I was going to write this story in the last issue of JOURNEY since it came to me on the 4 th of July, but it was JOURNEY’S Anniversary Issue, and I wanted to write about one of my God shots.
So here now, is my first political opinion, and for those of you who ask ‘What does this have to do with recovery?’ Go back and read my interview in the Anniversary Issue with Pat Taylor, Director of Faces & Voices of Recovery.
We in the recovery community need to put a face on recovery; let the public know that we are not their imagined stereotypical alcoholic or addict hanging on to sobriety by our fingertips,
But thriving, hard working, intelligent, contributing members of society whose opinions are not puerile palaver (How about being able to put those two together in a sentence!),
But introspective and heart felt, that we can articulate and contribute to our country’s dialogue.
So in that vein, I want to tell you a story that came to be last month.
On the 4 th of July to be exact.
One steamy night last month, I left my house to go to a 12 step meeting. As I closed the door & headed towards my car, I stopped.
I live on a quiet street. Trees stand at attention the length of my road, with their branches’ overhang a mesh of coolness on most afternoons. Not a lot of street lights, and those that are there are placed a ways apart.
The night was blanketed in what looked like fog, but had the sharp, acrid smell of gunpowder.
It stopped me short. It was not a normal sight when you leave your house in Miami.
The smell though, a little more so.
Then,
BOOM!
I flinched, body crouching in the ‘duck & run’ position, then saw,
A colorful cascade of lights littering the sky as a 4th of July fireworks display played out above me.
Another BOOM.
And another.
As I stood there, flinching at each concussion and looking up & down my road at the street lamps light being filtered through the leaves of the overhanging trees and crystallizing into distinct, flashlight beams stabbing the hazy night;
The fireworks’ smoke as effective as a fog machine in a South Beach strip club,
As loud, explosive booms played in the background instead of the DJ’s top 10 songs;
I felt each concussion resound inside of myself as its force washed over me.
I felt like I had gone through the twilight zone into the twilight zone.
The movie.
The foggy, night scene where the Hollywood army helicopter’s planned crash caused the unplanned death of actor Vic Morrow. He died as explosions rocked the air around him in the dark, smoke filled, simulated war scene.
Then I thought; This is what our soldiers are going through in Iraq.
Every night.
It was a scary realization.
What they are doing.
Going through.
Over there.
With just my taste of it,
Over here.
For us.
For what?
Why are they over there?
As I am,
Flinching at every BOOM,
In a place I didn’t recognize.
Getting a taste in that one night,
Of what our guys are going through,
Every night.
It was enough.
And I wrote the story below.
Peace
It may be naive, but..
By CharlieG
I was asked to change my aviator to a flame on another blog, to support peace and the end of war.
And I wondered.
I have a tattoo on my shoulder I got back in the 80's. It is of the American flag, and has the words 'And proud of it' around it.’
When I got it, I was.
Now, I'm not.
Not an easy thing to say, especially when you love your country as I do.
And I DO love this country.
My country.
My country was a country that the world looked to for guidance.
For moral guidance.
My country was a country that the world looked to for an example of how the world should be.
My country represented;
God.
Hope.
Rights.
Freedom.
Possibilities.
Love.
We had CARE, HOPE & The RED CROSS.
We fed the poor and defended the weak.
We were a beacon for the underdog.
We championed God.
Human rights.
Our rights.
We helped bring about a fledgling democracy in Russia;
And bring down the wall in East Berlin.
We've helped bring more rights to more people in more countries.
Now,
We don't start school with a morning prayer anymore.
Now we are sued when we do.
We want to take Christ out of Christmas.
Heck, we want to change 'Merry Christmas' to 'Happy Holidays.'
Your phone calls can now be listened to without a warrant.
Your emails read without a warrant.
You can be locked up in prison for the rest of your life without ever seeing a judge, if you’re labeled a terrorist suspect.
Who has that job? (Do NOT want him pissed off at me! Peace, bro!).
And we want to build a WALL across our border between us & Mexico???
We have an immigration problem because our economy is so much better than our neighbor’s.
Our neighbor.
Our ally.
Would we even entertain that idea on our Canadian border?
I have an idea of what we should do instead of putting up a WALL across our country.
Why don’t we build all those factories that we use in China, for all that stuff we think we need here,
In Mexico?
They would be able to earn a comfortable living, and thus want to stay, in their own country.
We would be helping our neighbor,
Our ally
Their cost of living might be more than their Asian counter parts, but it would still be lower than ours, and it would be an anodyne for both societies.
The savings from less uninsured hospital stays/emergency room visits, more school space/ratio of teachers to students, less under the table work/unpaid & uncollected taxes,
Plus a multiplex of other costs we incur because our neighbors,
Our allies,
Can not contribute to our economy while hiding on the fringes of society.
And maybe the most important of all in the long run –
We’d be spending our money on /and helping an economy grow, a country in our hemisphere;
Not one who will very soon be using the very money we pump into their economy against us;
To buy their increasing need of,
The dwindling supply of,
Our planet’s energy supplies.
That’s not even counting the monetary & planetary energy savings of not having to ship it to us from half way around the world.
And I bet it would be a lot easier to do quality control checks for lead in the paint of children’s toys!
It may be naive, but it's what popped into my head.
On the radio coming home the other day, a guy was ranting about the rising discontent with the war in Iraq.
"Where was our fortitude? Where was that drive that carried us to victory in World War I & II?"
He sputtered.
And I thought,
‘In those wars we were the defenders. Not the aggressors.’
‘We were protecting a sovereign country.
Not invading one.’
It may be naive, but it's what popped into my head.
I got an email asking me to change my avatar on one of my blogs to promote peace and the end of the war, and I thought,
'The time might be right to say how I feel.'
Then I thought;
I have to wait for the right time to say how I feel?
I have to be scared if I want to say how I feel?
I have to worry about being called a sympathizer, or unpatriotic, if I say what I feel?
In my country?
In America?
This can't be right.
It may be naive, but it's what popped into my head.
peace.
Charlie G
Funny how one small thing, one small word, one small smile can make a whole day. Or a whole week for that matter. My mind, and heart, is still buzzing over what happened in less than a minute last Saturday morning.
It was time again. I pulled out the old baseball cleats, found my glove and joined a few Baptist friends for a couple of games of baseball. With a difference. We hopped in our vans and travelled 2-3 hours to the nearest federal penitentiary to play some baseball with the inmates. A little baseball, some lunch, some sharing, some fellowship. We have been doing it for about 12 years now- baseball in the summer and hockey in the winter. We play , we share what Jesus has done in our lives and we pray that it makes a bit of difference with those we play with. Cause it does for us.
The last few years the trip has been the buzz. The baseball or hockey has been secondary. I think that I get more out these trips than those people we visit. And I feel a bit guilty about that. Just a bit.
Things changed this year. We were taking my van and I left the house early to get gas, check the tires and oil. As the tank was filling I had the back hatch door open and was filling the cooler with bottled water and ice for the games to come. It looked to be a warm day so I thought I'd get the water on ice and cooling during the ride .
An old friend, I hadn't seen for a few years, walked by just as I was doing this and enquired as to my destination. "Baseball!" I told him and was promptly informed that beer would be more appropriate a beverage than 'just water'. Quickly I told him that I had quit drinking and anyway it would be tough sneaking a fairly large cooler of beer past a few dozen prison guards. He laughed and agreed and we chatted for a minute or so and waved goodbye to each other.
I continued on with my stocking my cooler and looked up as the gas station attendant walked up. He was a fellow I had seen around before but never really noticed, a small man in stature with a seamed face and an age any where between 40 and 60.
"I couldn't help overhearing," he said, "about your quitting drinking. Can I ask how long it's been?"
I had to think a minute (morning is just NOT my strong time!). "It'll be one year at the end of June." I said.
Then he stuck out his hand and said "Congratulations!" There was a smile on his face and a warmth in his voice that made my heart go very still. "It's been 17 years since I quit drinking and 24 years since I quit drugs." he said. "Take it one day at a time."
You coulda knocked me over with a feather. I realised, I REALISED, that something had changed. I had changed. I was changed.
Through God's grace and love, I have come to grips with the fact that I have a drinking problem. And with His grace and help I have tackled that problem.
Oh, I still have a drinking problem. I always will. But I have been included in a group of folks, a very large group I understand, that have found the courage and help to tackle the problems of substance abuse. I am not alone.
That's what my friend at the gas station really told me last Saturday morning. And that made my day. I was flying when I picked up the team and I'm still flying.
Blessings folks, have a great weekend. And smile, cause God loves you
| Scarring the blacktop By charlieg All of us have scars. Both physical & emotional. They leave marks on us. Physically; they can be visually stunning. Emotionally; you can't see them, But they are usually the most stunning of all. Both are like road maps to our selves. In AA/NA you follow that map. Backwards. From where you are now, Back to what brought you that pivotal point. The point where 'THAT' happened. 'THAT' could be something you did, Or was something that was done to you. Something that was your fault; Or happened through no fault of yours. You can have one 'THAT', Or a series of 'THAT'S.’ 'THAT', though, changes us. Sends us onto a different lane for our ride through life. And to get back on the road you are suppose to be You have to revisit 'THAT'. There are many roadblocks, Self imposed detours around specific points of interest. You cannot go around these, you must travel through them. Because otherwise you will get lost and never find the starting point. And only from the original starting point can you fix your 'compass', And then, start anew on your journey. In the direction you were meant to travel in the first place. In treatment I learned how to follow my map, backwards to the beginning, To fix my compass. And now I've started from the beginning, Again. 1 year ago. That's when I went back out on this road trip, This time with new directions. And since! Stopping to rest here a moment, I gaze at my life, In Awe. And really? Disbelief. Only 1 year. The original road trip started 22 years ago. Maybe a little more, but those weren't really road trips, Just driving in circles, With my life. BUT, the real trip started in October 1984, When my 2 year old daughter, Joy, was strangled in the footrest of her grandfather's recliner, 9 months in a vegetative state, until I decided it would be more merciful if she were dead, Than to exist like that for 30-40 years. The following series of 'THAT''s sent me zigzagging from lane to lane like a drunken driver. Come to think of it, I usually was a drunken driver on my road trip. Joy's accident sent me onto a new road. Her death, and my part in it, onto another. Prison? Turned onto an exit ramp to purgatory there. Upon release, I drove down alcohol & pain killers Blvd. Never got so lost as to not be able to find that road again, And again. Eased into traffic with cocaine, Zigged and zagged between lanes, Between snorting it and shooting it. Swerved into oncoming traffic when I smoked crack for the first time. An accident waiting to happen. It happened. Finally broke down. When did my ride came to an end? And I finally started home? It was the perfect storm. >A flat tire The ride was no longer rolling smoothly along. The pain had grown bigger than the pleasure. Let’s face it; the pleasure had long since faded away, Now wrapped in the pain, That it used to cover. Though we chase it for eternity. >The engine quit. At the end, when I finally said, 'I give.' I was taking 30-40 pain pills a day, snorting, smoking, & shooting coke, Drinking till I puked, or passed out, and finishing with a few xanax to 'relax', 3 hospitalizations for drinking complications. 9 attempts at detoxing. 1 rehab. They say we don't drink to feel good, but to not feel. That’s what I wanted to feel.....nothing. >The weather Clear skies were a memory. It was a constant thunderstorm. An eternal/internal tug-of-war. My soul kept nudging me with the memory of God telling me I would see Joy again one day. I knew that there was a God. I knew that He forgave me. But forgiving myself. That was on a whole different level. These three came together. Just waiting for the final catalyst. A lot of people don't consider alcohol to be a drug. Or, at least not a dangerous one. That I found out, isn’t true. And it was that, 'THAT', that sent me home. From driving lost for so many years, through such a miserable landscape. The final ingredient that set off the perfect storm; My brother dying. Sean lived in Las Vegas. He had been at a party, drinking with friends. He got drunk. He passed out. He vomited. He suffocated. 'THAT' was it for me. I gave up. Gratefully. There is a saying in the rooms, If you want to get clean, you have to "Do the twelve steps". If you want to stay clean, you have to, "Get God, clean house, & help another alcoholic or addict". This is how I live my life now. >Get God I pray to God every morning; 'God, let me know, and do, Thy will, not my will.' 'Guide my thoughts and words'. 'Help me to help someone today'. 'Let them see Thee, in me, and let me see Thee, in them'. >Clean house Clean house is to get rid of, continuously, any resentment, Fear, Anger, Greed, Lust, Jealousy, Or, anything, that bothers us. We go to a meeting and talk about what is bothering us. We do not retain it. And when we were wrong in any situation. We promptly admit it. We keep our house, (ourselves), clean of any dirt. It is living a life on spiritual principles, and of rigorous honesty. >Help another alcoholic or addict We can't keep what we have unless we give it away. We can't. By helping a person who is sick, or suffering, We help ourselves. Reaching out to someone else, Looking to give whatever you can, Instead of taking whatever you can, Is a high itself. It really is. 1 year ago I was standing in front of the bathroom mirror, Lips blistered from not letting the crack pipe cool down. Blood trickling down my arm, where I didn't wipe it after shooting up. Eyes nodding, because even the cocaine couldn't stop the effects of 30-40 pain killers a day. My stomach still upset from throwing up all the alcohol. I looked at myself in the mirror, And I saw myself. I saw myself for the first time, In a long, long time. Behind the mask. Behind the self denial. And it scared the shit out of me. So much, that I sold my home & went into treatment. It took driving miles & miles, for over a decade, lost in hell, To get to 'THAT' point. It took twelve steps to find my way home. The twelfth step begins with; Having had a spiritual awakening as a result of these steps.. You do. And it is Amazing. When you have that, 'THAT', When you realize that God is. And you give Him the wheel. You let Him drive. On the journey you were meant to be on. What a road trip 'THAT' is! A vacation trip. To God's amusement park. And those rides? Amazing. Since giving up the wheel & just sitting back and enjoying the ride; >I hired a realtor while looking for a place to live after leaving rehab, Who had 5yrs.clean and owned a recovery house for women. I told Judy I wanted to open one & call it, Joy's House. Turns out her recovery house was my first house! When I ran a strip club & had dancers living with me. So, out of more than 1/2 million homes in Miami, This house went from a place where women drank & got high, Just to go to work. To a house where women worked, Just to not drink or get high. >The day before I was to visit Joy's grave, For the first time in 21 years clean & sober, The same realtor wanted me to look at a duplex. I didn't want to. I was so scared of going to see my daughter's grave, To make amends, Without a drink or drug. But I had to find a place to live. My time was up in treatment, my dogs had been boarded for 45 days. I had to go. While waiting out front for the realtor, Ready to say, "Fuck this" And go get a six pack and 20-30 pain killers (Had that number on speed dial!), The lady who lived in the other side of the duplex came out, With her daughter. Two or three years old. The same age as Joy before the accident. And absolutely beautiful. I asked her name. "Her name is Faith." The mother said. "Really? My daughter's name was Joy." I told her. "Really? My name is Joy!" She said. I felt God. I met Faith & Joy the day before visiting Joy, At the moment I needed them most. The next day I made peace with my daughter. I told Joy I was going to live a life to make her proud. I buried my 'white chip' with her, The chip you are given when you decide to stop drinking. I've since buried my 30 day, my 90 day, my 6 month, my 9 month, and my 1 year chip with her. I was asked to start bringing an AA meeting into a treatment center, every other Monday. The same one I had walked out of. The next day I was asked if I wanted to start working at a detox center, The same one I went through 6 times. That Monday I went from being a patient at, To working for, Both. Two different places, Full circle, Same day. I work the night shift at the detox center. For the most part, Except for vitals every 4 hours, And a head count every 2 hours, After 12 am, the patients are asleep. A co worker happened to have 2 computers for sale. I bought one, figuring I could play poker during the night. Somehow, I came across a blog site. I decided to try to do one on my fight to reclaim a normal life. Turned out, I wasn't too bad as a writer. Or, it was the story I was telling. But, one lady liked my writing. She called me to tell me she was starting a recovery magazine. Not a newsletter, like most, But a real, glossy page, you have to look twice to be sure it's not a People magazine, Magazine. I told her I thought it was a great idea. She was glad I liked it, because, She has been reading my blog, and wanted me to be the editor. Of the magazine. Editor. Of a magazine with an initial issue of 10,000 copies. Aimed directly at people in, and trying to get in, recovery. Me. 1 year… But the greatest ride of all? The one that when it was finished, I said, "Wait, I can't get up yet, my legs are still shaking", "My heart is beating funny." "Oh my God!" "Oh God." And cried? The greatest "E" ticket ride I will ever go on in my life? It was about 6 months into sobriety. I was asked to speak at a treatment center. I told my story, When I was finished, I told them how recliners were changed after Joy's accident. How a padded booster came up to fill, Or a cloth stretched across to cover, The space between the footrest and the body of recliner chairs. Because of Joy. I told them there was no telling how many hundreds of children were saved, Because of Joy. When I finished a young, black girl, No more than 20, 22 years old, spoke. She told me she had a little sister named Joy. Joy Rochelle. She said that she used to take care of her when they were children because their parents were never home. She told me that Joy had gotten caught in the footrest of the family's recliner chair. And that her little sister had been "jammed in there good", She had trouble getting her out. I waited. Frozen in headlights. Unable to move. As the car click clacked slowly up the tracks, to the pinnacle of the biggest hill, On the rollercoaster, in God's amusement park. Unable to see what's below. What's coming. Then, as the car crests the apex of the hill, And you go from seeing only the sky as you rose, To looking down, Seeing everything. She said, "Finally, I got her out...and she was ok." "Because this 'thing' came up and stopped the footrest from closing on her completely" "So I want you to know, that I know, that your Joy saved my Joy." How cool is that? Find God, Clean house, Help another human being. If only the world lived by these principles. 1 year.. Trying to live a life to make Joy proud.. I hope she is. peace |
| |
I bet 12 steps
By Charlie G
I was sitting at home playing in a poker tournament on line.
I'm pretty good.
I supported myself playing tournaments at the Hard Rock when I was near the end of my final run.
I had a good poker face; You could never tell when I had something.
You could never tell if I was awake, to be honest with you.
I still play once a week or so for extra money.
Now though, I usually play single table tournaments, instead of multi table. Iess money, but a lot quicker.
The last multi table tournament I was in had 19 tables. It started at 6:30 pm. At 3:45 am there were still 3 of us left.
10 hours. We were close in chips, so we put 1st, 2nd, & 3rd place money together and split it.
In my last 6 single table tournaments I've finished in the money 4 times.
As I said, I'm pretty good.
The reason for writing about this is because of what happened to me.
A lesson in priorities, it was.
I was playing the free tournament on line, getting in a little practice till 11:00 am, when I was going to drive to the Hard Rock and get into a multi table starting at noon.
About 10 am I get a call from a friend in AA.
"Charlie, do you want to do some twelve stepping?" He asked.
Twelve stepping is helping a fellow alcoholic or addict in trouble.
I had never done one before.
A guy was kicking heroin and at Jackson Hospital's Crisis Center, trying to get into their detox.
The problem was he didn't have ID showing a Miami residence
"Can you take him to the driver's license bureau to get a state ID"? My friend asked.
I paused, then agreed. 'I can still make the 6 pm tournament.' I thought to myself
When I got there 'John' is not feeling good,
And not making friends.
"He can not come in without an ID showing miami residence." I was told.
I had talked with him outside before going in to try for myself to get him in.
"Go to Camillus House. The homeless center will give him a ID." A doctor told us.
Camillus House gives them out 2x a week.
Today was not one of those days.
He had ID from Boyton Beach, a city in West Palm Beach. He used to own a house there.
A Florida ID.
"Not good enough. It has to have a Miami address." the doctor smiled.
Nope, 'John' had not made any friends here.
The line starts before dawn at a driver license office in Miami.
I went outside and explained to 'John'.
And he didn't have any money.
I told him I didn't know if we'd get in this late, and I thought he had to have some form of proof he lived in Miami,
To get proof he lived in Miami.
Yeah, I scratched my head at that one, too.
He would need a cable or electric bill.
He didn't have one on him, being homeless and all.
"My brother is a doctor. He'll pay for me to get a place to sleep tonight. He just won't send it to me." He said.
"Have him Western Union it to me and we'll get you a place." I told him
"Well, he's in surgery, you'll have to front the money. But he'll send it right after he finishes."
"That ain't going to happen," I said, looking at him. "Nothing personal, I don't know you.
But I do KNOW you. I was you. Sorry."
I'd been with this guy over two hours now.
"I have to get into detox! If I tell them I'm going to kill myself, will they have to let me in then?" He asked.
I told him we could get a cop to bring him in.
In Miami, a cop can get you into a homeless shelter if it's after curfew, and into detox, if he feels like it.
They will Baker Act you or Myers (?) Act you.
One is your crazy, a threat to yourself or others, and need to be hospitalized.
The other is your intoxicated, and need to be hospitalized.
"O.K." He said. "Lets find a cop."
I was agreeable to this. It would get him inside the doors.
Wasn't even in my mind that this way we wouldn't have to stand in the DMV line for hours,
On the chance they would give him an ID without proof of residency.
And I would miss my 6:00 pm tournament.
Never entered my mind.
So we get in my car in search of a police officer.
One block away is a Wendys. As we are driving by, we both see 4-5 police cars in the lot.
Passing the window, we see them all sitting together, two tables pulled together.
"Forget it" 'John' says. "They won't do anything when they're together like that."
I look at my watch. A little pass 3:00 pm.
If you want to buy a ticket to a tournament, you have to be there by 5:00 pm. They sell out early.
The thought never entered my mind.
"I got this bro," I said as I pulled into the lot.
We parked and went inside.
I sat 'John' down in a seat within sight of the police officers, glanced at my watch, and went over to them.
I approached the groups of cops and said;
"Officers! I need to tell you something, and then ask you something."
In AA/NA we talk a lot about "Masks."
How we need to shed ours.
How everybody wears one.
The group of cops turned , in perfect harmony, and stared at me.
They looked like they had all gotten the same mask at a post Halloween sale.
Hard eyes. Stern lips. With tufts of aggression poking out like bad hair under a baseball cap.
"Ooookay." I thought to myself, then quickly formulated a plan.
I told them a blonde joke.
"Listen guys," I said. "This blonde lady was speeding in her car by the hospital and was pulled over by a blonde female cop."
Their hard eyes are looking a little... confused.
I keep smiling.
The blonde cop asks the blonde driver for her driver's license.
The blonde driver rummages through her purse, finally looking up at the blonde cop and crying, "I don't know what it looks like!"
"It's got your picture on it." The blonde cop replies sternly.
The blonde driver goes searching through her purse some more, finally finding her compact.
She opens it up, looks at herself in the mirror's reflection, the hands it to the blonde female cop. "Is this it?" She asks.
The blonde cops takes it, looks at it, and says,
"Now if you had just told me you were a police officer in the first place, I'd have let you go a lot sooner!"
I stand there and count, 1..2..3.., wondering if I run, how far could I get?
The cops start laughing.
Then one of the sgts., there were two there, asked what I needed.
I brought 'John' over , and explained the problem.
"He's done everything they asked. Jumped through every hoop." I told them.
"They won't let him in because he doesn't have ID, and he can't get ID because he has no address."
"Can one of you take him in under a Baker Act or Myers Act?" I asked.
:Sure." The Sgt. said, "Why not? Wait outside for a couple of minutes till I finish."
I thanked him.
'John' thanked him.
Then we went outside.
I wished 'John' luck and said good bye.
I drove away and was soon on I-95, heading north towards the casino.
I felt pretty good. I had helped my fellow addict, and look at that! I had time to go to the tournament.
Hadn't even thought about that.
Yep, I was feeling pretty good about myself.
Then the radio went off.
The airbag light came on.
The battery light came on.
The 'check engine' light came on.
I had changed the battery two months before and immediately thought I'd gotten a bad one.
But if it was that, the car just wouldn't start the next time I tried. Not this light show.
The car started bucking, just a little.
I pulled the owner's manual out of the glove box and call the place where I'd bought the car.
It was on the way, and I was near.
I got the service department and told the guy on the other end what was happening.
"Oh Boy!" He laughed, "That's your alternator." "Better get in here."
I got off I-95, and onto SR441. A lesser traveled road that runs parallel to I-95.
The Hyundai dealership was on 441 and 204th street, about 30 blocks away.
My car that never gave me trouble, was hiccupping and slowing.
"You can make it." I told her, "You can do it!"
She didn't.
As I approached a red light, I let her coast, hoping the light would change. Scared to stop.
Just as I rolled up, the cars in front of me drove off.
I smiled as I stepped lightly on the accelerator, never having had to stop.
Nothing happened.
My car slowed to a crawl and stopped at 183rd street and 441.
21 blocks from the Hyundai dealership.
I turned the key.
Nothing. No clicking, nothing. Absolutely nothing.
I got out, lifted the hood, and called the dealer.
I was told I had to call the 800 Hyundai number and they would send a tow truck.
I called the number, spoke with a nice lady, giving her all the pertinent information.
Including the fact that I was only 21 blocks away from the dealership.
She told me a tow truck would be there for me in one hour.
I called the dealer. No tow trucks. "Just wait."
I got back in my car, lit a cigarette, leaned back in my seat and thought, 'So much for the 6:00 tournament.
When I finished my cigarette, I got out of the car and leaned on the roof, looking at the traffic, looking at me.
I was parked in a turn lane at a main intersection.
As I casually looked around, my gaze came upon the building in the strip mall directly across from me.
It was the Department of Motor Vehicles.
The driver's license building.
I am not making this up.
I looked around again. Now seeing familiar buildings. I knew this place.
This is where I had gotten my license, and had planned to bring 'John.'
I could not believe it.
My car broke down directly, not on the same block, not just down the street, but directly across from the driver's license building.
I got back into my car and lit another cigarette.
For the next 45 minutes, until the tow truck came, I thought about priorities.
Looking at, then away from, that driver's license building.
Like a line judge in a tennis tournament.
Tournament.
Had I short changed this guy who needed my help because I didn't want to miss a tournament?
I spoke in length to God about that during those 45 minutes.
And about priorities.
The tow truck finally came. It was a flat bed.
The driver came over as I got out of my car.
He asked me for my keys as he lowered the bed of the truck.
"It won't start." I told him. "Your going to have to winch it up."
"Sometimes the battery has enough juice in it and will slowly charge the alternater," he said, as he got into my car.
It started.
He drove it up the bed of the tow truck and chained it down.
I got in the cab and didn't say anything the 21 blocks to the dealer.
When we got there he lowered the bed, drove my car off, shook my hand, and left.
I walked over to the service manager, signed the papers, and was told I could pick it up in the morning.
I stood there. How was I going to get home?
I called Judi, a friend of mine in AA.
I what happened and could she please come and give me a ride home?
She had an appointment, but of course she would help me. "We had to look out for each other, didn't we?"
SHE was twelve stepping ME!
I can now say that I was twelve stepped, while twelve stepping!
Unbelievable.
She wouldn't be able to bring me back in the morning, so I called another friend in AA.
Chris said he would have to get up a little earlier, but he would take me in the morning, before going to work.
Priorities.
I'm sure the car would have broke down anyway.
I'm sure the line would have been too long for us to get into the license department before closing.
And I'm sure they wouldn't give 'John' an ID without proof of residence.
I'm as sure as I am of pocket aces in a poker tournament.
But I wouldn't bet on it.
peace
I met a man with a tale to tell
By
Charlie G
I show to the world that I'm a man;
But in reality, I have no plan.
Spend my time holding up a mask;
It is not easy, it is a task.
Peel back the lips and show them a grin;
Inside I’m a loser, but they see a win.
Wheeling & dealing was my daily achievement;
Squealing and reeling in self bereavement.
I’d lie, steal or charm to finish the deal,
Anything to keep from having to feel.
That is who I was, until I was prod;
To step off the ledge; let go & let God.
I met a man with a tale to tell;
“I can get you out of this hell.”
“That war raging inside you, that you can’t ever win?
It doesn’t have to be where you’re going – just where you’ve been.”
“Hell, you’d attempt Mt. Everest for one more pill;
But it’s just 12 easy steps up Sobriety Hill.”
12 simple steps, then you’ll soar like a bird;
Confident, assured, apart from the herd.
Flying high overhead, looking down at the past;
Where you spun your wheels in despair, going nowhere real fast.
The price for this? The cost of the bill?
Was the simple giving up of my own self-will.
So I agreed to his terms, I said I’d give it a try;
Because using was misery, It’d long since lost it’s high.
So here’s what I did, 12 steps in all;
After reading the Big Book & getting a sponsor to call:
Starting with step one, that was a breeze;
Step two was tricky, wasn’t “God” just a tease?
Step three was a big one, if I wanted to be free;
Giving up my will; not depending on me.
The next one was honesty, that’s the heart of step four;
What I’d kept hidden for so long; I now opened that door.
In step five I admitted all - to God, man & me;
And the guilt that consumed me - now let me be.
Six is my defects, God take them away;
And in seven, I knelt down and that’s what I pray.
Making a list of my wrongs, this was step eight;
Ready & willing, it’s never too late.
Nine takes time; it should be done face to face;
Making amends when you can, and always with grace.
Ten is done daily, a close look at me;
Cleaning my house is what keeps me free.
But the greatest for me is when I do step eleven;
Drawing closer to God; closer to Heaven.
Step twelve, you’re finished! But you’ve only begun;
When you see another still suffering, you tell them how it’s done.
So, what I want you to remember, what I need you to know;
Is what someone told me a long time ago:
That war raging inside you, that you can’t ever win?
It doesn’t have to be where you’re going – just where you’ve been
Peace
Charlie G