“How the Universe Works”
A false alarm brought real help
(Published in the November 2006 Grapevine)
It started sometime in the mid-fifties in a small town in southern New Hampshire. In neighborhoods of that era, everyone knew everyone else’s business, but would never intrude, no matter what was happening. If things were not right in a family, neighbors might be concerned but would look the other way. The saying, “What goes on in this house stays in this house,” was mentioned often. Most of my friend’s families were the same. Today the phrase is only used in dysfunctional households. A state agency would have intervened if there was such an agency back then.
My father was well-liked in the drinking community. When a project needed attention, my dad would be there, and of course, a case or two of beer was always on the agenda. My dad’s three jobs kept him busy, and we didn’t see him very often. He cut shoe leather during the day, loaded trucks with cases of eggs in the evening, and cleaned the Catholic School on weekends. I believe he was trying to impress his friends on how successful he could be without a college degree.
Our family was the first to have a television in town, and Friday night, several of Dad’s friends came, with their beer, to watch boxing. As far back as I can remember, there was always an almost new car in the driveway, and we kids had nice clothing. At Christmas, our house received the award for the best decorated.
Unfortunately, Dad was never home for the family. As a child growing up, I barely knew who he was. My mother did the raising of the kids, and she did the best she could.
Catholic Mass we attended every Sunday was spoken in Latin. Even though I was an Altar Boy, I didn’t know what I was saying. I felt God was always around but not speaking my language.
Things changed one Friday evening, which gravely affected our family for many years. A friend and I were planning on going to the movies, and I was waiting for Dad to come home; he was late. My friend called and said his father was finally home and was delayed because of a terrible car crash. Someone died in the accident, and he told how his father witnessed the body covered up in the road.
Alone in the living room, I looked out the window, praying, “Please, God, don’t let it be my dad.”
A few minutes later, the police arrived, and I knew God had ignored my plea. God didn’t love me. I remember looking up and saying, “F–you!” In an instant, my relationship with God vanished for the next thirty years.
The police officer and a Catholic priest came into the kitchen, telling my mom and the other three kids what had happened. I could hear everyone in the kitchen crying. I came in and joined them. The priest took me aside and said, “You’re now the head of the family, and your mother will be looking for you to be strong.” Being twelve and impressionable, I believed his words and completely shut down all emotions. No God, no feelings, alone, and I had to be a man for everyone else.
We somehow made it through those dark days, but Mom started drinking more at home Things turned sour quickly. We kids didn’t know what to expect each day when we came home from school. Sometimes mom was passed out in her chair, in bed, or on the living room floor. We could never bring friends home and were good at keeping the family secrets.
I tried my first drink two months after the funeral on New Year’s Eve. A buddy and I were babysitting for a friend of my father’s. We mixed a few drinks from the bar, which tasted terrible, but I loved the feeling. The shy introvert I was transformed into the taller, better-looking, outgoing guy I always wanted to be. My friend and I began dancing in the kitchen, singing along with Elvis on a 45RPM record player. I also remember thinking, what a secret my parents had kept from me all these years! I would have searched out alcohol much earlier had I only known.
Liquor was hard to get in those days and never as often as I’d like. However, I did manage a six-pack or two once in a while on weekends.
After graduating from High School, the Air Force became the obvious choice. After Basic Training, there was Aircraft Mechanic school. Drinking wasn’t a problem as it was almost impossible to obtain. However, once at my first duty station in Everett, Washington, superiors didn’t care what I did after work, so I spent most of my off-duty time in the enlisted men’s club. That started a pattern of daily drinking for the next twenty-two years.
After four years in the military, I was married quickly to my sister’s best friend. On our wedding night, I passed out in the car at the motel. She should have seen the writing on the wall then. We raised three children, and she rightfully filed for divorce after thirteen years. I did manage to stay sober, without AA, for seven months. That was the deal. If I didn’t drink, I could live in the house until things were final. That day came, and I had to move on. I started drinking immediately but always looked back fondly at those seven months.
Like most heavy drinkers, I’d been shown many signposts along the way. Finally, one DWI and a few arrests ended in what I hope to be my last drunk. It’s the one I never want to forget.
The trouble started after drinking all day in the VFW across from my apartment. By this time, the morning drink was typical, and the VFW opened its doors at ten. Sometime late in the evening, I became involved in a pushing match with a Spanish fellow who refused to speak English. My gun came out, and I threatened him and his family. Lucky for the both of us, the bouncer was close-by and jumped in, taking the gun away. I was dragged outside and left unconscious in the parking lot.
My next recollection while sleeping on the couch was the phone ringing. The woman dispatcher for the police department asked, “Where did you put the bomb in the VFW?” It seems someone called 9-1-1 from my phone and identified themselves as me. I looked around the apartment and couldn’t find evidence that someone had broken in. I told the dispatcher that whoever called must have left without a trace, assuring them I’d continue to search.
I don’t remember making the call; however, I do remember feeling quite satisfied when I saw everyone standing outside the VFW with police and fire trucks in the street.
The following day, the police arrived, and off to jail, I went. The charges were assault with a deadly weapon and false public alarm. Terror is the only feeling I felt. I pictured myself shackled to Bubba for the next five years, which was not in my plan. After a short stay in jail, I made bail and proceeded to find a lawyer. The lawyer suggested I consider not drinking and attend AA meetings.
She said, “It might help when we go to trial if I can tell the judge you have been sober for several months and you’re putting your life back together.”
The next night was my first AA meeting, drinking, of course, as I had no courage to do it without some help. I also thought my friends in the bar would be worried if I wasn’t around for a while, and I didn’t want them to worry. So they sent me off to AA with a bang.
I sat along the wall during the meeting and didn’t understand what was said; however, I heard someone say, “Maybe you should go home, get down on your knees, and beg God for help.”
I did precisely that and prayed from the bottom of my soul, “Please, God, help me. I can’t stop drinking.”
That was three and a half decades ago. My lawyer plea-bargained the charges, and the judge gave me a break with a suspended sentence and a conditional discharge, so my record was wiped clean after a year.
Today, I regularly attend AA meetings, sponsor several men, have a home group, and have been involved in the business end of several clubs.
Has my life been smooth since I’ve found sobriety? Heck, no. Like most of us, I’ve made bad decisions while “trudging the road.”
After two years, I thought getting married would help me feel better. But unfortunately, the marriage only lasted fifty-two days, and I didn’t drink.
At four years, the company I’d given 22 years of my life let me go, and I didn’t drink.
At six years, my alcoholic girlfriend refused to move out of my house, and I was the one served with a restraining order, and I didn’t drink.
That girlfriend became a friend but died of cancer two years later, and I didn’t drink.
At eight years, I opened a Recovery Bookstore called Journey to Serenity and thought I could save the world. Unfortunately, I lost everything I owned within three years; however, I read many books about myself and didn’t drink.
I’ve been fired from an excellent job, laid off from another, took a job at a lesser salary, and didn’t drink.
You see, I can get through any situation between God and AA as long as I don’t pick up the first drink.
I’ve spent the past 36 years changing how I think about myself. I’m a student of life, trying to learn how the universe works.
The most powerful lesson I’ve learned is everything happens inside me. My perception of any situation is in my control. I have a choice in which way my mind will react. I try my best to look for positive solutions; I take my problems to my sponsor or let friends at a meeting know what’s going on with me.
With God’s guidance, I plan never to drink again, one day at a time. I must always remember, however, that the monkey may be off my back, but the circus hasn’t left town, and it never will for this alcoholic.
(Published in the November 2006 Grapevine)