The AA Blog

Tips To Help Men Suffering From Childhood Sexual Abuse

by Dan Griffin

http://dangriffin.com/archives/2454

This is not the festive blog topic you may have been hoping for and that I had even hoped to write, but I can’t get this Penn State scandal out of my mind and it weighs heavy on my heart. So, this post is one that is very important as we go into the holidays and you think about the men you know and love, as well as yourself (if applicable).
By now, everyone has heard about the egregious behavior and massive cover-up at Penn State involving the beloved Joe Paterno and his heir apparent, Jerry Sandusky. Sandusky, as it is only alleged at this time (though there is a very compelling grand jury report,) is said to have sexually abused numerous young boys over multiple decades. This posting is not about whether Sandusky is guilty — I will let a court of law determine that and pray to God that justice is served.
This posting is not about Sandusky at all. However, while the flurry of 24-7 news stories on the scandal has decreased dramatically, there will no doubt be another deluge of stories with the most salacious and graphic details once the actual court case gets underway. And just this past week, two more men came forward accusing Mr. Sandusky of sexual abuse.
My biggest concern from the moment this story started airing was what it was doing to all of the men and boys across the country — and even the world — who suffer from undiagnosed and untreated trauma, especially those who have been sexually abused. Many of these men have no recollection that they have had such traumatic experiences. How many men were being triggered – and acting out in any number of ways as a result of the blast of coverage? It is hard to say what the true statistics are but I am confident that the majority of the estimated percentages for boys’ childhood sexual abuse are a far cry from the actual number of boys and young men who are carrying around the horrible scars of sexual abuse. Here are some of the different ways men could be affected:
▪ Increased use of alcohol or other drugs
▪ Relapse (back into active addiction – substance, sex, gambling, etc.)
▪ Those men who have been working through abuse histories could find themselves struggling with significant memories or emotional outbursts
▪ Isolation
▪ Exacerbation of mental health issues
▪ Abusive behavior, including acting out sexually in different ways including, unfortunately, sexual abuse
▪ Obsessive viewing and talking about the scandal, the people involved, and extreme opinions about the alleged perpetrator and/or victims
Our society has systematically pretended that boys and men don’t suffer from sexual abuse. We have this pervasive disparaging opinion about boys and men who suffer abuse and honestly express how it has affected them as weak and whining. That keeps a lot of men — especially those men regarded as ‘macho’”— silent and stuck in their suffering. And, as I have stated many times, when men suffer we tend to take our suffering out on others.
Here are five ways to support a man who has suffered abuse in the past:
▪ Help him find a forum for him to talk about it in a way that is safe for him, ideally with other men who have had similar experiences.
▪ If he is showing signs of problematic use of alcohol and other drugs, talk to him directly. Find an expert or someone in recovery to offer coaching on how to have the conversation or who can even be present with you as you have the conversation.
▪ Help him get help. Men can have so many barriers — many of which hit them at the core of their being and their masculinity — to seeking help. Do everything you can to see the strength and courage it takes to get help and reinforce that message to him.
▪ Watch the Oprah Winfrey episode from earlier this year where two hundred men came forward about being sexually abused while their loved ones, many of whom never knew, were in another room listening and watching. Watch the full show here.
▪ If the man has already done a lot of work through therapy, recovery, and/or his faith, honor him for his courage and strength and let him know how much you love and respect him.
It may be hard right now to see something like this scandal as a gift, but it is certainly up to us if we decide whether any good comes from it. If a tragedy such as this creates an opening for boys and men to be better able to talk about any and all kinds of abuse, then that is definitely something very good. While the Catholic clergy scandals have opened the door, the fact that this latest scandal took place in the domain of one of our country’s most hallowed masculine religions blows the door open — it shows that abuse and experiencing abuse are not about strength or some aberrant behavior of an aberrant population. They can happen to anyone, be perpetrated by anyone, and are more than likely happening all over the world right now, literally. The secrets keep the sickness alive and destroy the individual from the inside. It is time to end the silence once and for all but let’s make sure that men and their families are safe and supported in the midst of the cacophony.

Purification

By Fran Dancing Feather

http://frandancingfeather.com/

The icy cold dawn kisses my cheeks with the blush of the
Winter Purification. Bundled tight in snow gear, I walk fast to the upper mesa. Heavy dark clouds hide the sunrise and morning barely glows awake with the threat of a blizzard. Occasional shafts of purple illuminate the road and what is left of the dead leaves of sycamore and mulberry. Ah, the ever-living pines that grace the top of the trail are silhouetted black instead of green against steel colored sky. My heart pounds with the accelerated walking, my commitment to a strong durable winter body. I will prevail over the cold months and honor the purification time. Slim and seemingly delicate deer pass by bounding through the brush. Long ago my ancestors lived in longhouses in the northeastern woodlands without forced-air heating or memory-foam beds. They hunted the fat deer and elk and walked everywhere. We are made for walking and honoring the seasons, whatever they may bring. We were made to respect the mother earth and all her passing moods of change

It is our heritage to be a strong people, durable and at peace with the natural world. I defy the comfort of my home and face the morning with the courage of my recovery. Ravens sit atop power poles and laugh at the weakness of humanity and the brokenness and alcoholism in Indian Country. When the great huge black birds are quiet, their silence whispers of mysticism and the sacred healing ceremonies of the ancients. They are scavengers and yet beautiful and strong. There is no doubt they will find food today. At the top I rest and catch my breath for just a moment, allowing the human soul to explore the hidden canyons across the valley. Along the creek below, golden light glows in the windows of the homes of the early waking village. An old truck rumbles reluctantly along the river road.

Our disease of addiction is the purifying and sanctification of the human soul. It is the mystery of new creation and the continuing cycle of enlightenment. Like the frozen season, it brings us to the place of darkness and cold mortality. We find ourselves living the shortest and darkest day of our lives in our powerlessness. As we struggle into a spiritual renewal, through the steps, we begin the journey to the springtime of our consciousness. No longer numbed by our substances of choice, we become naked before the truth of our wounded-ness. We are like the tiny buds of new growth who await the sunshine of the spirit beneath the sheltering bark of the tree of life. What will be ahead for us? Will fear prevent us from bursting forth into the light or will we let life carry us to new exciting adventures, where we weep all our tears and laugh all our laughter? Will we answer the call to altruism and unselfishness or will we wither, relapse and die to become the dark rotting earth of yesteryear? We are finally faced with a decision, to choose either Life or Death. And so we choose life and emerge from our cocoon and enjoy the clean and sober freedom of recovery. We are purified in the most profound way of all—faith and fellowship.

Stepping Fourth

by Heidi
I’m fascinated by how the Steps change lives, mine included. I’m so glad all 12 Steps are recited at the beginning of most AA meetings. I’ve experienced some meetings without them and to me, it feels oddly disconcerting; like standing at the edge of the water on the beach and feeling the sand wash away beneath me. I try not to tip, but I eventually I can’t stay standing in the shifting sand. Those Steps keep me grounded in truth.

There’s a rhythm to the steps, too. Something significant happens after taking Step 5. Actually, Bill W suggests we return home and for an hour, quietly reviewing what just happened.

Taking this book down from the shelf we turn to the page which contains the twelve steps. Carefully reading the first five proposals we ask if we have omitted anything, for we are building an arch through which we shall walk a free man at last. ~ Alcoholics Anonymous, 2011, p 75

Those first 5 steps are basic to recovery. If I short change any one of them, my recovery becomes a fight against the tides.

A major reason is, just as Bill says, we are building an arch through which we shall walk—free at last! The keystone of the arch is built during the process of Steps 1 through 5. I would guess that’s why he suggests we review our initial Steps before going ahead with Steps 6 through 12.

I’ve heard it said, “You can always go back and do it better next time, just get through the 4th step as quickly as you can the first time.” Compare that to what Bill says about the 4th Step.

We went back through our lives. Nothing counted but thoroughness and honesty. When we finished we considered it carefully. ~ Alcoholics Anonymous, 2011, p 65

Freedom comes from seeing my life clearly and accepting my own part in the patterns of my life. It doesn’t come from rushing through the facts or trying to race through the 4th step just so I can be done with it. The longer I’m in recovery, the more I rely on the 4th Step. I try to use it every time I am upset, afraid, angry, or unbalanced in life. When I feel the sand shifting beneath my toes and the tides of life are tipping me, I know it’s time for the 4th.

When I work a 4th step inventory today, I am set free. Free because I get a better grasp of my own reality, my own truth. That kind of truth does set me free. However, I have to seek the truth to be freed by it, don’t I? It doesn’t free me if I’m in denial, or don’t take the time to seek it.

The truth will set you free, to the extent that you recognize it and cooperate with it.

PS: James A. Garfield said, The truth will set you free, but first it will make you miserable. Amen!

Read Heidi’s Blog: http://goodlifenoalcohol.wordpress.com/2011/12/12/stepping-fourth/

Spiritual Beings

By Fran Dancing Feather
From: http://frandancingfeather.com/
We are not physical beings having a spiritual experience but rather spiritual beings having a physical experience. Our spirits are eternal and our experiences are transitory. We are on a journey—a physical journey that is a part of forever. If we change the world in even the smallest way, let that change bear the mark of our love and foreverness. If we see ourselves as eternal, we are more likely to relax and enjoy the ride instead of becoming stressed and anxious in the use of our time. When we loose ourselves to resentments and shame, we waste those precious moments and hours of life that we could have spent happy, joyous and free. We are all plagued by grudges at times but we have the 12 steps to overcome these things. There are no unique resentments. They are all the same. They are fueled by the fear that we will not get something we want or that we will loose something we cherish. Loosing things we love and not always getting what we want is life-on-life’s terms. We learn in recovery to strive for success but to leave the outcome to our Creator.
As spiritual beings we are able to see how our thoughts and actions are either part of the problem or part of the solution. And the direction of our thoughts and actions determine the level of joy, peace and happiness we experience. As spiritual beings we are automatically linked with all Creation so when we pray we are heard. That’s why the steps work. They bring spiritual changes to our physical lives. They release us from addiction and insanity and set us free to move in a positive direction.
A spiritual way of life is not an easy way. The word spirituality sometimes brings to mind a frivolous or dreamy state of mind but it’s nothing like that. Life is filled with cold hard facts that can seem devastating at times and acceptance and action is the answer to all our problems. Spirituality enters the equation when we exercise faith in the fact that if we just do the right thing, the right things happen. Faith is an action word that requires commitment and actual effort on our part. Faith is having courage as we face the things in life that we fear, in spite of our fear. It takes practice to develop courage, faith and spirituality in an individual who has spent a lifetime expressing fear, guilt and shame. Some people express fear by carrying a gun everywhere they go because it makes them feel safe from predators. Practicing spiritual courage is facing the same environment using the protection of a Higher Power and practicing faith in the fact that we are safe within our spiritual life. Spirituality is confidence in the positive outcome of our right actions.
We are made of spirit. The function of the human body can be explained by a system of organic functions but our consciousness is supernatural. Man, only by our Creator, cannot recreate it. We are mystical spiritual beings and the physical body is only the vehicle we use in this life. If we understand our natural spiritual nature we will want to continue to nurture our recovery because addictions are only physical, not spiritual. Physical addictions remove our conscious spiritual connection with the Greatness of all things in the natural world. To be fully alive, we want to be fully clean and sober. We embrace all our emotions rather than try to deaden them. We come to terms with our wounded-ness, resentments and fears through the spiritual journey of the twelve steps. This may seem very difficult at first but as time goes on we cease to fear our feelings and learn how to deal with them as self-actualizing adults.
People of strong spirit are deeply immersed in the lives of themselves and others. They are not detached gurus who live in caves. The strength of their spirituality enables them to live fully in the moment and be honest, compassionate, self-sacrificing and straightforward with everyone in their world. There is no deceit, deception, hypocrisy or mediocrity. Every moment is valuable and precious. It is a great honor to be in the presence of a strong recovering human spirit!

Who Needs God?

By Chana Weisberg
A well-known saying asserts that in foxholes there are no atheists.
When we’re in a position of pain, danger or need, something within us awakens and reignites a deep connection to our Source. And somehow, with this connection, we find strength we never knew we had and the ability to move forward.
A paradigm for this is the Twelve Step Program from Alcoholics Anonymous. This program is one of the most successful self-help models in existence, so successful, in fact, that it has been modified and adapted by other groups including Narcotics Anonymous, Al Anon for families of alcoholics, CODA for co-dependency, Self-Esteem Anonymous and more.
At the core of the program is the belief in a Higher Being who has the ability to help us overcome our “unmanageable lives.”
In the words of the Steps:
Step 1: I admit that my life has become unmanageable and I have become powerless.
Step 2: I acknowledge the belief that a Power greater than I can restore sanity to my life.
Step 3: I turn my life over to this greater Power, however I want to define Him, and ask for His help.
In a nutshell, these three steps are saying: “I can’t. God, You can. Please help!”
What is it about the Twelve Steps that makes this program so versatile and successful?
And, why does the acknowledgement of a Higher Being–rather than, for example, looking inward and just encouraging one’s own efforts–bring healing and solace when we feel overcome with addictions, suffering, stress or despair?
I think the emphasis on a Higher Being is a necessary balm for any broken heart in these three fundamental ways:
1) Recognizing Our Limitations
We live in a world of unprecedented human achievement. We’ve conquered so many frontiers and overcome limitations on so many levels including technology, medicine, and communication. We’ve become accustomed to controlling our realities.
Yet, ironically, we also take comfort in becoming aware of our own smallness. Despite our human achievements, despite the cosmic significance of our technological advances, despite the intricate complexities of the machines that we create, or the crushing power of the weapons we manufacture, when all is said and done, when we consider the vastness of our universe, we don’t ultimately want to be in charge. We find it strangely comforting to believe in a Power that is much greater than ourselves who takes ultimate responsibility for our world.
We aren’t accustomed to accepting limits, yet when we encounter circumstances over which we have no control; we are forced to face our limitations. Recognizing a Higher Power means acknowledging that we need the help of Someone outside of ourselves to overcome our struggle, whether in the arena of health, self-limiting beliefs, addictions or negative self-talk.
And that recognition is the comforting first step to our recovery.
2) We’re Not Alone
Wherever we may find ourselves on this planet (and beyond), at all times of day or night, today’s technology allows us to instant message, email, voice mail, and video conference with one another. And yet, more and more of us feel disconnected and intensely lonely. We’re “in touch” and always just a click away from a whole cyber-community, but we don’t feel “connected” on a more meaningful level.
This aloneness becomes all the more acute when we are fighting a formidable battle over an acutely painful situation.
Recognition of a Higher Being means that we are never inherently alone.
The Ultimate Being of compassion and wisdom has a real connection with you and is saying: I am near you. I understand your struggles even when you feel so alone. I am with you even before your predicament, providing you with the fortitude to continue. I will help you tackle unchartered territory. I understand you better than you understand yourself.
God understands and is with us through our fears, uncertainties, failures and successes and makes us feel that much less frightened and isolated in taking steps towards our future.
While, to some, belief in God means presenting a wish list of what we want or need, it is foremost the experience of being in the company of God. At all times. In all struggles.
3) You Matter
And finally, being in God’s presence brings the recognition that despite my smallness, as God’s creation, I matter.
Have you ever strolled through a crowded shopping mall, or down a crowded pedestrian walkway, neck to neck with tens of others, sensing that your presence there doesn’t matter at all? No one would really notice or care if you weren’t exactly where you are, doing what you’re doing. Your presence doesn’t matter. Not to anyone.
And yet, belief in a Higher Power means you do matter and that your every action is significant.
There is reason for challenge. It is not a random happening, but a planned struggle necessary for our souls. There is a point and a purpose to our successes and our failures. On some level, the chaos of our world is not chaos, but makes perfect sense.

Whether we are dealing with an addiction to some negative substance, or whether we are struggling with a crisis or challenge, at some point in our lives, we all cry out from the depths of our souls.
Unfortunately, life is too full of moments when we acutely feel, God, I just can’t.
At those moments, we need to be able to find within ourselves the comforting words: God, You can. Please help!

Wait, Why Don’t You Drink, Man?

Comment: I am posting this because I think it is a conversation that needs to be public. Ali’s blog points the pressure that is put on those who don’t drink by those who do. I believe it is important, like Ali says, to remove the stigma from those of us who do not drink, whatever the reason. By mjdunn

By Yashar Ali
I don’t like to drink. I don’t like the taste of alcohol. And, outside of a handful of memorable, drinking stories that my friends and I repeatedly share with each other, I don’t get drunk and I don’t like to get drunk. I also don’t like the loss of time that comes with a hangover and the loss of control that comes with drinking.

And it’s not because I have a drinking problem. I never have. I just don’t like drinking alcohol; it’s simply not part of my life.
Even though I am in my early 30s, I still face this incredible pressure–by my peers –to drink. I am talking about the kind of pressure we’re reminded of when we think of teenagers, college students, or those in their early twenties, and how our friends, during this phase of our lives, were pushing us to drink.

Although we often think peer pressure in drinking is tied to a younger more footloose group, to those who are twenty-something and still finding themselves, I’ve discovered through my own experience and through learning about the experiences of my readers, that age and professional status really plays no role in whether someone will pressure or be pressured. Men and women in there 30s, 40s, and 50s are doing the pressuring.

It seems to me that social pressure to drink is more a cultural issue than an age issue.

I even have friends who claim they could never be in relationship with a person who doesn’t drink. Because that’s what they think a solid relationship is built on: consumption of alcohol.

In Western adult social culture, alcohol is a primary and important component of being part of a group, where people who are not interested in alcohol or dislike the taste, are subject to pressure to drink. They, in turn, are forced to find or create what are deemed “legitimate reasons” for not joining in with the drinking. Failure to drink creates a barrier between the drinkers and those people, who, for various reasons, choose not to drink alcohol.

Why are we judging and pressuring people who don’t drink? And why do we make them justify or explain their reasons for refusing alcohol?

Alcohol (and drinking) is a part of the wide range of social pressures in our culture, and it’s part of the fabric of many people’s lives. However, it’s not an insignificant thing to ask and pressure someone else to drink.
I get that alcohol helps people loosen up in social settings, but it creates a barrier between people who choose to drink and people who don’t. And this barrier sets the tone for who talks to and who hangs out with whom. It’s as if alcohol is the social glue that keeps us together, and if we don’t have it and are faced with some people who drink and some people who don’t, things seem to get off-balance and uncomfortable.

The idea of someone who doesn’t drink is so foreign to some people that we sometimes falsely assume that the person who is not drinking has a past of alcohol abuse or we force these non-drinkers to constantly explain themselves.

Mindy, a reader from Chicago in her early 30s, often deals with new friends or colleagues who assume she was an alcoholic or member of A.A. because she chooses not to drink.

So when it comes to socializing, do we only have two categories for people: sober alcoholic or drinker? There are so many people that fall in between these two categories; they’re not really sober, but they’re also not active drinkers.

A friend of mine who works in corporate advertising commented on the pressure she feels when ordering a glass of water or lemonade at a restaurant with colleagues and everyone else is ordering wine or a cocktail: “I’m made to feel like I’m not an adult.”

Susie, a 38 year-old paralegal found herself being excluded from activities at work, because she barely drank.

“You won’t want to come out tonight because you don’t drink,” she would hear from her co-workers in an almost sympathetic tone. (She would always be included in activities that didn’t include heavy drinking.)
“I can still have a good time without drinking. It’s not like I’m standing there with my arms crossed at a bar, frowning. I just wonder if they feel judged if I am not doing shots with them and that’s why I’m not being included.”

For Susie and other people in her situation, the social interaction between colleagues, the same interaction that often aides people in their careers, is something that is stripped from her. Unless she’s willing to drink to intoxication, people just don’t feel comfortable having her around, and so Susie misses out on one part of professional networking.

My friend Erin, who is in her late 30s, found her second pregnancy to be the saving grace, in terms of alleviating the pressure that comes with drinking: “I find it a relief now that I’m visibly six months pregnant, because I can point to my belly and say, ‘Sorry, I can’t!’”

“It will be a drag when I have to go back to explaining to people, ‘No really, I just don’t like it.’”

Having an excuse, whether it’s an illness or pregnancy, seems to offer a reprieve to those who don’t want to drink. But it still doesn’t make sense to me. I understand (but don’t accept) the social pressure to drink during high school and college-age years, but why are adults so obsessed with their friends, family, and colleagues drinking?

And why do there seem to be real, social consequences for people who don’t care to learn the difference between a Chardonnay and a Cabernet?

Originally appeared at The Current Conscience.

Full Article & Comments: http://goodmenproject.com/ethics-values/wait-dont-you-want-a-drink-man/

Circumstances

If God really wants us to do His will, it’s natural for us to wonder why He doesn’t make it easier for us. If He expects us to have impeccable standards, why doesn’t he remove all temptation from our path? If He wants us to stick to our values, why doesn’t He protect us from spiritual peril?

Obviously, we must never intentionally submit ourselves to a test of moral character. Indeed, we should pray that God would steer us clear of temptation. When Divine Providence leads us into such a situation in life that makes it easy to rationalize doing the wrong thing, we need not fear. We must know that, without exception, we are brought to such a trial only in order to take us to a higher level.

Our recovery has empowered us so that we never blame circumstances. Our recovery has taught us to take personal responsibility for our own actions. It has empowered us so that we never blame circumstances. We are not circumstantial victims of fate, and we always have free choice when it comes to deciding to do what is right in God’s eyes.

We have also learned trust and acceptance. We know that God can surely be relied upon to know what is good for us. If He places us in a situation that would seem to make it difficult to choose right over wrong, it is only because He considers us up to the task.

It has been said that life itself is a series of trials. Our very mission in life is to withstand such tests; we must embrace the fact that God does not always make things easy for us. Most of us are tired of excuses, exhausted by self-justification and overwhelmed by our overactive minds.

Whenever our commitment to spiritual principles wavers, our reflexive response is to blame people, places and things. However, the voice of conscience inside us always knows that there is nothing that can happen to us in sobriety that will ever take us away from our commitment to lofty principles.

Re-blogged from www.chabbad.org

Forgiveness and the Freedom of Letting

By Les
Some of you may remember my friend and many of yours; her member name was “and_it_is_Annie.” Annie lost her battle with cancer on Nov. 14th, 2009. I was her sponsor, however she taught me the greatest lesson. That is the spirit to forgive.
When Annie was 14 years old, a drunk driver killed her parents. The lost of her parents and the resentment she carried took her down many roads that we all know. Her Grandparents raised Annie, and she rebelled.
By the time Annie was 19 she had a story of the street, and all that goes with it. She was hitchhiking through Northern Ontario and some trucker picked her up. When she got in that rig, the driver asked her where she was going. Annie said, “I don’t know.” She never knew how much truth was in that statement. Because that trucker was me~!
I had a speaker tape on, not loud, just background noise. And Annie started telling me her story. It was one of heartache, despair and anger. I just listened, as she told me about her parents getting killed and how she let her life get ruined because of it.
I asked her, if she would like a better life, one where she could help people, just like her. I told her about my life and where it took me and that she can have what many people and I have. That nite we went for dinner and then took in a meeting, in Thunder Bay, Ontario. She had her last drink, at dinner that nite.
Annie rode with me for over four months. We drove all over the country and went to meetings. There was never anything sexual, for she had the top bunk and I had mine on the bottom. She asked me one nite, why I never tried anything with her. I told her, that it would kill me if, I lost her friendship and if anything I did caused her to give up her new way of life. It is sad, but Annie told me, that this was the first time anybody cared for her, just as a person.
When Annie was two years sober, she went hunting. She found the person that killed her parents. She used to follow him, and some of us were worried she was going to do something. Well Annie did something. She would follow him to the bar, and at closing she would go in and get him. She would give him a ride home. And in the morning she would pick him up and take him to his car. Whenever she was driving him home, in his ‘state’, he would tell her about the people he killed. Annie would just listen.
This taxi thing went on for about six months. Then one nite Annie asked him if he would like to go for coffee, the next nite. She told him, she would pick him up, and asked if he would not drink that day. He said yes.
Annie picked him up and she took him for coffee, and it was then that Annie told him whom she was. And that it was her parents that he had killed. She told him her “story” and asked if he would like a new life. She said he could have a life where he could help people just like him.
They went to a meeting that nite and Rob has never had a drink since. They have spoken together at many A.A. functions. And The Message of Forgiveness was felt in everyone’s heart many times.
Sadly on November 14th, 2009, we lost Annie to cancer. Rob was there for the last three weeks of Annie’s fight, and he was holding her hand when she passed away. Rob spoke at Annie’s memorial, and he spoke on her forgiveness’ and how she lived this program with gratitude and humility. He talked about how Annie gave him his greatest gift. And that was the gift of “forgiveness.”
I miss Annie and think about her a lot. I think about her most, when I am upset with some person, or something. I think about the “spirit to forgive!”
Annie, Rest in Peace and May GOD Bless Your Soul, the way you have blessed so many of us.

Check out Les and others in recovery @ http://www.intherooms.com/

A SONG FOR MY ANGEL

By Les

I BELIEVE ANGELS ARE AMONG US….
Hello, my name is Les, and I am an Alcoholic. I believe Angels are among us, and if you are anything like me, you may not be able to recognize one at the time.

For those that do not know me, I am a Truck Driver, and one night as I was driving through Ontario, Canada, I found a broken soul hitchhiking on the side of the highway. She was a young lady, tattered and worn with pain.

I pulled over to give her a ride and my life was to change forever. As we went down the highway, I heard her story and knew there was a reason we had met. That night I took her to a A.A. Meeting and she never had another drink.

She often told me, “Les after that first meeting and going through the book later that night, I never felt the need for another drink.” She was with me up and down that highway for about six months, and we would hit meetings all over the country.

We shared how we felt, when we hurt and our Hope. I remember her going through her step four and had to hold her many nights as she cried her way through it. I would tell her to take it easy,and to take a rest. And she would say, “No, I want to get better.”

As I drove she would read The Big Book, and quiz me on it. Whenever I made a mistake, she would say, “You know someday, you just may get this thing.” And laugh at the fact that she had found something that was new to me. I remember her laugh, the first time I ever heard it, all I could hear was pain. I never commented on it, and in time it changed. Slowly her laugh started to fill with joy, and her eyes were lighting up.

One day, we were on our way to Kenora, Ontario, and she told me we had to stop in Dryden. I told her “No, we are going to Kenora.” And she said, “I know, but I we have to stop in Dryden.” So we stopped in Dryden, I thought maybe she had to use the bathroom, or something.

We pulled into The Truck Stop there and she got out of the truck, and went in. I never gave it any thought, till she came out. She had a stuffed teddy bear with her and walked up to the fuel pumps without missing a beat, and gave that teddy bear to a little boy. I could not hear what was said, but I could see the mother mouth, “Thank you,” as she started to cry.
At first I never said anything. And then about a hour later, she said to me, that her mother told her to do that. I said, “What?” And she said, “Help that boy.” I never asked why, and was wondering about this because this young lady had lost both her parents when she was 14 years old.

Then she told me, that on the day that we met, someone walked up to her and gave her a pen and some paper, and told her she should write her mom. And she never questioned why this person done that. She just started to write, and she wrote for her mom to help her. Then she told me that I came along and was the person to offer her a ride. She always claimed that her mom sent me. I never said anything, for I was taught to never ever question someone’s spiritual beliefs.
I can go on and on, about the little co-incidents, that happened around her, but I won’t.

I do want to end with this.

This young lady is the person that got me on this site. She built my profile and gave me my name, “no_more_no_les.” When I asked her why that name, all she would say is, “I don’t know, but God will show you.” She never said “show us”, and that is because she was in the hospital dying. She was terminal with cancer and she knew it.

She passed away Nov14th, 2010.

Her name was Annie, and she was right, about ten months after her passing I found the meaning in my name as Annie would see it. I found it in a song, and that song is call No More No Less. I do put it in my status from time to time, and every time I do, I feel some comfort. As I listen I feel comfort that I cannot explain, I feel like it is Annie with me. I feel her struggles and growth in recovery. But most of all, I can hear her words, “No, I want to get better.”

I found a song that reminds me of Annie a lot. And if you don’t mind I am dedicating this to my Angle, “Annie.”

Annie I love you and R.I.P.

Join Les and others in recovery at http://intherooms.com/

Delusional Cowboy Dad

Shipwrecks, Mirrors, and My Dad’s Hero Complex
by Gaby Dunn

I remember it as the time we all got “shipwrecked.”

It’s the dramatic wording of an eight-year-old. We weren’t really shipwrecked, but we did get lost at sea. My dad’s bravado almost got us killed.

It was 1996 in Punta Gorda, a fishing community on the west coast of Florida. My father was still drinking at the time, and he rented a boat he could not pilot because he was a cowboy in his own mind. He’d been raised in Indiana with dreams of Shane, A Fistful of Dollars, and The Good, The Bad and The Ugly, wearing dark blue jeans held up by a metallic “screaming eagle” belt buckle and big, clanking cowboy boots. Stetsons lined each rung of our house’s hat rack. Hiring a guide was an option—but not in my dad’s world. If this man was going to rent a boat, he damn well wasn’t going to have someone else telling him how to drive it.

Adventure, like drinking, was a vice my dad had not yet given up.

The trip was an annual one for our family. It was inexpensive for my parents to pack me and my toddler sister into the car and drive a couple hours to a rented second-floor loft for a summer vacation. Below the loft, there were shops and restaurants. My sister and I loved the kooky gift shop that sold Beanie Babies. My parents liked sitting outside, listening to the nightly jazz band.

Early one morning, we all set out on a 15-foot outboard boat. The weather was brilliant. All around, there was bright blue sky and so much blue-green water. There was a smattering of look-alike islands and then, nothing. The boat skipped across waves. Sometimes it got stuck in sand bars.

When that happened, my father would get out and push the boat past, revving the engine over the hump. It was an annoying blip on an otherwise perfect ride, but it gave my dad the chance to play “hero” every other minute.
Mid-day, we stopped at a deserted island, and my dad parked the boat near the shore. He, my sister, and I got out to explore. My mom stayed behind to sunbathe, but I remember suspecting it was also out of fear. My dad took me on roller coasters, went camping in the dark woods, and drove too fast. He was the adventurer, not her.

My mom pretty much always stayed behind, most often with my sister glued to her side. My sister screamed at baseball games when the crowds got too loud and was scared of the animatronic animals at Chuck E. Cheese. She was a sensitive and cautious child, and my mom used that to keep her near.

I tried to be more like my dad, but, in truth, the Space Mountain coaster he’d talked me into riding had almost made me puke. Unlike my sister, who used terror to get out of scary situations, I constantly hid my fear to impress my dad; my number one goal as a kid was to never disappoint him.

Whenever I didn’t want to climb higher on the tree branch, or wanted to stop playing basketball, or felt afraid of monsters in my bedroom, he was there with a well-timed “Suck it up.” He wasn’t being mean, he just wanted me to be brave, to be able to handle things myself, to be independent.

That day, my sister and I were both intoxicated by his sense of adventure. We ate lunch on the sand and climbed around the mangrove trees. We got little sunburns and swam in the shallow water by the island’s shore.
Afternoon hit, and the sky got darker. We got back on the boat and started heading the way we’d come. But all the islands looked the same, and none of the landmarks were in the right place.
Lightning cracked the air, and the clouds turned black. The water that had once bounced our small boat like a baby on a knee tossed and turned us violently.

Rain trickled down. The boat kept getting stuck on sand bars, leaving us stranded in the middle of the swell. Now, when my father got out to push, I wondered if he’d get swept away by the strong water.
My mom took my sobbing baby sister and huddled in the corner. I stayed at the front with my dad. He silently steered for over two hours, his eyes tight slits peering out at nothing looking for some end to all this water. I tried to will a harbor into existence with my mind.

We were all going to die, here, together, I thought. All of us at once. Something about that made me feel both relieved and sad. I remember, at eight years old, picturing the newspaper headline the next morning.
“Local Father Too Proud To Hire Guide, Family Dies When Boat Capsizes,” or “Father Accidentally Drowns Himself, Family Off Coast of Florida.” Something like that. I wondered what the reporter would write about me, specifically: “A local girl, 8, was lost at sea after the boat her father stupidly thought he could pilot capsized during a storm. She loved Nancy Drew books, the movie Harriet the Spy, and unicorns. If she hadn’t died, she would have been the most famous author/astronaut to ever live. ‘I always like-liked her,’ the boy she had a crush on said as he sobbed, swearing he’d never love again.”

I had a big imagination.

Behind us, my mother and sister started praying in Hebrew: Shema yisrael, adonai elohenu, adonai echad. It’s the Jewish every prayer; it’s the prayer for when you don’t know what else to do.
I was scared, but, as per usual, I saw my dad out of the corner of my eye. He was stoic, hands on the steering wheel. I straightened my back and shot my mom and sister a disgusted look. My dad also seemed annoyed by their muttering. They were overreacting terribly, I thought. Being wusses, big babies. My dad wasn’t afraid and so I wasn’t afraid. We were the cool ones.

Finally, my dad spotted Gasparilla Harbor. He pulled the boat in and docked. My mother and sister got out, shaking like frightened hamsters.

My father, with me tagging along like a miniature version of him, went inside a small general store to call the owner of the boat and tell him what happened. It took an hour for the owner and his wife to drive to us. My dad ushered me, my mom, and my sister into the black SUV. I was desperate to climb back out and stay with him. I didn’t belong with these wailing women, I thought. My dad turned to the boat’s owner.
“You and I need to bring the boat back,” the owner told him.

“In this weather?” my dad asked. The owner nodded. It was the manly thing to do, my dad told us. He couldn’t say “no.”

“You know how to swim?” the owner asked my dad as the car doors closed.

The car pulled away and my dad and the owner got back into the tiny outboard. I watched, twisted around in the backseat, torn between barreling toward safety and wishing I could stay with him.
Back at the loft, my mom put me and my sister in the bath tub to warm us up. I pretended I wasn’t cold, even though my fingers were blue. Clean and in our pajamas, we waited in the living room for my dad to come back.
Two more hours went by.

He’s never coming back, I thought. The idea was foreign; my dad was a cowboy, not a pirate. And he certainly wasn’t a coward. But then I got angry. How could he, big and brave, egotistical and impulsive, have agreed to drive the boat back in what amounted to a hurricane? As time passed, it seemed less impressive, and more plain stupid. I also felt guilty, like somehow my tiny spaghetti arms could have saved his life if only I’d been allowed to stay with him.

Then, there was a loud knock on the door, and my dad was in the apartment, his clothing soaked, his curls clinging to his forehead. I remember him turning the shower on, and lying in the tub fully clothed, the steam rising around his limp body.

“I need a drink,” he told my mother, ignoring my and my sister’s cries of joy.

I remember my mom handing him a bottle of Jack Daniels, which he took long pulls from as he soaked in the scalding water, willing the feeling back into his extremities. He tells me later that in truth it was a small tumbler of scotch, and my mother handed it to him before he got in the bath. My mother thinks he did actually drink it in the shower.

Seven years later, my dad got sober after wrapping his car around a light pole outside our synagogue and, once again, surviving. He didn’t want to risk that third strike.
A month ago, I asked both my parents about the “shipwreck.”

“Do we have to talk about this?” my mother said, exasperated. It’s a horrible memory for her, of a time when she held a bawling four-year-old in her arms and thought her whole family was going to drown because her husband was a drunk show-off.

My dad tells me he thought my mom and sister were overreacting, though now he knows he was being delusional about the danger. He could have easily gotten his wife and two young daughters killed. It was more important then to seem cold and masculine than to acknowledge the reality of the situation he’d gotten us into.

In some ways, that’s hard for me to hear. I feel like I’m still that little girl sitting on the white boat deck, holding in my fear so my dad will think of me as his equal. But, I realize that’s like trying to impress a ghost, a person who’s no longer here.

The cowboy I remember my dad being is long gone, replaced by a man who’d rather eat his own spurs than put his family in danger.

Out of earshot of my mom, I told my dad that I think I stayed calm throughout the ordeal, but I wonder if that’s just wishful remembering. My dad said I did.
“You had this naïveté,” he said, “like it was all just a big adventure to you.”

I felt the same way about him. For almost a decade, I thought I’d been taking my cues from my father, but maybe, we were really just mirrors, facing each other and reflecting back.

This story appeared on the Good Men Project:  http://goodmenproject.com/featured-content/shiprwrecks-mirrors-and-my-dads-hero-complex/

Gaby Dunn writes her blog, which can be read at  http://gabydunn.com/ and has a weekly column in the NY Times Sunday Magazine