Mr. SponsorPants

Big Book wisdom: the hours that might have been worth while

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

the way out

 

 

 

 

 

 

Williamson on success

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

will not -- cannot -- surrender

 

As he talked

and talked

at me

his brow furrowed and his color ran high.

The rant gained momentum.

I could feel him

feed it.

At its crest his neck looked like a sunburn and

two scarlet dots painted his cheeks:

rage rouge.

 

He was,

as we do,

working himself up to a

declaration of sorts.

All the usual cliches about thunderheads apply.

I will not -- no, I cannot -- surrender!

he cried.

 

I shrugged.

Unimpressed.

Nonplussed.

Disinterested in this performance art piece

having seen it many times and performed it myself

years ago

to smatterings of applause and

tepid reviews in my out-of-town tryouts.

(Everybody's a critic.)

 

I will not -- I cannot -- surrender!

It's not who I am

how I roll

what I do

how I goal

orient myself.

I have achieved and purchased and financed and leased!

I have big and important and special and brand!

I have more than you do -- I am more than you are -- than anyone does than anyone is

in that sad circle of chairs.

 

As is often the case

in moments like this,

the chin is up,

the shoulders back;

a noble tableaux

of delusion and defiance.

Who, exactly, are you rebelling against? I sometimes want to ask.

But then I think how disinterested I am in their answer, and

leave the question

for them to discover for themselves

if they make it.

 

You will not -- cannot -- surrender?

I Echo

his Narcissus.

 

No!

Okay, then. Don't.

Huh? Wha? Buh?

Then don't, I shrug, already wishing I was

home with a book and a cup and a cat in my lap.

Their defiance was a warm blanket to them but I've never been much for reruns.

 

Don't?

Don't.

And if you win, then congrats and huzzah and my hat is off to you;

I'll send you a card.

And if you lose,

and if you live,

there is a chair for you there,

in that circle of chairs,

reserved for all those who,

like me,

had their ass fully kicked until they realized

the fight was in fact over a long time ago.

Confidentially, I said, leaning in,

sotto voce,

I lost pretty much right after I stepped into the ring.

All the rest was just the press release my pride tried to issue,

with my face pressed against the canvas long after the final bell.

(Do not ask for whom the bell... aw hell. Skip it.)

 

Don't surrender?

He looked so stunned. Apparently my verbal right cross was the wrong line.

I guess I'd gone off book.

He couldn't process this uscripted opposite in his contempt

following investigation.

I suspect I was cast as salesman for the cause or

sympathy for the rebel.

Sadly, I really

suck at those now.

 

Nope.

Don't surrender till you know you've lost.

Cliche, I know, but that is then

the first moment when

you might

have a fighting chance.

Good luck!

 

He sat there, poleaxed, unsure if I mocked or misunderstood

his brave speech.

 

I left a tip for the waiter and headed home.

There was fresher company

in my book

that night.

 

 

A good suggestion for any day, but especially good for a Friday.

 

 

 

 

 

 

I used to be so prone to this. Not so much anymore... but still something to watch out for.

 

Questions via Email: Explaining AA to small children

 

 

 

 

 

Dear Mr. SponsorPants,

I have a six year old who seems like they are wiser than they should be at that age. (Of course I might be just a little biased!) They ask every time I go to a meeting if I'm "going to see my friends again." I don't kid myself that they know what AA is or anything like that, but I know at some point the questions are going to become more direct. What are your thoughts about telling your kids about AA and that their parent needs it and that their parent has a disease that needs an hour of medication a day? Should I bring it up first or wait? I have no plans to have this talk with a six year old but I know the day is coming.

Thanks!

Sober Parent

 

Dear Sober Parent,

Being a sober parent is like having TWO of the most important jobs in the world: Sobriety and Parenting. And I deliberately gave "sobriety" top billing in that pairing because, just like the oft used analogy of flying with a child where, should the cabin pressure cause the oxygen masks to drop you put your own on first before you assist your child (and you do that so you can assist your child) so, too, sober parents must make sobriety a priority so they can then be a present, healthy, viable presence in their child's life.

I was struck, when reading your email, that you already have the answer -- and that is, to clearly identify that addiction is a disease. Maybe not one everyone understands fully, but still and all, a medically diagnosable disease. And while it's not everyone's business to be told about it (probably not an appropriate Tell for Show-and-Tell, for example), it is also nothing to be ashamed of -- just like diabetes or epilepsy or any other serious medical condition which requires regular medication to be kept in check.

As to what age is appropriate I leave that up to you. I was about to type, "I don't really have that much experience talking to children" but then I realized I've been sponsoring alcoholics for over 25 years, so there must be some kind of earned credit or something -- like college credits for life experience. Still and all, you are best suited to make that call. Often I find if I pray about questions of timing -- the "when" of a thing -- the Universe will eventually give me my cue.

But whatever the age, I believe the key is to speak with the same calm practicality which one would use to describe physical therapy after an accident, shots of insulin to treat diabetes, or any other treatment. (So of course this is a wonderful opportunity for you to look inside -- deep inside -- and check out your own feelings and beliefs around the disease concept of addiction.)

Congratulations on your sobriety! Your kid is so lucky to have a sober parent who is active in their recovery so they can be present for them, as opposed to the terrible messages and toxic dynamics so many using/drinking parents may helplessly create.

Cheers and Congrats!

Mr. SponsorPants

 

 

not sorry anymore

 

 

It used to be

that if

you wrecked me

I apologized.

 

not anymore.

 

I said

"I'm sorry"

as buffer

and protection

and avoidance

and to ask permission.

 

not anymore.

 

I would offer

an apology

(I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I'm really sorry. Sorry!)

as a kind of currency

to buy my right

to speak

or take up space

or even breathe.

To be with you or even to

just be.

So many "sorry's!"

offered like those old fashioned tickets they used to use at amusement parks to let you ride the ride.

I said "I'm sorry" because

I was afraid

you'd hurt me

before I could hurt myself

so that you wouldn't hurt me.

I would hurt myself

for you

to show you

we were on the same side.

"I don't like me that much either! See? We have so much in common! It's like we're allies!"

 

not anymore.

 

It took a while,

and some work,

(and a little Divine Intervention on occasion)

but I stopped hurting me.

And then I stopped aligning myself with

people who hurt me.

And sometimes that hurt their feelings,

so they said.

But I'm not sorry about that.

 

That ride is closed now.

Hang a sign on it:

"Closed till further notice! Not sorry!"

 

I've healed a lot.

Come a long way.

Not all the way, but a long way.

Now I may make restitution, but I don't need to buy my space on the earth by asking permission or forgiveness.

I own when I screw up

(and boy, can I ever screw stuff up sometimes).

I take responsiblity for my side of the street before cleaning it up and making it right.

But "sorry?"

 

For being here?

For being imperfect?

For falling short or failing big?

For being smart?

For being sensitive?

For being (usually) too much or (occasionally) too little?

Too big or too small?

For being not you?

For being me?

For not even always knowing who "me" is but fumbling and bumbling along, trying to figure it out?

Nope.

I'm not sorry for any of that.

 

not anymore.

 

Thank God.

 

not blessed

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

a wonderful stroke of luck

 

 

 

 

 

 

 Man, that Dalai Lama said a mouthful, right?

I like to imagine some new monk, forgetting himself after the D.L. drops one of these pearls of wisdom and saying that: "Damn, Your Holiness, you said a mouthful!" (Of course, he would have said it in Tibetan.) I also imagine the Dalai Lama would have laughed really hard. When I think of it, I feel like almost all the pictures I've ever seen of him he's either laughing or smiling.

I look back over my life and can clearly see how some of the things I wanted would have been a horrible, epic disaster had I gotten them.

Which then leads me to reconsider what I want today -- although to be fair to myself, what I want today is substantively different from what I used to want with all my heart -- or think I wanted. You know what I mean.

But then this also moves me to more deeply embrace the idea that things really do work out for the best.

It's just that sometimes the best can take a while to play out.

Courage.

Patience.

Acceptance.

Faith.

They're like the back-up singers in the song of your life in recovery.

Without them your music sounds a little thin.

With them, you're in harmony.

Pun intended.

 

 

a little while to make it back