when I forgot about any problems and truly felt happy.

Weekends at our place, however, consisted of parties. The house was filled with cigarette smoke, and my dad would invite friends over for card games, like Bid Whist and Dominoes. My dad loved company and entertaining friends. Each year, he would throw himself a big birthday party. They’d eat, drink, and party the night away. This went on for years. When I was as young as six or seven, my Uncle Ben would give me those little beers. They don’t make them anymore, but they were about six or eight ounces, and I would drink them. I thought that would make me cool and impress my uncle and dad. I was a little man!

By this time, I was starting