“How The Universe Works”
My Story – A false alarm brought real help
(Published in the November 2006 Grapevine)
It started sometime in the mid-fifties in the little town of Derry that’s 30 miles south of the capital, Concord in New Hampshire. The town’s population was 4,500 back then. Like many neighborhoods of that era, everyone knew everyone else’s business, but never intruded no matter what was going on. If things were not right in a family, neighbors might be concerned, but would look the other way. The saying I heard many times was, “What goes on in this house, stays in this house.” Most of my friend’s families were exactly the same. Today I know that phrase is only used in dysfunctional households.
My father was well liked and heavily involved in the drinking community. When there was a project that needed help, my dad would be there, and of course, a case or two of beer was always on the scene. My dad’s three jobs kept him very busy and we didn’t see him at home 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 how successful he could be without a college degree.
Our family was the first to have a television in town along with the first riding lawn mower. As far back as I can remember there was always a new car in the driveway and us kids wore nice cloth. At Christmas, our house received the award for the most lights.
Unfortunately, Dad was never home for us kids. As a child growing up, I barely knew who he was. The raising of us kids was left to my mother and she did the best she could.
The Catholic Mass was spoken in Latin and even though I was an Altar Boy, I didn’t have a clue 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. A friend and I were planning on going to the movies and I was waiting for my 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 said his father witnessed the body covered up on the road next to the car.
Alone in the living room, I looked out the window and prayed, “Please, God, don’t let it be my dad.”
A few minutes later, the police arrived and I knew my prayer had been ignored. 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.
A police officer along with the Catholic priest came into the kitchen telling my mom and the other three kids what 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 what he said and completely shut down all emotion. No God, no feelings, alone, and I had to be strong for everyone else.
We somehow made it through those dark days, but Mom started drinking at home more and more. Things turned bad quickly. We kids didn’t know what to expect when we came home from school each day. Sometimes she was passed out in her chair, in bed, or the living room floor. There was no way we could ever bring friends home and we were good at keeping the secrets.
On New Year’s Eve two months after the funeral I tried my first drink. A buddy and I were babysitting for a friend of the family and we mixed a few drinks from the bar. I remember it tasting terrible, but I loved the feeling. The shy introvert, I always was, became 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 the 45RPM record player. I also remember thinking, what a secret my parents had been keeping from me all these years! I’d 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 it to be. 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 because I was no candidate to be shot at. They schooled as an aircraft mechanic and my superiors didn’t care what I did after work, so I spent a lot of time at the enlisted men’s club. That started a pattern of daily drinking for the next twenty-two years.
After the military, I was married very quickly to my sisters best friend and we raised three children until after thirteen years, she filed for divorce.
Like most heavy drinkers, I was shown signposts along the way. One DWI and a few arrests led to what I hope to be my final drunk. This is the one I never want to forget.
The trouble started after drinking all day in the VFW, across the street from my apartment. By this time the morning drink was very common 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. They dragged me outside, and left me unconscious in the parking lot.
My next recollection was being awakened by the phone ringing while I slept on my couch. 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 any evidence where someone had broken in while I slept. I told the dispatcher that whoever called must have left without a trace, assuring them I’d continue to search.
To this day, I don’t remember making the call, however, I do remember feeling quite satisfied when I saw everyone standing outside the VFW and fire trucks in the street.
The next morning, the police arrived and off to jail I went. The charges were assault with a deadly weapon and false public alarm. Terror is what I felt. I pictured myself being shackled to Bubba for the next five years and that was not in my plans for the future. After a short stay in jail, I made bail and proceeded to find a lawyer. The lawyer suggested I consider not drinking anymore and maybe 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. Of course, they sent me off to AA with a bang.
During the meeting I sat along the wall and didn’t understand much of what was being said. I did hear someone say, “Maybe you should go home, get down on your knees, and beg God for help.”
I did exactly that and prayed right from the bottom of my soul, “Please, God, help me. I can’t stop drinking.”
That was twenty-nine years 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 continue to attend AA meetings on a regular basis, 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 some bad decisions while “trudging the road.”
At two years sober, I thought getting married would help me feel better about myself. The marriage only lasted fifty-two days and I didn’t drink.
At four years sober, the company I’d given 22 years of my life too, let me go, and I didn’t drink.
At six years sober, my alcoholic girlfriend refused to move out of my house, and I was the one served 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 sober, I opened a Recovery Bookstore and thought I could save the world. I lost everything I owned within three years, however, I did read a lot of books about me, and I didn’t drink.
I’ve been fired from a very good job, laid off from another, took a job at a lesser salary, and I didn’t drink.
You see, between God and AA, I can get through any situation as long as I don’t pick up the first drink.
I’ve spent the past twenty-nine years changing the way 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 which way my mind will react. I try my best to look for positive solutions; I take my problems to my sponsor or I let my friends at a meeting know what’s going on inside me.
One day at a time, with God’s guidance, I plan never to drink again. I must always remember, however, the monkey may be off my back, but the circus hasn’t left town, and it never will for this alcoholic.
Road To Recoveries 