I liked it when Dumpster Diving Dan called the meeting rooms of A.A. those hallowed halls a few weeks ago. It has stuck in my mind ever since. It is an apt description for a sanctuary for those of us that struggle with this “disease.”
I rode my bike tonight and daringly took a shortcut through the seediest part of town. Even Sherman, a black man, will not travel through this part of town and he beds a crack whore. Broken beer and malt liquor bottles were shattered at intervals all over the side walk. The broken glass twinkled like jewels in the late afternoon sunshine. I had to carefully navigate my mountain bike so as not to puncture a tire.
I passed many decrepit houses that were condemned to be burned down by controlled fire via the fire department in future months. A few had already succumbed. To think those decrepit old homes once harbored generation after generation of families. Now they are just sad testaments that all things do eventually come to an end.
I was extremely careful not to make long eye contact with the many forlorn looking men walking the street seemingly listlessly. To do so by a white man to a poor, downtrodden black man would have been an affront. The pall of poverty hung heavy upon me until I passed that corridor of despair. I emerged on the far end of 5th street unscathed having taken my chances.
I arrived at the meeting hall and chained my bike to a front porch post. I walked inside to be greeted by cool air and the heavy aroma of brewing coffee. The room was already half full and several people got up to shake my hand, give me a hug, and greet me. I felt as if I was finally home after being gone on a long, hard journey. I have never met so many contented and happy people than in these hallowed halls (other than the occasional crotchety, sullen old dry drunk and we have a few that I avoid). I desperately want to find the secret to the happy lives these many people lead without drinking. It is definitely contagious.
After the meeting, a young fellow had heard me share and walked up to me. He looked a good ten years my junior. He had picked up his white chip tonight marking his first day of sobriety. The room had erupted in applause as that shy, young man sheepishly walked up to the podium to get that chip.
“I heard you talk tonight and was inspired by what you said,” He told me.
I thanked him and congratulated him on picking up the hardest chip you will ever get in A.A. It takes a damn fair share of courage to admit you’re a drunk to a full room of strangers and to walk up in front of that room to humbly start a new way of living.
“Will you be my temporary sponsor?” He asked me earnestly.
“Bud,” I replied. “I am far too new in the program to guide you. I appreciate you asking though. Come over here with me.”
We went to speak to my sponsor, Phillip, to inquire if he would take him on temporarily. Phillip is a literal demigod in our local chapter of A.A. Philip agreed as long as he promised to call once a day to check in.
“Let’s get you some phone numbers,” I then told the young man as we walked around the room asking various old timers for said numbers.
In a matter of minutes, the fellow had over twenty numbers to call if he needed to talk to someone about drinking. This is an aspect of the program I have utilized sparingly due to my phobias surrounding the phone. I know I am missing an important part of A.A.
“If you ever feel the need to drink and it is uncontrollable,” I said. “Call me no matter how late it is at night. I will come pick you up and we will drive over to the Waffle House and drink some coffee and talk.”
He smiled and shook my hand vigorously thanking me. Most alcoholics, when they come into the program, have lived a life of solitude. It is sometimes amazing, as it was for me that if you tell of room full of people your worst deeds or your darkest secrets; they still shake your hand and tell you to come back with a smile or a hug. They treat you as family. Suddenly, from the darkest throes of despair and solitude, you find welcome-ness and understanding.
I rode home on my bike this evening feeling as if I had finally grasped an important part of the program that has so eluded me these past few weeks. It is in the service to others that you find sobriety and not in self motivated, selfish aims to quit drinking for personal reasons. I pulled up into my driveway as the last light of the afternoon made its presence known. The western horizon was ablaze in hues of orange. I was overcome by a deep feeling of contentment and serenity. Once again, I didn’t have to drink today and that is a miracle.
No comments:
Post a Comment