Alcoholics Anonymous

They are male and female, doctors and dockhands, punk rockers and patricians, young and old.  They are drill sergeants and captains of industry sharing generalities and private demons.  They are black and white and Spanish- speaking. Some of them went to Yale and others have been to jail. They face each dawn stepping forward on a journey whose only destination is day's end and the uncertain promise of beginning tomorrow as they began today.  They undertake the effort as if their very survival depends on it.  It does.
    They introduce themselves as Jack T. or Molly R. and bring new meaning to "first-name basis."  In Connecticut alone, they gather in groups some 2000 times a week to find in each other human way stations to re-fuel their resolve.  They are people you know.  They are Alcoholics Anonymous.
    A few weeks ago I asked an old friend  I knew was very involved in AA to take me to a meeting.  I had hoped to pick up a column’s worth of anecdotes and maybe a few details about some drunks who were trying to stay sober.  I looked around the room at that first meeting and saw tattooed bikers, yuppies, senior citizens and teenagers scattered evenly among the dozen or so tables set up in a church basement.  I soon realized an issue that could produce fellowship in a group like this was going to be more complex than expected.  I collected a pile of literature, borrowed several tapes of AA speakers and attended several more meetings all over Connecticut.
    Some alcoholics will attempt to get sober and fail; others will never try.  Most will die drunk.   A few million of them -- a small percentage of the total-- will find recovery in the AA program.
    Alcoholics are not just people who drink a lot.  Liquor does not produce in them a mellow buzz or a bold euphoria.  It goes down their throat and resounds with the "Pow! Zing!" of a genie being released from a bottle.  And this personal Aladdin's Lamp, this elixir, simply takes over.  "Go ahead Eve, " it whispers, "take another bite out of that apple."
    Imagine the temptation of ready access to a potion which could instantly imprison your problems in a liquid suspension.  Even if you knew it would kill you, and those very problems would soon boomerang bigger and meaner from neglect.  How many of us could say no to such a temporary remedy, however  lethal in some far-flung future it might be?  Who could deny themselves a cure for financial troubles, a contentious marriage or  feelings of self-doubt?  If this sounds easy ask yourself why there are cigarette smokers and remember tobacco's effects are not anywhere near as satisfying as alcohol to the drinker.
    As one listens to alcoholics tell their stories an oft-recurring theme is a feeling of aloneness, of being different, singled out, picked on or not being good enough.  They see themselves as losers in the unwinnable endgame of, in the words of Clancy I., "comparing the way you feel on the inside to the way other people appear on the outside."   When they have a few and often, a few more, these feelings go away.  It is the recipe for an alcoholic.
    The alcoholic, like an athlete who overuses painkillers, drinks to stay in the game.
    The halfback knows he risks being unable to walk again and the alcoholic may be aware he props himself up on clay feet, but the fangs of his inner serpent lace him with a venom for which the only antidote is drink.
    The alcoholic will tell himself he's not like the others who have "that" weakness.  He will be convinced he can stop at any time; that he only hits the sauce because he has all these damnable problems.  He’s sure he is different.  If he ever hits rock-  bottom and begins on the Alcoholics Anonymous path to sobriety he will learn his mindset is the essential definition of alcoholism.
    He is like them: It is not the High Life or the highball at the root of his condition.  He is irresistibly attracted to alcohol.
    There are as many ways to hit bottom as there are alcoholics.  It might be a series of car wrecks or one in which an innocent is killed or injured.  It can be absenteeism and the loss of employment.  Maybe it's an instance of domestic abuse so heinous the perpetrator feels as if it was someone else who committed it.  The household budget perhaps was spent at a bar instead of for housing or baby food.
    Possibly there was such a craving for drink the individual found himself quaffing after-shave or mouthwash.  It might mean an unsettling wake-up from a blackout.
    A blackout is an episode in which the actor is so out of it he has no self-awareness and later will have no memory of his actions.  She may even appear to the casual observer to be functioning normally.  It is not unheard of for an alcoholic to come to from a blackout aboard an airplane bound for an unknown destination, behind the wheel of a car with steam spurting from a radiator which has just been introduced at high speed to the side of a ditch or in the bed of a stranger surrounded by four unfamiliar walls.
    The alcoholic who finds himself in this gutter need only to raise one finger above the curb to seek help.  If he can reach within himself to reach that far, he will find the ready hand of Alcoholics Anonymous.  Here, he can meet the many others who are like him and in their fellowship set out on a new road to sobriety.  This route is called The Twelve Steps.
    The Steps are not rungs on a ladder to be climbed to a fixed destination.  They are dance steps  practiced again and again every day of the recovering alcoholic's life.
    AA succeeds where most other programs fail because the reach for sobriety is only the beginning.  Anyone can turn out dry people --hospitals, treatment facilities and lock-ups do it all the time.  But in a matter of hours or days after release, they will have fallen off the wagon.
    The Steps can be enumerated and related but not truly described by an outsider any more than one can explain the instant in which one learns to ride a bicycle.
    Recovering alcoholics spend years practicing step sobriety and attend certain meetings dedicated to helping one another learn the process.  The Steps are not so much about stopping drinking -- "alcohol" is mentioned but once in the text -- as they are a daily methodology to reinvent the alcoholic personality.  Recovery is a lifelong seminar.
    Just as an adolescent learns how to drink, the alcoholic learns how not to:  One day at a time.
    Step One:  We admitted we were powerless over alcohol - that our lives had become unmanageable.  Since the Twelve Steps' ultimate goal is to rebuild a personality, the recovering alcoholic must first admit she has hit bottom. This serves as a foundation upon which to build a new and sober individual.  A building rehabilitated from halfway up on shaky underpinnings will surely crumble.
    Step Two:  Came to believe that a Power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity.  The newcomer must begin to believe there is something out there to help him recover from his addiction.  For many, this means God.  For some, it is Alcoholics Anonymous and the support of his fellow sufferers.  This step opens the door of faith and the realization that recovery is possible.
    Step Three:  Made a decision to turn our will and our lives over to the care of God as we understood him.  AA members often speak of their "Higher Power."  Usually, this means God  in the traditional sense but the underlined phrase of Step Three acknowledges God can be embraced in myriad ways.  Some see God residing within all living things or as a tenant of the individual soul.  Many atheists and agnostics are also successful members of AA.  Step Three, for the alcoholic, is the first part of a quest to discover a weapon powerful enough to vanquish the demons which have brought his life to ruin.
    Step Four: Made a fearless and searching moral inventory of ourselves.  Some failing deep inside the psyche of the alcoholic makes liquor a siren's song luring her to an eventual death.  What lurks within her that she tries to suppress or escape with alcohol?  At Step Four she tries to find out.
    Step Five:  Admitted to God, to ourselves, and to other human beings the exact nature of our wrongs.   Sometimes the best way for someone to understand what he does is to explain it to someone else.  One of the steepest barriers to an alcoholic's recovery is often an unshakable feeling of being alone -- even when surrounded by others.  Step Five is a sledgehammer placed in the hands of the alcoholic to be wielded against the walls of isolation.
    Step Six:  Were entirely ready to have God remove all these defects of character.  This does not suggest obtaining perfection or removing  all flaws of the human condition.  Rather, it opens in the alcoholic a willingness to try.  If the life of the alcoholic is to be turned around it will happen slowly and deliberately, like a turret on a battleship.
    Step Seven:  Humbly asked Him to remove our shortcomings.  The emphasis of Step Seven is humility. The alcoholic possessed of hubris will run the risk of tending to his own needs and probably return to his life in a bottle.
    Step Eight:  Made a list of all persons we had harmed, and became willing to make amends to them all.
    Step Nine: Made direct amends to such people wherever possible, except when to do so would injure them or others.   For most people the wronging of others, if they are even aware of it, is merely a cause of guilt or some other bad feeling.  For the alcoholic who has come to know himself and his past, the harm he has done to others is a wild weed that threatens the garden of his new consciousness.  Many members of AA feel Steps Eight and Nine are the most salutary and they are usually pleased and surprised by the positive support given them by those to whom they make amends.  The exception to Step Nine is a judgment call:  A clear case for its application would be not to apologize for having an affair with your best friend’s wife if it still remains a secret.
    Step Ten:  Continued to take personal inventory and when we were wrong promptly admitted it.  Recovery from alcoholism takes a lifetime.  AA members must recognize their lives are now akin to a gymnast on the balance beam and one misstep could easily send them atumble into the waiting arms of John Barleycorn.  Step Ten is a daily or even hourly exercise in which the alcoholic takes note of where she's been, where she is and where she must go.
    Step Eleven:  Sought through prayer and meditation to improve our conscious contact with God as we understood him, praying only for knowledge of His will for us and the power to carry that out.  All members of AA focus on different steps to varying degrees.  Some interpret this step to mean elevating their level of prayer as it is defined in the traditional sense and strengthening the communication between themselves and their God.  Others look inward in their meditations.
    Step Twelve:  Having had a spiritual awakening as the result of these steps, we tried to carry this message to alcoholics, and to practice these principles in all our own affairs.  The recovering alcoholic learns giving is its own reward.  Service to others is an integral part of his sobriety.  Some of this is accomplished through the sponsorship practice of AA in which a new member asks a veteran to be his guide and mentor.  The sponsor makes himself available to his sponsee twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week and provides succor and sanctuary for his charge in times of temptation.  In doing so, the sponsor fortifies his own sobriety through the discipline of promising to be there for someone else.  Just as a new parent moves further into maturity, the sponsor learns the discipline of dependability.
    This article, the first in a series of three, is a mere distillation of an enormously complex and ill-understood condition and its treatment.  Alcoholics Anonymous is not without its failures . . . and its critics.  It is however, the only "cure" for alcoholics with
any consistent record for success.

    Popular movements, like marriages which end in divorce, start out full of idealism and unity of purpose and are broken apart by internal squabbling and loss of commonality.
    Sixty years ago, Alcoholics Anonymous was a handful of drunks in Akron, Ohio groping for ways to help each other stay sober.  Today A.A. numbers some 25 million members in 500,000 chapters in 150 countries.  A.A. maintains a sense of mission and survives its bigness by adherence to the Twelve Traditions.
    The second half of what A.A. members call the "Twelve and Twelve" (the first is the Twelve Steps) were formulated by A.A. founder Bill W. in response to early problems of the organization.  As word spread in the 1930's of the Akron coterie  who discovered an exit from drunkenness, fledgling groups were starting all over the U.S.  The new members struggled with the lack or allocation of money,  membership qualifications, leadership contests and how A.A. could help resolve the issues facing all of society.  They were having trouble getting down to the business of getting sober.
    Other successful fellowships dedicated to sobriety and faith in American history, notably the Washingtonians in the mid-  nineteenth century and the Oxford Movement in the early part of the twentieth had risen and fallen in a short span of time.  A.A. was in danger of repeating the pattern of its predecessors.
    Complaints and questions began arriving in the mailbox at A.A.'s central office in New York -- which consisted of Bill W. and a secretary.   In response, and with the help of a few friends, Bill W. established these Twelve Traditions:

    Our A.A. experience has taught us that:
    1.  Our common welfare should come first; personal recovery depends on A.A. unity.  More than a syllogism, Tradition One forms the basis for the rest of the traditions.  If the organization dies,  the alcoholics who might have been helped will die drunk.
    2.  For our group purpose there is but one ultimate authority -- a loving God as he may express Himself in our group conscience.  Our leaders are but trusted servants; they do not govern.  All A.A. groups need someone to arrange for speakers, handle the donations basket, and see that the ever-present coffee pot is full for meetings.  Usually, the administrative tasks are assigned by the group on a rotating schedule which changes every few months -- a prime example of term limits in action.  A.A. groups have found people in leadership positions soon enough begin to act like leaders. The democracy of the group is kept level by constant turnover in these positions.
    3.  The only requirement for A.A. membership is a desire to stop drinking.  Early A.A. groups tried to limit their membership to certain "kinds" of alcoholics.  There were members who felt threatened by mean drunks, loudmouths,  hobos (today they're called homeless people), gays, or various minorities.  Bill W. and A.A. co-founder Dr. Bob knew such exclusions would leave members wondering if they would be next to be cast out.   Since A.A. was in the business of saving lives, it followed that non-admission would take lives.  No group, they reasoned, should judge who lives and who dies.  So they made it simple:  A person becomes a member of A.A. when he or she says so.
    4.  Each group should be autonomous except in matters affecting other groups or A.A. as a whole.  Each of the half-million meetings is a little different from the next.  All that is asked of every group is to do nothing which might inhibit the other 499,999.  Tradition Four discourages anything which might be inconsistent with the reputation of the organization or the fundamentals of the movement.
    5.  Each group has but one primary purpose -- to carry its message to the alcoholic who still suffers.   For reasons often discussed in meetings yet not fully understood, the recovery of the alcoholic depends on him or her helping others who are
similarly afflicted.
    6.  An A.A. group ought never endorse, finance, or lend the A.A. name to any related facility or outside enterprise, lest the problems of money, property, and prestige divert us from our primary purpose.   Early on, it was thought it would be okay to attach the A.A. name to "good" enterprises such as a rehab center.  It was soon discovered agreeing on what "good" meant threatened group unity.  The inflow of money, no matter how well-intentioned, is easily corrupting.  What, for example, should a group do if it was offered money for a worthy undertaking but the source of that money was questionable?What if Budweiser or Jack Daniels wanted to fund A.A. to conduct alcohol education programs?  Like sobriety, there is no halfway in such matters.
    7. Every A.A. group ought to be fully self-supporting, declining outside contributions.   John D. Rockefeller was an early admirer of A.A. and much of the Seventh Tradition is attributed to him.  Rockefeller saw that having substantial sums of money would be the ruin of the organization's principles (though, apparently, not his own).  Of this tradition, Bill W. wrote "whoever pays the piper is apt to call the tune."  A bequest of a million dollars will be refused by A.A.  Groups pay their expenses -- rent, the always on-hand coffee, printing, etc. -- by passing around a basket at meetings into which members usually throw in one dollar.
    8.  Alcoholics Anonymous should remain forever nonprofessional, but our service centers may employ special workers.  It is felt that no one should be paid to walk another through the Twelve Steps.   Recovery depends on the truehearted motivation of both giver and recipient.  The exception applies to necessary ministerial staff such as secretaries or janitors.
    9.  A.A., as such, ought never be organized; but we may create service boards or committees directly responsible to those they serve.  Tradition Nine recognizes certain central functions are necessary for the movement -- such as a national headquarters to make literature and meeting information available to those who inquire about the program.
    10.  Alcoholics Anonymous has no opinion on outside issues; hence the A.A. name ought never be drawn into public controversy.   The Washingtonians’ sobriety society grew quickly to where it had 500,000 members by 1850.  Its members thought it perfectly reasonable for chapters to take a position on slavery.  This quickly divided North and South.  By the time of the Civil War, the Washingtonians were a memory.  Just as the individual alcoholic must learn to master his own temptations, the survival of A.A. depends on refusing the lure of opinion -- no matter how righteous the cause may seem.  For A.A., this includes the issues of temperance and drunk driving.
    11.  Our public relations policy is based on attraction rather than promotion; we need always maintain personal anonymity at the level of press, radio, and films.    Bill W. refused a Time Magazine request to do a cover story about him. He did so knowing such publicity would bring many alcoholics through the healing gates of A.A.  He felt the precedent of individual recognition would justify others who might follow.  Inevitably, group unity would be corroded.   This article could not have been written by a member of A.A. unless it was penned namelessly.  A.A. is pleased when its principles and its work are displayed but is unwilling to allow publicity generated by the alcoholic for fear the messenger may become the message.  Many celebrities belong to A.A. and speak at member meetings and conventions.  Occasionally, one of them will talk publicly about their experiences in A.A.  Such a person is breaking the Eleventh Tradition.
    12.  Anonymity is the spiritual foundation of all our traditions, ever reminding us to place principles before personalities. Anonymity is the gateway to the humility and self-sacrifice essential to the completion of the Twelve Steps. A nameless self is less likely to be afflicted by the pride which precedes a fall.
    These Twelve Traditions are often the subject at A.A. meetings where they are studied and discussed.  Carrying them out is a constant exercise in democracy and personal responsibility. The continued expansion and viability of Alcoholics Anonymous
worldwide is testament to the wisdom of their application.

Part Three:  My name is . . . and I'm an alcoholic

    I attended several Alcoholics Anonymous meetings around Connecticut and a few internet online meetings.  These are a sample of the stories I heard.  Some of the names and details have been changed to protect anonymity.

*  *  *  *  *

    

    My name is George and I'm an alcoholic.  I've been sober almost twenty years.  Last week I got some sad news about my old friend Jimmy.    He and I first met when we got out of college about thirty years ago and started together as junior executives in a big New York advertising agency.  Jimmy had everything going for him -- he had graduated from an Ivy League school, he was smart, witty, handsome and a good athlete.  We shared an apartment in Manhattan for a couple of years.  We went out together drinking and carrying on almost every night.  We were young and strong and still had the stamina to show up for work the next day.
    Eventually I got married, changed jobs and moved out here to the suburbs. I still got drunk every night but in a way I then believed was more controlled.  Jimmy continued to hit the city night life pretty hard.  Little by little it began to affect his job performance.  He got fired.  He landed a couple more jobs after that and he was fired from them too.  Every once in a while Jimmy would call me at two or three in the morning -- he'd be pretty stoned and holed up in some flophouse.  I'd go in and see him, give him some money and try to talk him into sobering up.  The last few times it happened I had been in AA for a number of years and tried to get him to try a few meetings.   He was sure he could do it himself.  And for a while it would look like he was succeeding.  Then he'd disappear until I got one of those phone calls again.
    The last I heard from him was about three years ago.  He sounded great, said he had straightened out and was heading off to Europe.
    Last week Jimmy's sister called me.  Jimmy was found frozen and dead in a London gutter somewhere.  I know there's nothing I could have done to help him until he was ready to save himself.  I will miss him though -- even those phone calls.  Alcoholism took  what could have been a bright light among us.  Today, I'm humbled and more thankful than ever for Alcoholics Anonymous and the people in this room for helping me find a way to change what surely would have been a fate similar to Jimmy's.

   *  *  *  * *

     

    My name is Sarah and I'm an alcoholic.  I just celebrated five years of being sober, about the same time I had my twentieth birthday.  I started drinking when I was ten.
    I don't know why I was such a difficult kid except that I always felt different from everyone else.  I grew up in a nice house in the suburbs with two loving parents.  My body matured early for a girl  and I guess it made me feel weird.  Drinking helped me forget about these feelings -- it made me feel grown-up like I was a real woman.  I would sneak out at night and drink with some of the older kids at a park in the neighborhood.
    My folks knew I had a problem and twice they sent me into rehab programs.
    These were at pretty places in the country and I knew just what to do.  I played the good girl and swore to every one of the counselors I had seen the error of my ways and was going to straighten out.  I knew acting like this would get me released sooner so I could get back to my regular drinking.  When I was fourteen I ran away from home and was living with two older guys in some dumpy place in the city.
    There was an older boy from my neighborhood named Jason who my parents asked to come and get me out of that rathole.  I always thought Jason was way too cool for me -- smart, handsome and captain of the football team.  It turned out Jason had been in Alcoholics Anonymous for three years.  He brought me to my first meeting.
    Maybe I did it just to impress Jason, but I followed the recommended course for newcomers -- 90 meetings in 90 days.  It changed my life.
    I'm in college now and I have a great relationship with my parents.  I am forever grateful to God, Jason and A.A. for giving me this second chance at life.

  *  *  *  *  *

    

    My name is Carlos and I am an alcoholic and a drug addict. I grew up in Middletown in an alcoholic family.  I vowed I would never be like my father who became a violent person every time he drank.  My father was a good father when he was sober but as soon as he began to drink he would lash out at anyone in his way.  I started drinking when I was 14 because all of the older guys were doing that and I wanted to hang out with them. I drank at parties and on the weekend.  I didn't mess around with drugs because my father would have beaten me and thrown me out of the house if he found out.  I started to get in trouble at age 16.
    I dropped out of school and joined a gang and I began to use on a daily basis.  I became a father at age 17 and soon after was arrested for the first time. I was arrested six more times in the next three years, mostly for dealing drugs.  I went to prison for one year and vowed I would stay clean when I got out of jail.
    I went to A.A. meetings in prison but never followed up when I got out.  I thought it was weak to go to A.A..  I started to sell drugs to support my family but soon I began to use the drugs and I became my best customer.  Selling drugs was not enough so I began to steal to support my habit and no one could get me to stop.  I became very violent with those who loved me.
    When my wife tried to get me to stop I would beat her and stay out for three or four days at a time.  I would take the money that was supposed to go for food and I would buy drugs. Every time I would say "I'll never do that to my family again", but as soon as I had some money I was buying drugs or alcohol. I was not faithful to my wife, only to drugs.  I was drunk or high most of the day.  I would feel so sad sometimes and whenever one of my children had a birthday I would vow that "next year" I will buy them lots of presents and "next year" it would be different.  "Next year" never came. I had turned out to be exactly like my father.
    I went in and out of jail and never thought that the problem was drugs or alcohol.  I thought everyone was against me and the only time I ever felt good was when I was using.  In 1991 I was arrested for selling heroin. It was the 13th time I had been arrested. I was sentenced to 18 years in prison and that is what it took for me to realize what my problem was. The problem was Carlos.
    In prison I met other people who had been powerless over drugs and alcohol. I began to go to A.A. meetings and I realized I was not unique, that I could never safely use drugs or alcohol.  I have been clean for six years and attend A.A. meetings three nights a week. I try to talk with the youngsters that are sentenced here and let them know they do not have to have a life of drugs and alcohol. I tell them there is a way out.  My family comes to visit me twice a week and in April I will be going to a halfway house to continue my recovery.  I look forward to being a good father and a good husband. I know it will be hard when I get out but I also know I can stay sober as long as I lead my life one day at a time.

  *  *  *  *  *

    

    My name is Helen and I’m an alcoholic.  I am a 40-year old woman with a college education, two children, and a house in the suburbs.  At  first, I drank because everyone drank.  I drank for fun.  Then I drank because something magical happened to me when I got high:  I no longer felt awkward and tongue-tied;  I was no longer too tall or heavy.  Instead, I felt just as I thought everyone else did.  Normal.
    This feeling was fleeting, however.  All too soon, I had to drink more to get the same feeling.  Then I began to have blackouts and hangovers, and had to invent excuses for my behavior.  I began to isolate and lie and imperil myself and my children, and a horrifying downward spiral began:  I drank to feel better, got drunk, felt worse, and drank to blot it all out.
    Once I started, I could never stop.
    The end came unexpectedly.  One day I woke up with an improbable clarity and understood that all my troubles were a consequence of drinking.  I couldn't stop tomorrow;  I had to stop now.  Desperate enough to place my well being in the hands of others, I went to Alcoholics Anonymous and over the course of the next few months, did everything I was told to do.  Sure, I resisted the suggestions.  I figured if I stopped drinking that would be enough.  It took a lot of A.A. meetings to realize that if I did not change I could pick up a drink once again.  That's what the 12 steps are all about, changing me and coming to terms with the world.
    I lost a great deal while I was drinking, things I never thought I could regain, but five years later, my life is totally changed.  The people of Alcoholics Anonymous have loved me back to sanity and are there to sustain me on a daily basis.   I understand that I am an alcoholic and that I can not drink safely.  I understand that I have a disease that requires only that I follow a few simple suggestions:  don't drink, go to meetings and ask for help.  In return, I have no secrets from my loved ones.  I sleep with a clear conscience.

*  *  *  *  *

    My name is Pete and I'm an alcoholic.  My Dad died on January 25, 1965. My Mom cried a lot. Me too.   I've been trying to be him ever since. He was my hero. I loved my Dad. I never told him that, but he knew. He loved me too; he never told me that, but I knew. My mom told me how much he loved me.
    He hocked his prized saxophone to buy me a trumpet. He swapped work schedules to coach my baseball team. He used to tell me, "The best thing you can do for yourself is to do something every day that you hate like hell to do, and do the best damned job you can at it."  I didn't understand it; but I knew I should remember it - my Dad said it. He wanted to be a musician, but he couldn't do that and have a family, too. Me too.
    He cursed God for putting him on the intelligence/talent ladder at a rung just high enough to see how wonderful life could be. If he could get just a little higher he could be in the "promised land".  Just a little lower, and he wouldn't know what he was missing. Either way he could have been happy.  That envy made him bitter. Me too.
    Every day for twenty seven years he went to a job he hated like hell and did a damned good job of it.  Me too.
    He lived his life in self pity, over-indulgence, arrogance, anger, resentment, fear, loneliness, rage and self-loathing because he recognized his own hypocrisy. This last thing, this self-loathing, was the worst because he lived in constant fear that someone
would discover his awful secret. Me too.
    To overcome this fear he acted irritated, bored, mean, cruel, obstinate, opinionated, never wrong and always misunderstood. He couldn't understand why people didn't like him. After all, deep down he was a good guy. If he couldn't get people to like him, then he'd settle for getting people to fear him. He would intimidate people physically, intellectually, and emotionally. When confronted with this he would pass it off as a joke.  "Can't you take a little good natured humor?" Me too.
    He prided himself on the fact that he was a better man drunk than most men are sober. Me too.
    He bitterly envied anyone who seemed happy, well adjusted and content.  Me too.
    He hid this envy from the outside world with a cruel derision of all those he envied. Me too.
    He was a pitiful, scared, lonely little boy who was stuck in a man's body, set down in a life with talents he couldn't market, intelligence he couldn't use, responsibilities he didn't want, tastes he couldn't afford, commitments he couldn't keep, desires he couldn't control and pressures he couldn't bear.  Me too.
    Despite all this he never abandoned his family. Me? I'm not as good a man as my Dad was.
    He judged himself by his intentions while the world was judging him by his actions. Me too.
    He was an alcoholic. Me too.
    He died at 51. I'll be 51 in three and a half years, if I'm lucky.   He never got a second chance. I did.
    Sorry, God. I know you've been trying to get through for a long time while I was busy listening to myself. Thanks for waiting. I know I don't deserve any special consideration and maybe this isn't a good time to ask for a favor but; could you fix it so I never hurt anybody again? And if it's in keeping with your plan, could you tell my Dad I loved him? He'll be dead 32 years tomorrow. I miss him. Tell him I think he'd be proud of me now. I never got around to telling him I loved him. I know he knew, but I'm sure he'd like to hear the words and know I mean them.  I love you, Dad.

-end-
February 8, 1998