Left By the Side of the Road – Part 2 of 2

It took twenty minutes, but the bus came and I paid for a ticket to the Greyhound station.  When I got there, I realized the next bus to Ventura wasn’t for six hours, and I didn’t have enough money to buy myself both lunch and a bus ticket.  So, I did what any broke college student would do…

I called Mom.

Of course, she immediately dropped whatever she’d been doing to come and get me.  She was appalled that Dad had left me by the side of the road so far from home.

Me… I wasn’t surprised.  This was Dad, after all.

After that episode, it was three weeks before I saw them again.  I came by one weekend to pick up the stuff I had left in the back of the truck.  The girls were ecstatic to see me.  They regaled me with stories of their trip, and how a Park Ranger had chastised Dad for throwing water balloons into a parking lot, nearly hitting a four-year-old girl and making her cry.

I laughed and shook my head, not even a little surprised.  This was Dad, after all.

And then Dad sauntered out.

And when I say sauntered, I mean sauntered. He was doing his cocky little cowboy walk, where he points his toes outward and bends his knees deeply with each step, his arms swinging like a monkey’s.  He looked like some kind of toy piston, bobbing up and down.

“Well, well, well,” he drawled.  “Feeling better?”
I grimaced, not certain if I wanted to ask for an explanation, or just ignore him altogether.

I made the mistake of saying, “What do you mean?”

He snickered, his expression clearly saying that he was about to tell a joke at my expense.  “Oh you know.  When you had your little tantrum and made us leave you in Santa Barbara.”

I was instantly furious again.  “Are you kidding me?”

His eyebrows shot up, his eyes getting really wide.  “What?” he crooned innocently.  I could tell by his expression that he thought he was really funny… that this was “water under the bridge” to him.

It was so not “under the bridge”.

“Oh.  My.  God!” I bit out, feeling the urge to strike him.

The girls giggled behind me.

“Look at me,” Dad continued in his I’m-so-funny voice.  “I’m Erica.  Wah wah wah.  I’m an adult.  I can’t sit in the backseat cause I’m too big.  Let me out now!”

The girls snickering became more high-pitched.

“I know you’re not talking about when you left me by the side of the road,” I growled between clenched teeth, my hands tightening into fists.

“Don’t you mean when you threw a tantrum and demanded to get out?” he countered, one eyebrow arching ludicrously.

“You are so not funny,” I hissed, shoving past him to leave the room.

“Erica, wait” he called quickly.

I hesitated and stopped, debating if I should ignore him or not.

I turned back to him slowly.  “What?!”

And then he went into Jim Carrey mode… aka “his Ace Ventura Pet Detective” impression.  He always did it when he thought he was “freakin’ hysterical.”

Bending over, he grabbed his butt cheeks and flapped them at me.  His voice crooned, as his butt said, “Can I ass-ss-ss you a question?”

He should have known better.

Hell… I should have known better.

But I didn’t.

I was angry and I reacted without thinking.

Taking the single step that separated us, I swung my foot back and kicked him square in his hole!

Or should I say his “kisser”?

Either way, he shot up like a jack-in-the-box, his entire body stiffening in shock.

Both the girls and I began screaming with laughter.  I had to sit down because my knees gave out.

He looked surprised for the briefest of moments.  Then he smiled at us, as if being kicked in the ass had been part of his plan all along.  “Damn it, Jim,” he crowed comically.

Tears streaked down my face.  My side began to ache.  I couldn’t breathe, I was laughing so hard.

Needless to say, all was forgiven and forgotten in that moment… on both sides.

But apparently, his butt wasn’t so forgiving. It never spoke to me again.

Not that I was disappointed… Or was I?

Hm.  Go figure.

(To Read Part 1, Click Here.)

Alan’s Testimony – Step 1: Admission

Alan and Bob - Two Old Sea Dogs

“Well, I looked at them steps again and I looked at him.  Then I told him, ‘You know, this

ain’t gonna work for me.’

“And he said, ‘Why is that, Alan?’

“‘Because me and God aren’t on speaking terms.  Matter of fact… I hate God, and that thing says God on it.  So it ain’t gonna work for me.’

“Then he smiled and said, ‘You know what, Al… if you ain’t got a God in your life that you can trust, that you can love… that you can depend on… then you best get one.’

“And that’s all he told me. ‘You best get one.’

“And I just looked at him… not sure what to make of that.

“Then the meeting started and they asked for newcomers.  About five or six people raised their hand and said their names and ‘I’m an alcoholic.’

“Then Bob gives me the old elbow and says, ‘Alan.  Say your name.’

“I got the drift from everyone else about what to say.  So I raise my hand and I say, ‘I’m Alan and I’m an alcoholic.’

“And as soon as I said that… that moment of clarity hit me…

“And I started crying.

“You see, I didn’t want to be an alcoholic.  I figured I was just a party animal.  There’s nothing wrong with being a party animal in my book.  Know what I’m saying?  I was just having fun in the fast lane.

“But when I heard myself say that… ‘I’m Alan, and I’m an alcoholic’… it scared the hell out of me.

It was like ‘Ah, shit.  That’s the end of the world.  I’m dead.  You can bury me now cause there ain’t no more fun having.  Ain’t no more way to live life; Ain’t no more way to handle people. I’m done.’

“But Old Bob just smiled and patted me on the back while I sat there crying.  He didn’t tell me to suck it up; he didn’t tell me to knock that shit off.  He just said, ‘You’re in the right place, Alan… You’re in the right place.’

“And we went through that whole meeting that day; everybody jibber jabbing and talking out their necks… trying to impress the newcomers like we do.  They were talking steps, and how to live their lives, but I didn’t hear any of that crap.  I only heard one thing that whole meeting… the only thing I remember… was when one guy said, ‘You don’t ever have to drink again, if you don’t want too.’ That was it.  That’s all I heard.

“‘You don’t ever have to drink again, if you don’t want too.’

“And for a hopeless… fearful… angry… demoralized… person… that sat in that chair that day… that was the little ray of hope I heard.  Just the tiniest bit of hope that ‘maybe this might work.’

Alan paused for a second to take a drink from a nearby glass of water.  He flashed his girlfriend in the front row an affectionate smile, then he cleared his throat and continued.

“Well, after that meeting, Bob bought me my Big Book.  Then we went back to his boat and we started reading.  We read for hours.  Next day, he took me over to another noon meeting at the Buckaroo.  Then he took me to the 5:30 meeting at the Wagon Wheel.  Then, he took me to my first NA Candlelight meeting.  And I listened… and I heard. That night, I bought my NA book, and we went back to Bob’s boat… and we read for hours.

“And you know… in that first meeting… I did my first step.  I admitted I was an alcoholic.  That’s how simple it was for me: I admitted it.  I felt it.  I knew it.”

Left by The Side of the Road – Part 1 of 2

Erica – Age 21

“Okay, Erica.  Get in the backseat.”

I turned my gaze from the back of the loaded truck to where Dad stood on the other side of the hood.  “What?” I blurted, amazed.  Surely, he didn’t just say what I think he said.

We had just finished packing the Dodge Ram and were heading out for camping in Arroyo Grande.  It was a decent sized truck, but the “backseat” was basically a padded bench more suited for children than adults.

I’m 21; he cannot expect me to ride in that small space like a child.

Plus, Arroyo Grande is two hours away!

“Get in the backseat,” he repeated, serious.

Apparently he did expect it…

“I can’t sit in the back,” I argued.  “There’s not enough room.”

“There’s plenty of room,” he answered with a dismissive wave of his hand.

I knew why he was doing this.  It was because on the way to Vegas, I had sat in the back of the Honda without protest.  Somehow, it made him demote me to child status, much like the girls watching us now from said backseat.  But in all honesty, I was bigger than Dad’s wife by at least four inches… and 30 pounds.  If anyone should sit in the backseat, it should be her.

Then again, Lorena had been in a car accident a few months ago, and her back had bothered her ever since.  I couldn’t ask her to sit in the back.

“I’m not sitting in the back,” I persisted anyway.  “I get carsick and won’t be able to see the road.  The front seat can hold three adults.  Put up the armrest and let me sit with you.”

“No,” Dad said firmly.  “I need my armrest.  Sit in the back.”

My teeth clenched together.  “I’m not sitting in the back,” I grit out stubbornly.

His expression became just as stubborn as I’m sure mine was.  “Get. In. The. Back,” he ordered, each word enunciated slowly.

It turned into a silent stare down from across the hood of the truck.  My eyes narrowed and my lips thinned as I mentally tried to will him into surrendering.

He just raised one eyebrow and smirked, as if he knew what I was doing.

My nostrils flared.  He’s not gonna back down, I realized.  Which means I can either do it, or not go at all.

“Fine,” I snapped, irate at losing the battle.

Whipping my face away, I slammed the front passenger seat forward and shoved myself into the small space.  I had to squeeze my legs next to the girls because the space was too tight.

The girls smiled back at me, happy to have me there.  I tried to return their smiles, but I probably looked something like an alligator as I did so.

Dad and Lorena also got in the car and Dad started the engine.  Soon, we were on the freeway, off on Dad’s annual softball camping trip.  It was going to be a fun-filled weekend of skiing, boating, swimming, and – surprise, surprise – playing softball.  The rest of his team were probably already up there since we left a day later than they did.

I tried to get comfortable, I really did.  I tucked my head against my small window, trying to see the road between Lorena’s seatbelt and her oversized headrest.  All I could see was the truck’s frame.

I next tried to turn my head and stare out my window, but because of the odd angle of my legs, my neck began to ache.

I tried to lean toward the middle of the car so I could see the road between the front seats, but Miranda squeaked in protest as I crowded her.

Finally, I just tried to make myself as comfortable and possible and stared at the back of Lorena’s seat.  Every time I glanced at Dad, I became more and more incensed until finally, I was actually gnashing my teeth.

Somehow, I lasted a half hour, seething in self righteous fury as Dad and Lorena chattered happily.  Christina and Miranda played some secret game they had made up for just the two of them.

No one bothered speaking to me.  I’m sure they could feel the rage radiating from me.

I don’t know what set me off.  It was probably some random combination of my fury, carsickness, discomfort, aching back, cramped knees, and the oblivious good cheer in Dad’s voice.

“That’s it!” I shrieked.  “Pull over NOW!”

Dad turned his head to look at me.  “What did you say?”

“I said pull over now! I’m getting out.”

“Do you need to go to the bathroom?” he asked innocently.

“Just pull over!” I cried, trying not to thrash in my seat.  I was one minute away from a screaming fit the likes of which I hadn’t had since childhood.

Dad must have sensed my seriousness, because he quickly got off at the next exit and drove into a restaurant parking lot.  I wasn’t sure exactly where we were, but I knew we were on the other side of Santa Barbara – a good forty miles from my apartment.

Lorena got out of the car and I was right behind her.  I reached back in to snatch up my purse and forced a smile to my lips for the girls who watched me with concern.

“What’s going on, Erica?” Dad asked from the other side of the truck when I straightened.

I tried to school my features into a passive expression, but knew I probably looked anything but passive.  “I’m not going with you.  I refuse to ride in the backseat anymore.  Just go on without me.  I’ll find my own way home.”

With that, I stormed off toward the restaurant.  I could feel their stunned gazes prickling the back of my neck, but I didn’t turn around.

“Come on, Erica,” Dad finally called.  “Get back in the car.”

“No!” I yelled from across the parking lot.  “I’m not going.  Just leave!”

I disappeared around the corner of the building and immediately spied a bus stop a block away.  Even though I was a broke college student, I had enough money for the bus.

Lorena came running up behind me.  “Erica, wait,” she called, drawing my attention from the bus stop.  “I’ll sit in the back, okay?  Come back to the car.”

I shook my head stubbornly.  “No, Lorena, that’s not right.  You shouldn’t have to sit on that little bench seat.  It’s hurting my back, and I haven’t been in a car accident.  It would hurt you a lot more.  The right thing to do here would be to have Dad put the armrest up so we could both ride in the front seat, but he’s not gonna do that.  And even if he did, it’s better if I don’t go now.  I’ll be too furious all weekend long, and it would ruin everyone else’s good time.”

“No you won’t,” Lorena tried to protest.

“I’ve made up my mind.  You guys go; have a good time.  I’ll be fine.”

“Are you sure?” she asked, her expression worried.

I forced a nonchalant smile to my face.  “I’m sure.  Go ahead.”  I gave her a hug, then pushed her back toward the parking lot.  “Go.”

Obviously unhappy, Lorena returned to the truck.

I continued on to the bus stop.

As I sat on the bench, I looked back to the parking lot.  I watched as the truck pulled into traffic and continued back to the freeway.  I didn’t take my eyes from it until it had disappeared down the onramp.

They didn’t come back.

And then I laughed… bitterly.

I can’t believe he just left me here.  I can’t believe he just left me on the side of the road in Santa Barbara.  What the hell!!!  What kind of father does that? …

(To Read Part 2, Come Back Next Week and Click Here.)

Alan’s Testimony – Asking for Help

Alan and Whitcomb

“Being the good cops that they are here in Ventura County, they let me out about four in the morning.  I called Whitcomb up and told him to come pick me up.  And he did.  Then I drove that truck home.  I was still pretty plastered, but I still drove.   I went back to my boat and got about five or six hours of sleep.

“When I got up, I went to go see a buddy of mine who lived two docks down from me.  Someone I knew who didn’t drink.  His name was Bob and he was an old geezer… about 55, white hair.  This guy worked with me, another aerospace engineer, and we carpooled to work together every day.  Bob had known me for the last three or four years of my using and abusing.

“Anyway, at that time, I knew he was sober, but he never told me anything about this anonymity stuff.  I didn’t know he had ten years sobriety at that point.  I just knew he didn’t drink.

“So I went down to his boat that morning, and I sat down.  I turned to Bob and I said, ‘Bob… I think I might have a problem.’

“He says, ‘Oh yeah, Alan, what’s that?’

“‘I think I might have a drinking problem.’

“He started laughing.  Then he says, ‘I been saving you a seat.’

“‘Saving me a seat?’ I thought.  ‘Okay. You’re saving me a seat… whatever that means.’

But what I said was, ‘I think I might need some help.’

“‘We call that a sponsor,’ he says.

“And I got a smile on my face.  I was thinking, ‘Ah shit, now he’s going to buy my booze for me.  Fab-you-lous.  Sponsor me.

“’I wonder if he does drugs too.  He can buy me my drugs also.’”

Alan paused as the audience laughed.

“So we started talking, and it was almost noon when he says to me, ‘Come on, Alan.  We’re going for a ride.’

“And we went for a ride.  We went over to the Alana Club… the Palace,” he finished with a sarcastic drawl.

“For those of you who don’t know about the Alana Club, it was pretty grungy.  And when we walked in, I was thinking, ‘What the hell is this?  He’s taking me to the ghetto.’

“But I went.  And we walked up them stairs into the meeting room – there was probably two dozen people, including a lot of street people getting their free coffee – and I sat down right across from where they had all the steps and traditions written on the walls.  And I started reading.  And I’m reading and reading.

“And then I looked over at Bob and said, ‘What is this shit, Bob?”

“‘This is AA.’

“‘What’s AA?’

“‘Alcoholics Anonymous,’ he said with a smile.

“And I’ll tell you, that was the first time in my life that I’d ever heard that… the first day I ever heard the words Alcoholics Anonymous.  I didn’t know what that was.  I thought, ‘Oh.  They’re gonna teach me how to drink here.  Okay.’

“So take note, newcomers… I had a first day.

Shades of Me

Some people think they know me

But I think this remains to be seen.

For what they really know

Are the different shades of me.

Some people only know

The exterior that I show.

Deep down remain the things to be

Things like feelings, the real shades of me.

Few people know my inner self

They only see my outer shell.

For deep within my heart, you see,

There lie feelings, the real shades of me.

I have a hard time showing these feelings

Letting these walls down, my inner self revealing

Feelings of kindness, love and caring

These are the shades I need to be sharing.

So when you turn the light on me

Maybe some of these shades you’ll see,

And when the light shines its glow

Then shades of me you’ll get to know.

Top 10 Alan-ism’s

One thing Alan was always good for was trying to make people laugh.  He did that in many different ways, but one way that always seemed to surprise people was through his favorite expressions, delivered at an appropriate time.  Here are 10 of his favorites.

1.  Love You, Send Money

2.  Just Another Day in Paradise

3.  We Be Cruisin’

4.  Quit Yer Whinin’, Wench.

5.  Damnit-Jim.

6.  It’s Not the Destination; It’s the Babe.

7.  What It Be Like?

8.  How’s it Hangin’?

9.  Oh Cry Me a River, a River of Tears

and 10.  You Want HOW MUCH money?  Shiiiiiiit. (Usually said to one of his daughters.)

Alan’s Testimony – Incomprehensible Demoralization

Ah, to be young (and that confident in Daisy Dukes)

“To skip ahead, my fourth drunk driving arrest happened on July 30^th, 1984.  I walked into Hornblowers, a little bar down at the marina where drinks were two for the price of one during Happy Hour.  I walked in there at 6 PM, stone cold sober.

“So I happened to be dating the bartender at that place, and I told her, ‘I want six Bloody Marys and six Brandy Alexanders.’ And she made ‘em strong, cause I was dating her.  And, cause if she didn’t make ‘em strong, she wouldn’t get a good tip at the end of the night.”  He stopped and leered, reveling in the lecherous chuckles coming from some in the audience.

Only a few people laughed.

Then he continued.  “So, they were all mixed like doubles.  And I moved ‘em all over to my table where my buddy Whitcomb was sitting with his beers.

“Well, I was in a marrying mood that night.  And I would take a Bloody Mary… and a Brandy Alexander…” – his hands moved to mime a glass in each hand – “and I would marry ‘em…” – he pretended to pour the drinks back and forth – “…just like that.  And when one was done, I would take the next bride and groom and marry them.

“Needless to say, by 7 o’ clock, Happy Hour was over and all my drinks were done.  Me and Whitcomb got in my truck, then decided to go get a twelve pack of beer and head to the drive-in theater.  I was driving the truck, and I drove out of the Hornblowers parking lot.

“Well, there was a sharp turn down there, by the Marina, and I didn’t make the turn.  I drove the truck right into the fence and took out forty feet of chain link.

“The funny part is – cause God has a sense of humor – these cops were coming round the corner and they saw me do it.  So they pulled in behind me, got on their loud speaker and said, ‘Get out of the truck.’

“So my buddy got out the passenger door and starts walking towards the dude (there were two cops).  My door, however, was jammed because of the fence, so I got out the passenger side too.

“And there she was.  The most beautiful… blonde-haired…” he grinned rakishly, “…officer… I’d ever seen in my life.”  He glanced around and nodded, his eyebrows bobbing suggestively.  “Her name was Beth Hamilton.  And I was in love.”

He paused to let the audience laugh, his smile exultant in their delight.

When they quieted, he continued.

“So I walked right up to her, stuck both my hands out – ”, both his arms shot out, fists downward, “ – and I said ‘you got me, Baby.’”

“She started smiling.  Then she whipped them cuffs out and snapped them on me like a kung fu move. Ka-chaw, ka-chaw. And I could tell by the way she did it… she was in looooove.” More chuckles ensued.

“You know how I could tell?” he continued.  “Cause she didn’t put my hands behind my back.

“Annnnyway, they put me in the car and drove me to jail while Whitcomb got to walk back towards my boat… at the time, I was living on a sailboat there in the marina.  So he got to go and sleep it off on my boat while they took me in.

“Well… on the way to jail, I proposed marriage to that cop… twice… while I was in the backseat.

“Of course, her partner was laughing his head off.

“Then I said, ‘When I sober up, will you marry me?’

“Then she started laughing.

“That’s when I felt it… that ‘Incomprehensible Demoralization.’  I mean, to be rejected by a cop… come on.”  His face twisted with a mock horror which amused his spectators.

Waiting for the room to become quiet again, Alan’s expression turned musing.

“‘Incomprehensible Demoralization,” he murmured in a reflective tone, his gaze moving over the avid faces.  “You know that’s an expression that’s always cracked me up.  Anyone here ever had that?  Raise your hand.”

The majority of the room lifted their hands.

“You know,” he continued, “the funny thing about that is that the word ‘Incomprehensible’ means you can’t comprehend it.  You can’t describe it.  Yet most of the people in here raised their hand.  And I’m with you on that.  It’s not an object; It’s a feeling.  And I felt it.  That’s what we share here.  We share our feelings.  We share our life.  And tonight is just about one alcoholic sharing with another.  It’s about Recovery.

“Anyway, they took me in and I think I had a little bit of a blackout because the next day I found a needle mark in my arm.  They must have taken me to the hospital to draw my blood, but I didn’t remember any of that.

“What I did remember is that they put me in a padded cell; they didn’t put me in the drunk tank.  And when I heard that jail door slam, and I could see them eyes looking through the little window of that padded cell, I went and sat in the corner of that cell and had a moment of clarity… a moment of clarity.

“And that moment of clarity was, ‘Why am I here one more time?’

“I had to ask myself that. ‘Why am I here one more time?’

(To Read the Previous Entry, Click Here.)

(To Read the Next Entry, Come Back Next Week.)

Alan’s Testimony – Booze Was Always There For Me

(Click Here to Read the previous entry.)

“…And booze was always there for me,” he continued when the crowd had quieted.  “My favorite drink was Wild Turkey… cause they named it after me.  So I had to drink it.

“Anyway, coming from a poor family, I always had to earn everything I got.  I graduated from trade school, and I became an aerospace designer.  Then I graduated as an engineer, and I became one of them people… 27 years in engineering.  I worked on many aerospace projects, and I did it loaded.

“I got married at 20 – divorced at 22.  That was a good two years.  I stayed pretty loaded most of that time.

“But then I caught her in bed with my best friend…

“Divorced her; moved in with him.

“True story,” he decreed over the audience’s mirth.  “But it’s okay… cause I learned how to forgive.  I forgave them both because we were still partying.  It was all good.

“You know, I don’t know about most of you, but for me, drugs and alcohol was fabulous.  Fab-you-lous.  I had a great life.  I was using and abusing.  I was on fire in the fast lane.  Anybody here ever live life in the fast lane?”  He chuckled unabashed as many raised their hands.  “Yeah, we got some takers.

“You see, for me… drugs and alcohol worked real good.  They killed that pain; they took away that anger.  Drugs and alcohol were like a false courage.  And because of that, I proceeded to do things that were dangerous.  I proceeded to drag race cars.  I rolled a Datsun pickup truck… loaded… at 80 miles per hour… me and a buddy in there.

“You know, that was the first day ever that I didn’t wear seatbelts.  I was coming back from trade school in Arizona at Christmastime.  Me and my buddy had been driving all night when we made it to the last passing lane in Santa Paula.  I was trying to pass one more truck when I lost control of it, and it was gone.”  His hand shot outward, his fingers flicking as if the truck had just flew away.

“When that truck rolled, my buddy went out the side window and I stayed in it for one more roll; then I came out the side window.  Both of us got tossed up instead of out, and we landed on the side of the road.  Alive and unharmed.”

“So you see, there’s more times than you got fingers and toes that I should have been dead due to drugs and alcohol.  My life was sex, drugs and rock ‘n roll.  And it did not matter what order they came in.  It was all good for a long time… that career of drinking, drugging, and living life in the fast lane…

“Until that day.”  He sighed.  “Until that day… when it stopped working.

“And it did stop.

“Just to put the record straight, I been arrested four times for drugs and alcohol… cause I am a quick study… and I learn mighty quick.” He chuckled at himself.  “My first drunk driving was in 1978.  I was riding my motor scooter and a cop pulled me over.  He said I was weaving.

“So, I’m sitting on the bike when the cop comes up to me and says, ‘Get off the bike.’

“Well, I got off the bike, but I forgot to put the kickstand down.  The bike fell and I spun round.  Then I kicked it and said, ‘Stay!’

“The cop looks at me and says, ‘Are you drunk?’

“And I say, ‘I sure hope so, cause I don’t do this every day.’

“Well, he starts laughing.  Then he says, ‘Put your hands behind your back.’

“And that’s what I did…

“And he took me to jail.

“That was the first occurrence.”

Alan’s Testimony – Why I Started Drinking

Alan Hamilton - Back in the Trailer Park

“Okay,” he continued when the mike was settled.  “I’m going to start by telling you right out the gate… what I say is my experience only.  If you want to know what this program’s about, you read the Big Book of Alcoholics Anonymous.

“With that said… Is there anybody here who ever felt so much fear, they didn’t want to get out of bed in the morning?  Raise your hand.”

Nearly everyone in the room lifted their hands.

“Very good.  Is there anyone here who’s ever drank so much booze, they couldn’t get out of bed?  Raise your hand.”

Again, a large majority of hands went up.

“Has anyone ever crashed their hang glider over a hundred times and lived to walk away from it?  Raise your hand.”

Raised hands disappeared while some people sniggered uncertainly. Surely, he wasn’t serious.

“Anybody ever drank Wild Turkey at eighty feet below the water while scuba diving?  Raise your hand.”

This time, people looked around wondering if anyone would raise their hands.

No one did.

“Anyone here ever rolled their truck at 80 miles an hour and lived to walk away from it?  Raise your hand…”  This time hands shot into the air and Alan leered knowingly.  “Alright – we got some takers on that one.

“Is there anyone here that alcohol messed up their life so bad, they didn’t want to live no more?  Raise your hand.”

Up went the hands.

“Has anyone ever pulled their parachute three times at terminal velocity while skydiving and lived to talk about it?  Raise your hand.”

Just as before, hands disappeared.

“Well if you notice, newcomers, it’s not so much about what we did… it’s the feelings we share.  That’s what we have in common around here.  We all did different things.  The things I mentioned are things that I have done personally.  And that includes the feelings.

“I’ll start a little bit at the beginning.  I was born in Oakland and I was a Navy Brat.  My daddy was a sailor; my momma was a housewife.  Daddy was a Republican; Momma was a Democrat.  Daddy was a Baptist; Momma was a Catholic.  And neither of them were alcoholics.

“I have two brothers and a sister, and none of them show symptoms of alcoholism – only me.  I’m the black sheep of the family.

“So that was my upbringing.  My family was a very poor and loving family, and my parents didn’t have much in common.  But the one thing they did have in common was love.  My parents were both very loving and caring people.

“But… on April 8^th, 1972… God called my daddy home.  He took my hero.  He took the man I looked up too.”  His voice cracked as he stated this, his eyes glistening with an ache that had never dissipated… even after 36 years.  When he tried to clear the sudden lump in his throat, his Adams apple bobbed madly.

The crowd could feel his pain.

“That was a month after I turned sixteen years old,” he continued.  “And that day… I got angry at God.  I got furious at Him for taking my hero.

“So on April 9^th, I got plastered. Totally plastered.  I got me some booze, got me some pot… and I went out in the lemon orchard and just did it up.  Before then, I had chipped away at drugs and alcohol, but I had never really done anything that bad.  I had never gotten that drunk or out of control.  But on that day – April 9^th – I told God I wanted nothing to do with Him anymore.

“See, I knew about God.  I was raised Catholic and Baptist.  I spent two years as an altar boy, two years at Missionary Bible School, four years at Catholic School, two years of Catechism – all that crap.  But regardless… the day God took my daddy was the day I turned my back on Him.

“And then, in my genius way of thinking, I figured I’d do everything God didn’t like.  So then I thought: ‘What does God not like?’

“Well, I knew you weren’t supposed to get drunk; that was in the Bible.  So I said, ‘From now on, I’m gonna get drunk and I’m gonna get loaded.  I’m gonna chase women and just have a great life.’ I already knew I was gonna be a Post-Toasty, so why worry about it?

“You see, I wasn’t mad at people.  I was mad at God.  So I didn’t take my anger out on people; I took my anger out on God.

“And that’s what I proceeded do.  I proceeded to do all these things I knew God didn’t like because I wanted to – because it didn’t matter.  I got out of high school and I learned how to hang glide.  I learned how to drink and smoke pot while I was hang gliding.  And I used to fly loaded.  I’d take a few magic mushrooms and go flying off Rincon… try to hit the beach.”  He chuckled at his past stupidity.  “In fact, in hang gliding, they used to call me Bonsai.”  He crooned the nickname proudly.  “They also called me Kamikaze… because I had more successful crashes than any Kamikaze pilot ever had in World War II.

“You see, people… I’m dual diagnosed.  My drug of choice is more…”
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The Pain I Share

By Alan Hamilton

 

 

I feel my heart is heavy

For the ones whose pain I share

For what can I do to help,

Ease their sorrow and despair?

 

Oh God, I do not understand, why!

A loss so great

As our loved ones passed

With the hand of fate.

 

The gift of life, you gave us Lord

The precious time we had, I thank you for.

As you accept your children to be with thee,

It eases my pain and comforts me.

 

Even after our loved ones are gone,

Your gift of life, we’ll carry on.

The blessings of your children will always last,

For sweet memories of them will never pass.

 

God will lift his children’s pain,

And from the experience, they will gain.

As the days go by, the pain will fade,

And soon we’ll feel God’s love in trade.

 

Now we’re living day by day

And for our loved one, we will pray

As the heart is eased, for the pain we’ve shared

Alone you’re not, because we cared.