Bully: Texting Part 2

Theodore Roosevelt was the 26th president of the United States.  (I had to look that up.)

In popular culture he is known as Teddy, but apparently the nickname reminded him of his first wife, and so he grew to hate it.  Who knew?  Supposedly the Teddy Bear is named for him. Larger than life even by presidential standards, he is easy to caricaturize:  Barrel chest, tiny spectacles on a slender chain, walrus mustache ... and his favorite exclamation, "Bully!"

He meant it as a good thing, i.e., superb or wonderful.  He is famous for coining the phrase "bully pulpit" in referring to the office of the President, as in it is a wonderful "bully pulpit" from which to advocate an agenda -- and that, in fact, is the meaning of the phrase today:  "An office or position high enough in an organization from which one can advocate a belief, agenda or course of action."  (Thanks, Webster!) 

I used to think it meant that you were using a pulpit to bully people, but it seems I was just making an erroneous leap associating the word "bully" with its other, much more common meaning.

The phrase, and this dusty bit of historical trivia, has come to mind of late following a phone call from an old friend of mine.  A good Irish alcoholic, we were newcomers together more than 20 years ago, and have remained sober and good friends all this time -- both of which are a remarkable accomplishment for a pair of Irishmen if I do say so myself.  (Oh come now, a bit of poetic license must be given.  I'm not talking brogue spouting, shillelagh toting, Riverdancers here -- I mean just enough County Cork in the DNA to make alcoholism, depression and a contrary nature practically a given.)

He called me the other day, and with a gentle tease for my blogging, ("Hello?  May I speak with Mr. SponsorPants?" was what came out of the phone) he vented to me about the texting problem he's having in a couple of his favorite meetings -- and the most grave and public offender is someone with more than 20 years sober himself.  My friend asked if we had a similar problem where I lived, and we commiserated on ornery old-timers, unwilling newcomers, and the challenges that await anyone who's been around long enough to try not to slide into "Bleeding Deacon" territory.

I reminded him that my first sponsor, a man he knew as well, used to mutter under his breath at some meetings that "this would be a great Program if it weren't for all these damned alcoholics."

In the course of our conversation, he asked me about the meetings I go to, and how this problem is handled ... which led to a discussion of how we want to handle it vs. how we should handle it.

Because I can tell you what I want to do.  I want a bully pulpit.  I want to make an impassioned speech -- and in AA, we don't make speeches, I need to point out to the new kids.  We share, we don't make speeches.  But ...  I want to make a scene.  I want to share at people.  I want to shame, and maybe shun a little.  I want to disrupt a meeting in the most dramatic way possible, shouting at people "Can you put that freaking thing away, I'm trying to save my life here!" or other equally inflammatory and hyperbolic rhetoric.  Of course I'm not actually doing these things, but ... I really want to.

And I can't say that I haven't done some similar stunts along the years.  Not long ago I was speaking at a big meeting full of what appeared to be, to my eyes, children.  I stood up there, looking around the room, and felt like I was a thousand years old.  It was a "Young People's Meeting" and let me tell you, they were young.  Why the hell was I speaking there?  Because, all things being relative, I got sober somewhat young, and that (according to the secretary) qualified me.  I suspect she was running out of speakers towards the end of her term, but either way, "never say no to an AA request" has been well and truly drummed into me, so there I stood, facing down what looked like a Jr. High School assembly.  Because the room was so full the chairs crowded quite close around where I stood to speak, and there were people seated not just in front of me, but to either side as well.  I started speaking, trying to shut my head up, keep my ego out of it and take the chip off my shoulder -- but all I could hear was the "psss ssss wssss psss" of a whispered conversation to my right.  I looked over and kept speaking, trying to sort of catch their eye -- it was a gaggle of three girls, and whomever had sold them drugs or booze was hopefully doing hard time, as they looked like they weren't even 16 to me. (But I'm a lousy judge, I'm sure.)  Anyway, I'm trying to keep a clear head, and "psss sss wsss psss" is still going ... a few minutes more of this, and ... I snapped.  I sort of whirled to face them and from the lectern said, "Girls, are you going to talk during the whole meeting?  Because the problem is, I can hear you.  And it's taking everything I've got just to stay in the moment already, without your psss sss psss in my ear!"  And if you think that didn't read very nicely, I assure you it didn't speak very nicely either.  The crowd, conditioned probably from too many afternoon talk shows, made an appreciative kind of "OooooOOooo" noise.  Everyone likes a good smackdown, I guess.  The girls shrank in their seats.  I took a breath and apologized both to the girls and the group.  There are better ways to handle that sort of situation (although I am compelled to add that for the rest of the time I talked the room was whisper free.)  But I'm not proud of what I did there.

Now that I've got that out, I might as well confess all of it.

I speak at a lot of meetings.  I mean, it feels like a lot, I don't really walk around comparing with others in the meetings I go to.  ("Oh, hey, Bob. Speak this week? No? Oh. Pity. I'm booked twice this weekend.  More coffee?")  But the phone rings fairly often, and I never say no, so ... whether it's a lot or it only feels like a lot almost doesn't matter, I guess.  But I have, from the lectern, while speaking, asked people to put away their cell phones, suggested that if people would prefer to be the speaker I sit in their chair and talk with their friends and invited them to step up front ... I'm afraid I have a number of other examples along those lines.  And that's probably within the last couple of years.  Double digit sobriety, "a vision for you."  I mean, my God, not every time I speak, but I don't seem to have a problem shooting from the hip -- or maybe I have a problem in that I keep shooting from the hip.  I'm not sure.  I worry that I might be getting pretty close to being a bully at the "pulpit" in the other, more common sense of the word.

So I'm really keeping a choke leash on myself in the past few months as it feels like I've had a lot of people texting in meetings almost right under my nose. 

Shooting from the hip from the lectern, or making a scene ... why do I feel such a pull to act out in this way?  Generally I'm really not a punishing sort.  But I swear, if I had a newspaper with me in meetings I'd have a hard time not rolling it up and bopping people on the nose.

In talking with my friend we came to the conclusion that some comment about texting as a disruption might be added to a meeting format, read by the leader in the beginning, no different than the old "please remember to turn off your cell phones" we're all so used to now, from meetings to movie theaters. 

And an in person, one-on-one conversation with the texter, after the meeting, or before the next one, is likely a far better approach than a tirade from the peanut gallery.

Ok, I have to include this part:  In the moment, when I apologized for dressing those girls down from the lectern, I was genuinely sorry.  But ... and this could be either self esteem and comfortability in a meeting or it could be arrogance, pure and simple ... I'm not going to stand up in front of an AA meeting and try with everything I have to carry a message of recovery while some barely in the door, hardly finished detoxing, over caffeinated alcoholic in the front row decides to discuss what movie they want to go see after the meeting with their neighbor.  I'm probably going to say something.

(Wow. I just reread that.  I think the coin comes down "arrogant" on that one, rather than self esteem.  Still, warts-and-all is my private commitment to these postings, so there it is.)

Memory is a funny thing, but I swear, the oldtimers that stalked through the meetings when I was new brooked very little in the way of nonsense along those lines.  They seemed a lot less worried about making me feel welcome and sparing my feelings than they did about keeping the AA meeting ... well, an AA meeting.

Love and tolerance is our code.  We don't shame, we don't shun ... but can we "nice" people right back out of the rooms?  For all my big talk, I feel like we let a lot of things slide in an effort not to upset people -- when in truth, maybe it's just a fear of confrontation using the idea of being welcoming to newcomers as a dodge.  What's that bit in the 7th Step (I think it's in there) about "the perverse need to hide a bad motive under a good one."

Sometimes, I wonder.

But at the same time, no one asked me to be the Meeting Monitor.  No such job, in fact.  Or maybe there is, but I think when you get your business card it says "Meeting Martyr" on it.

There's an old expression, if you don't like a meeting, then grab a pot of coffee, your resentment, and a friend, and go start another meeting.  Must have been a lot of resentment over the years where I live, we have something like 2000 meetings a week here now.

But somewhere in there has got to be something about not yielding the field to sick behavior, right? Helping a meeting, not abandoning it.

What an old grouch I sound like tonight.  And what a lot of fuss over maybe nothing.

I'm still biting my tongue with the texters during the meetings, though.  I'm determined to try an in-person approach, first.  And when speaking ... well, I want to say something recovered and noble, but I don't want to make a promise I can't keep.  Progress, not perfection, right?

 

Comments

[Syd]

I find that the late stragglers get me. They drag in about 15-20 minutes late and generally are the ones who have the long-winded shares. And that is another gripe--going on and on for 20 minutes repeating the same thing over and over hoping that it will sound different the third or fourth time. That is insanity!