Mr. SponsorPants

The New Sponsee 18: The Last Amends Part 1

 

 

 

 

 

 

Closing in on three years along, the Skateboard Pup was down to his last amends.

(Well, last one from his original list as we've gone through the 12 Steps in the Big Book. I've never met an alcoholic -- present company very much included -- who couldn't manage to step on a toe or two in the course of any given month week day.)

It was the one that had haunted him; spiritually dogged him; since he wrote about it on his Fourth step and shared it with me during his Fifth.

As happens more than is likely to be pure coincidence, circumstances had aligned in a strange and highly unlikely way to present the poor Pup with a perfect and fairly immediate chance to "... make direct amends..." as the Ninth Step suggests.

And although he was trying to convince me -- and thus himself -- that he was game, the fact was, deep down he was having none of it.

 

Skateboard Pup: I guess what I keep coming back to is... you know... what if it not only doesn't go well it kind of... brings up a lot of other stuff for me.

Mr. SponsorPants: A lot of other stuff. Like... what kind of other stuff.

SBP: Just... you know. I don't know. What if I wind up feeling bad about myself bringing up all that old...

Mr. SP: Oooh. You don't want to make the amends because you're afraid... well, you're afraid it will hurt.

SBP: No!

I sat there.

SBP: Well I wouldn't put it that way, but...

Mr. SP: How would you put it?

SBP: I guess... like isn't it bad for my self esteem or something to... I mean I've done all the others and this just seems... maybe I need to pray about it more.

Mr. SP: Did you pray about it already?

SBP: Yes.

Mr. SP: And now [I described the unusual circumstances which came together].

SBP: Wellllllll... yes. I guess.

His agreement was offered with such reluctance I had to struggle for just a second not to laugh.

Mr. SP: So I'm going to call that 'prayer answered' and 'time for action.'

I have seen small children confronting a plate of Brussels Sprouts evince more enthusiasm to get on with it than the Pup seemed able to muster at that moment.

Mr. SP: Gotta say, it feels an awful lot like a problem with willingness right now.

SBP: No, I'm willing.

Mr. SP: mmm. 'We who are about to die, salute you.'

SBP: Huh?

Mr. SP: Skip it. If it's not willingness, as you claim, then it's this... damage to your self esteem you're worried about, after having worked hard to create some, I'm going to (by extension) take as your larger inference.

SBP: ooookay.

He was on his guard. For good reason. He knows me too well now.

Mr. SP: So this damage to your self esteem would... hurt you. So it's what I said, you're afraid making the amends will hurt you.

SBP: I still don't think that's exactly... sure. Fine. Yes.

Mr. SP: Well there you go. You have a fundamental misunderstanding at work.

SBP: I do?

Mr. SP: Yes. You do. There is no 'me' in the Ninth Step.

SBP: There is no 'me' in the Ninth Step.

He said it like someone who'd bitten into something and was unsure what they were tasting.

Mr. SP: Come on, man. You know this. The only people we're worried about hurting when we make an amends is the recipient or... well, anyone else. But not ourselves. Amends are both the key to a serious freedom, which I know you've experienced from doing your others...

SBP: Yes, but...

Mr. SP: Please. Don't even try.

He laughed.

SBP: Okay. And what else? The key to serious freedom and...?

Mr. SP: An invitation to the All You Can Eat Humility Buffet. At least for the duration of the amends. Afterwards...

SBP: I know. I know.

This was, after all, his last amends. Not his first. He DID know.

Mr. SP: And so... the time is now.

I waited.

SBP: You mean like... NOW now?

I shrugged. He opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again and then closed it more firmly. Between you and me? This kid never fails to inspire me. I felt like I could actually see him go from reluctance to resignation to acceptance to determination in the space of two quelled objections.

SBP: Okay then. Now.

And he got out his phone to arrange a face-to-face.

 

 

 

 

The New Sponsee 17: Pick one

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Skateboard Pup -- who now resembles not at all the disaffected ragamuffin I first met almost three years ago -- was irate over a comment one of the Big Bosses at work made to him regarding when he arrives on the job. I let him go on for a while, as I had a good seat by the window of the cafe and the people watching was particularly fine. He's learned, to his chagrin, that I do not need to be looking at him to hear every word. As I've gotten older my ability to recall proper nouns as quickly as I want seems to have degraded a bit, but I find my auditory memory is as sharp as ever. Perhaps God will bench me on the sponsor front if that starts to go, but for now I've still got game.

Oh look, I started writing about someone else and within just a few sentences started talking about myself again. <sigh> (The ego is an implacable sparring partner.)

So the SBP and I were at a new cafe, having a hot cuppa on a blustery afternoon, as he quietly raged against the indignation of accountability.

And brother, if you want a sympathetic ear on that, I am simultaneously the very best and the very worst kind of coffee date - because oh! do I get it and oh! do I have no patience for it. (The ego is a complicated sparring partner.)

He was genuinely angry.

It's the little things that really bug, right?

We join his rant in progress...

 

Skateboard Pup: And I'm like, their Number One! Almost every month! Shouldn't that afford me some... I don't know... some kind of leeway? Or like a perk or something? 

I looked at him and shrugged slightly. He chose to interpret this as "Oh, please do go on" rather than the "mmmaybe" it was a little closer to.

SBP: So you know they moved, right? It's twice as far as it was before. I get up like, a half hour earlier and I feel like that's fair. 

This time I raised my eyebrows. "fair" is such a foolish thing to complain about past the age of about ten. The problem is, alcoholics are such a textbook case of (among other things) arrested development. He correctly interpreted my eyebrow raise as a flag on the field.

SBP: Okay, okay. Not fair exactly but... that's all I'm willing to do.

I kept looking at him.

SBP: Well, I mean that's all I'm willing to do right now. I'm not saying... it's just... I took the job based partly on the commute, and...

Mr. SponsorPants: Okay, let me stop you right there.

He stopped.

Mr. SP: You didn't "take this job based partly on the commute..." That's bullshit. Now you're just working yourself up because you feel wronged. As I remember it you hoped and prayed and did a lot of footwork to get this job, and when they offered it to you - at a wage which was, as you said at the time I believe "...sweet! It's like almost twice what I made before, and with commission it could be... I can't even..." 

I stopped. For me, part of the challenge as a sponsor is not to interrupt someone else's self-righteous speechifying with my own self-righteous speechifying about their self-righteous speechifying. (The ego is a nimble sparring partner.)

Mr. SP: Look, if you want to talk to the Big Boss about extending you some flexibility on this issue, then do so. But bring them the sober man, not the petulant sneak and not the grandiose brat who thinks the rules don't apply to him, and in a professional manner make your case. But the issue is also very simple.

I paused. He waited.

Mr. SP: There are three ways to get to work: Early, on time, or late. Pick one. It really is that simple.

The SBP looked for a moment like he might argue the point, but shrugged and grinned.

SBP: Fair enough. I get that. But what about the fact that I already get up earlier, and that sometimes it takes longer to...

I held up my hand.

Mr. SP: Kiddo, that's all about your process. They don't care about your process. They're only interested in the result.

He ran his hand through his hair and laughed a little.

SBP: Damn.

Mr. SP: I know. Believe me. I'm wired the same way. I always want to pay with the wrong coin, or measure with the other yardstick.

SBP: Doesn't it get easier? I mean, don't you catch yourself more and not do it as much?

Mr. SP: I guess. Though I think what has really happened for me is that I have a sense of humor about it now. I'm on to myself much more, yes, but I laugh at myself more too.

SBP: Ok. I guess I can look forward to that.

(The ego is a favorite sparring partner.)

 

 

 

 

The New Sponsee 16: Tell me again about Crazy Town

 

 

 

 

It was late afternoon, but felt later, what with an overcast sky and a sunset several hours before a typical dinner time. We were the only two in the cafe; a regular haunt of mine. The service was cheerful, if mildly incompetent (a combination I will always happily choose over the reverse). After a long discussion about sobriety and relationships and life and character defects and what it's like to stay sober -- not dry, but sober -- as the days pass and pass and pass, the Skateboard Pup and I sat in companionable silence. On opposite sides of the little table our chairs were at an angle, facing both each other and the window. For my part I was watching drops from the fitfull rain we were having trace their zigzag progress down the plate glass, thinking of nothing really, content in the moment, grateful to remember to be in the moment. As for the Pup, I imagine he was staring through time rather than through the window; his view a more personal one than that of the sidewalk outside.

The minutes stretched, in the magical elastic way they can, bringing a feeling of rest rather than restlessness. As we sat I felt myself become aware of the sitting, of the moment, and I practiced feeling the air slowly fill my lungs and gently releasing it back to the atmosphere around me. The only real noise was the muffled swish and rumble from the traffic on the boulevard we could see through the window, beyond our little bubble.

Eventually the Skateboard Pup called us back to order with a deep breath, his long exhalation gently ending the silent, reflective spell. I looked at him and thought how much he's changed since I first met him, but also how young he sometimes still seemed to me; a comment on how I see myself as much -- if not more than -- how I see him.

 

Skateboard Pup: Tell me again about Crazy Town.

Mr. SponsorPants: Crazy Town?

SkatePup: Yeah. How you feel about yourself and where you are in Crazy Town and that thing about judging yourself and all.

I smiled and chuckled a little.

Mr. SponsorPants: Tell you a story?

He returned the smile, and added a small shrug.

SkatePup: Yeah. Something like that. I remember it from what you've said before but... I want to hear you say it again. Refresh my memory.

I come from a long line of raconteurs. Mostly Irish and German on both sides. I suspect all the way back up my family tree we never met a drink or a potato we didn't like. My father, in particular, was a marvelous speaker, and whatever facility I might have with words and stories I often think that I both come by it honestly and yet don't quite hold a candle to him -- but that's as much the way sons remember their dead fathers with love as it is anything else I suppose. All of which is to say you only have to ask me once to recount a tale, even if I know you've heard it before -- though I may demure at first, either out of courtesy or passive-aggressive insecurity -- either way, don't worry, I'll talk.

Mr. SP: It's not a story. It just came to me as a way to... forgive myself I guess. Or at least put things in context when I think about where I am versus where I'd like to be.

SkatePup: Okay. I know. Whatever. But like I said, refresh my memory.

Mr. SP: Well, if I look at being healthy about something as a scale of 1 to 10, 10 being the absolutely most healthy a fallible human being might be on a particular issue...

SkatePup: Uh huh.

Mr. SP: ... and 1 being really, deeply sick or dysfunctional on an issue... anything from our addiction as a whole or maybe our more insidious and pervasive character defects like...

SkatePup: Like procrastination.

Mr. SP: Yes, like procrastination, or judgement, or struggling with ego or whatever. Wait. Why did you say 'procrastination' first and look at me that way?

I was just playing, and he knew it.

SkatePup: What way?

Mr. SP: That way. That way.

SkatePup: No reason.

Mr. SP: Uh huh.

SkatePup: Go on please.

I feigned grouchiness, and 'harumphed' a little.

Mr. SP: Allright. Allright. Don't pester me. Where was I?

SkatePup: Procrastinating.

Mr. SP: ANYWAY, as I was saying, a scale of 1 to 10. On some issues, when I came to AA, I probably clocked in at... let me see now, remembering that 10 is the healthiest a fallible human could possible be on that issue...

I pretended to do math in the air for a moment.

Mr. SP: I guess on some issues when I showed up I clocked in at... oh, probably negative three hundred and seventy four.

The SkatePup, in the spirit of our banter and my telling, gave a long, low whistle.

SkatePup: That's pretty precise, that number.

I turned up my nose and sniffed, speaking next from an imaginary, lofty height.

Mr. SP: I have become quite skilled over the years at self examination.

The Pup appeared comically doubtful.

SkatePup: Really? Are you sure?

Mr. SP: Shall I finish this or not?

He bowed his head and made a placating swoop with his hand.

SkatePup: Please, please go on.

Mr. SP: Where was I?

SkatePup: Procrastinating.

I gave him a flat look.

Mr. SP: ANYWAY, today on some of those same issues I clock in at probably...

I did more imaginary math, muttering to myself things like "...times seven... carry the one..."

Mr. SP: ...probably negative four.

The SkatePup gave another, if quieter whistle. I smiled but became a little serious, for this was the heart of what had been troubling him when he came and sat down and started sharing what was going on with him lately.

Mr. SP: So, if 1 to 10 is my healthy scale, and I clock in at negative four now, I must remind myself that I am no longer the Mayor of Crazy Town, as perhaps I was on this particular issue -- whatever it might be -- and instead now I am sitting at the bus station on the outskirts of town, my little bag packed and my ticket out firmly clutched in my hand. Negative four isn't even on the healthy scale, but compared to how I was when I showed up it represents enormous, miraculous progress. It represents willingness and hard work and Divine Help. I have a ways to go, but it is not nearly so far as the distance I've travelled in recovery.

He sat, and I let him take that in, because even though it was not the first time I'd shared this thought with him, sometimes it takes several applications --and a few bumps and bruises in sobriety -- to open ears, mind AND heart. Especially when it comes to our own progress and challenge.

SkatePup: So then, I suppose on most stuff I'm at...

I held up my hand.

Mr. SP: Don't make up a number right now. Just... just look more at how far you've come rather than how much farther you think you need to go. You're willing to do the work. You've had a spiritual awakening as the result of the 12 Steps. I think for the rest of this 24 hours you can give yourself some props. But tomorrow...

He knows me well by now, and smiled and laughed when he interrupted.

SkatePup: ...tomorrow it's back to prayer and meditation and inventories and work -- no, not work, "opportunities" -- with my Great Spiritual Teachers.

And I smiled back at him.

Mr. SP: Pretty much, yes. Something like that.

 

 _________________________________________________________________

 

 There are more essays like this in "Mr. SponsorPants: Adventures in Sobriety and The 12 Steps for AA's and Others."  Available as an eBook on Kindle via Amazon.  Download the Kindle reader app for free on any device or platform, from PC to Smartphone.

 

 

 

 

why I need meetings #32: The Skateboard Pup Edition

 

 

 

 

 

In the midst of a larger discussion about his most recent resentments, and how alcoholic thinking can warp perceptions, the Skateboard Pup became a little wistful and asked me about my AA meeting history.

 

SKATEBOARD PUP: Have you ever, you know, stopped going to meetings for any real length of time?

He wasn't challenging when he asked. He was genuinely curious. I had to think about it for a minute.

MR. SPONSORPANTS: Well, once, after I had moved from [major city] to [another major city] when I was eleven or twelve years sober... Of course I went to a couple of meetings right away after I hit town, but the move put me so off my routine -- and to be really honest I felt a little giddy and weirdly free from all my 12 Step commitments -- that I drifted pretty quickly. One week led to another, and before I knew it a month had gone by and I hadn't been to a meeting.

First he looked skeptical, then surprised.

SKATEPUP: You? Really?

MR. SP: What do you mean "me, really?" I'm not bulletproof. Commitments and relationships keep me in the middle of the lifeboat as much as anything else. Sure, I almost always feel better after going, but I'm as vulnerable as anyone when it comes to bullshit rationalizations about why I can skip them. Or if my life goes upside down -- like after that big move -- putting it off till suddenly I'm adrift.

SKATEPUP: Huh. I never really thought of you not going to meetings. Or skipping 'em or... whatever. You seem so "in it."

MR. SP: So "in it?" Please God, don't put me on a pedestal or anything.

SKATEPUP: Oh my god, no danger of that. Seriously, absolutely no danger of that. Couldn't possible happen. You've been very free with what a mess you can be, there is absolutely no way...

MR. SP: Okay! Okay! Verrrrrry funny.

SKATEPUP: No I'm serious.

MR. SP: Yes. Great. Got it. Thanks loads. Anyway, in short order I was probably a month without a meeting -- maybe even a little more.

SKATEPUP: How did you feel? I mean, what happened?

MR. SP: How did I feel? Well, if I recall correctly, I felt great! I had a big job that had just moved me to a new city. I had a gigantic, glamorous two bedroom apartment all to myself, for something like two-thirds the rent I had been paying for a studio before. And suddenly it felt like I had all this free time! I didn't have anything extra in my schedule. I didn't have to spend time meeting with anyone or anything like that. My whole life was suddenly all about me, and the only question I asked was what did I feel like doing. I felt like I got my nights and weekends back... and I felt entitled to it. Like I had paid my dues before the move by being "good" and this was my reward. And I was making pretty good money at the time, too -- that sure as hell didn't hurt. Seriously, I felt great. But also -- and I remember this as clearly as the all that other stuff -- a weird thing started to happen. I mean, I was very conscious of it as it happened.

SKATEPUP: What? What was weird?

MR. SPONSORPANTS: Well, suddenly everybody else in the world was an asshole. My boss, my co-workers, my family... they all started acting like total assholes. And all the new people I was meeting were either too far beneath me to be worth making friends with -- so they were like loser-assholes I thought -- or intimidated me too much for me to approach them -- so they were all stuck up-assholes. But mostly I remember thinking that suddenly the whole world was just full of real assholes.

SKATEPUP: So... that got you to go back to meetings?

MR. SP: Well, I had to do something. If they were all assholes I figured the least I could do is go back to meetings just to help 'em all out.

SKATEPUP: That was so, so big of you.

MR. SP: Yes. as I think you know by now, I'm a giver.

We laughed.

SKATEPUP: So then suddenly... the world wasn't so full of assholes?

MR. SP: Practically overnight. Damnedest thing.

 

 

 

The New Sponsee 15: "I don't need to write a FUCKING inventory..."

 

 

 

 

 I met the Skateboard Pup for an early dinner.

They had been telling me about work, and how unhappy they are there now. After a long string of triumphs business had been going down, and their boss, not a strong leader, was floundering and, in their opinion, communicating poorly. In fact, their boss actually had the nerve to ask the Skateboard Pup to come out of his office and interact with/help the other people on the job! "Not interested." The Pup said, tone flat and lip curled. "Not. Fucking. Interested. I can either do my thing and try and make money for the company, or go out and babysit a bunch of... like I said, not interested." I set aside the observation that this was classic black-and-white thinking. This kind of angry, "I can either do THIS or I can do THAT. Period!" was typically just a construct we use to justify not doing the thing we don't want/are scared of doing. I also set aside -- for the moment -- the observation that when they started this job, the New Sponsee was all eager willingness, and happy to do whatever was asked of them. Now, after having been the rainmaker for a little while, the boss makes a request and it goes through the "Do I Feel Like Doing That" Filter. And thus do mighty egos from little triumphs grow. I also thought I would table for the moment the very direct observation that generally speaking, when one's boss asks you to do something within the general scope of one's job, one does it.

The burning fuse on this pile of dynamite was this last conversation with their boss, which was, they said, confusing. To me it sounded like their boss asked them to do something and they did not do it, but I believed to the Skateboard Pup it seemed that their reasons justified their defiance. (And really, children, don't they always?)

Now they felt like their boss was angry with them, or didn't like them, or had something to say to them that they weren't willing to say. I had been steadily asking questions as they were speaking, each question like placing another log on a growing fire. There was so much anger there I knew it was going to come out no matter what, so I kept asking, kept stoking, kept gently poking so we could get to the heart of it.

He wound down his list of grievances, with the sweet, familiar, triumphant ring of justifiable anger coloring this last declaration: "So I'm going to go into his office and say something like 'We need to talk. Are you angry with me? Do you have something you want to tell me?'"

As they described the imagined start to this conversation -- which of course was going to be a confrontation, if it happened, and decidedly not a "conversation" -- I flashed for a moment on the part in the Big Book where it talks about "we step on the toes of our fellows and they retaliate, seemingly without provocation..." and how so often we create the very problem we are trying to resolve -- I wanted to be clear on what they were saying, what was happening with them, so I looked across the table and tried to really see him, sitting there, his dinner mostly untouched. He sat across from me but he did not see me. Instead he was transported to his boss's office, his vision full of this imagined scene and as I looked at him I thought of how easy it is for us to slide into these fantasy confrontations, stoking our anger, polishing our resentment, savoring these sad, childish hero/villain scenarios.

I thought of how far this young man had come. What a privilege it had been to sponsor him for these past many months now. And I knew he would not like what I had to say next, but it was time to say what needed to be said. It was time to be his sponsor, not his dinner companion and not his friend. "What's your objective? What are you trying to accomplish with this conversation?" I asked.

They came back to themselves and looked at me as if I was stupid. "Like I said... to... to clear the air."

"Ah." I pushed a french fry around on my plate, chasing the last little bit of ketchup there. "Well, in my experience, when I'm really angry and I try to clear the air it usually doesn't get cleared. In fact..."

"What then. What do you suggest I do." As you can imagine, this was not framed as a question. It was framed as a demand. And came it out like a threat. He had made up his mind, he had his plan, and he was merely doing me the courtesy of letting me know what it was. If I was either too stupid or too rude to agree with it, well, that was my problem not his.

"In fact," I continued, unruffled, "although I don't realize it at the time, I am only telling myself I want to clear the air. What I really want is my day in court. I want to tell whomever it is that I am angry, and why I am angry, and challenge them about it."

"Really. Really." I knew the good hearted young man I had come to admire was right there inside this angry alcoholic sitting across from me now. In fact, not to get too fanciful, I could easily imagine that good hearted young man asking me to reach in and pull him out, and help him vanquish this toxic pretender. Would that the process were so direct. Or the toxic parts of ourselves vanquished so easily. "Then tell me, Mr. SponsorPants, what is the alternative? Really. What is the alternative? We had a confusing conversation and now I need to clear the air."

"I think clearing the air is always a good thing. I just can't recall a time when I've been very successful at the attempt when I've been as angry as... well, frankly, as you seem to be."

"Really. Reeeally." Each time he said it he stretched the first syllable out a little longer, and painted it with a little more sarcasm. "Well what do you suggest then, Mr. SponsorPants?" He actually said 'Mr. SponsorPants,' instead of my name. He's known about the blog and my writing for quite some time now, and fueled by rage, he seemed to savor spitting the pen name out at me. (To be fair, with all those "S's" and "P's" it really is an excellent phrase to spit at me. I couldn't have done it better myself.)

"Well, really, what I suggest is that you write an inventory, so that..."

 "I don't need to write a FUCKING inventory to tell me I have a FUCKING RESENTMENT against my boss!" The busboy had approached to clear some of our plates, but thought better of interrupting and instead backed slowly away, like one might if they rounded a corner and accidentally encountered a rabid dog.

I kept my tone completely neutral. "Come on now, you know that we don't write an inventory to discover IF we are resentful, or who we're feeling resentful of."

They glowered at me across the table, face as red as a crayon. I could see their affection for me barely muzzle another stinging retort.

I felt not one iota of defensiveness or aggression. I felt deep compassion for what they were going through; the hurt and the anger, and underneath that, the fear. The obstinate digging in of heels and closing of ears, and the reflexive contempt of anything which might help, since that would contradict this beloved, deeply grooved narrative they had inside. A narrative with roots in some very old hurts.

I went on. "We write an inventory to see what our part in the resentment is. So that we can reverse engineer it and find a way to be free of it."

"Oh please," they spat "there is nothing an inventory is going to tell me that I don't already know."

"Okay," I said, my voice quiet, looking him straight in the eye, "I want you to repeat that please."

The request completely did not compute for him. "Huh?"

"Just say that again."

"Say what again?"

I quoted him without imitating his rage, "There is nothing an inventory is going to tell me that I don't already know."

"Look, Mr. SponsorPants," (now he is using my name) "I don't want to play one of your little..."

"Nope. I've earned some cooperation here. Just repeat it please."

He rolled his eyes but with considerably less heat said, "There is nothing an inventory is going to tell me that I don't already know."

"Once more please."

"There is nothing an inventory is going to tell me that I don't already know."

He looked uncomfortable now as he said it, full of neither contempt nor anger, which was most definitely the point.

"Now, let me ask you, do you really believe that?"

He looked down at the table. "Yes. No. I don't know."

"Okay. Well that's a good place to start from. We both know where the bigger issue, what this is really about maybe, is coming from."

"Yes," he said, looking back up at me. "From [Old, old childhood resentment]."

"Yup," I said. "Neither of us needed to get a degree in psychology to connect those dots. You hate -- really hate -- men you think are weak. And you think your boss is weak, and you think you are being asked to save everyone and clean up his mess and..."

"Aren't I though?" the rage was back, quick as a flash flood.

Gently I asked, "And the other part of the inventory?

He looked at me, anger and confusion flicking back and forth. Oh, it is so sweet to hold on to that anger, isn't it? Confusion won by the most slender of margins, prompting, "What 'other part'?"

I quoted what is, for me, the key to unlocking so much in the inventory process: "'The world and its people are often quite wrong.' No compassion for your boss? A man who's struggling to stay afloat maybe? Who has his own ego, his own fears running him? No compassion for the responsibility he might feel to everyone in that place to keep you all employed? Or, if you think that's painting him with too noble a brush, then just his own survival fears? His own pride on the line? No compassion for him? No forgiveness for him fumbling and buckling under the weight of all that?"

He looked back down at the table, and everything about him was clenched: Jaw, shoulders, fists.

Now that we had come to this point, I had to go all the way there. I had to say it, even though I knew it would set him off like a Roman Candle. This was about putting the words in his head, and maybe later they would be taken back out and considered. But I knew what hearing this next thought, this next question, was going to trigger. "And what about for [He of the old, old childhood resentment]. No compassion for him either? Ever?"

He had been looking down at the table but as I said this his eyes snapped up, and got very big. An angry red slowly climbed his neck and colored his ears.

I went on. Gentle. Relentless. "No compassion for them? No forgiveness even? Ever? Have you ever prayed to forgive them?"

He jumped to his feet, almost knocking his chair over.

I looked up at him, standing there. In that moment I felt absolute clarity about the words I should say next. And I felt compassion for how hard this was to hear, to take these deep hurts and those old villains and consider what recovery and the 12 Steps really asked us to do with them. "Do you believe that you ever could? Do you believe that if you pray to forgive them you might someday be..."

He threw a twenty on the table. "I'm leaving now. I'm..." He reached out his hand towards me, woodenly, as if to shake my hand, then dropped it and moved half way around the table, his arms raising a little as if to give me a hug, then he stopped. "I'm leaving now."

He turned and left.

I took a long breath and said a little prayer. Finished the last of my french fries and checked my phone for messages.

Sitting on the bus, on the way home, the light did that thing where my window was both mirror and window: I could either see my face or the scenery, depending on how I focused. I watched the city pass by. It was a nice neighborhood, very nice actually, and everything through the window was pretty.  I looked at my face, and thought about forgiveness. And God. I let my mind drift to those people I had had to forgive. How hard it was. How invested I was in not doing so. I asked myself as I had at so many times, in so many ways over the years,  if I believed in God. Really, truly believed. I looked in my heart and rooted around, again asking did I believe that if you prayed for God to heal something inside of you, to bring forgiveness or allow compassion or even permit a kind of loving understanding of what drove people that those prayers could be -- would be -- answered.

I looked back out the window and considered that this is one of the gifts of service; of sponsorship. These clear, quiet moments -- and sometimes they are just moments -- of deep reflection, which then loop back around to compassion for the process our sponsees must go through.

My phone chirped and I looked at my texts.

The Skateboard Pup: Thank U. Don't want to talk now. Give me a few days. Will wait on talking to boss. Will pray about it.  All of it.

I hit Reply: Ok.

I looked at my reflection again. The face in the window offered me a quiet smile. Comfortable. Contented.

Full of faith.

 

 

 

There are more essays like this in "Mr. SponsorPants: Adventures in Sobriety and The 12 Steps for AA's and Others."  Available as an eBook on Kindle via Amazon.  Download the Kindle reader app for free on any device or platform, from PC to Smartphone.

 

 

The New Sponsee 14

 

 

 

 

 

The Skateboard Pup has a sponsee. Although I myself have picked up two more sponsees recently -- which, combined with a recent business endeavor has made my schedule a little tight -- I have been sure to be very available to him as a sounding board; even though I adamantly refuse to tell him how to sponsor beyond the most basic suggestion of going through the Big Book together and working the 12 Steps as they're found there. (Plus the usual stuff about meeting attendance, etc.)

Today's dilemma concerned willingness or the lack thereof, and trying to understand when someone won't do something versus when someone legitimately can't do something...

 

Mr. SponsorPants: Look, it's one of the hardest things to untangle in ourselves, so you'll go crazy trying too hard to sort it out in others.

SKATEBOARD PUP: I'm not sure I am following you now. What is?

MR. SP: Where "can't" and "won't" leave off with one another.

SKATEPUP: Okay. Sort of following now. But go on.

MR. SP: It's funny, because I just mentioned this with [family member] recently about [family member]. When I look inside myself, sometimes what I think I just can't do is really that I am stuck or frightened, and so it's not that I can't, it's that I won't. But from inside, the division between them gets blurry.

SKATEPUP: Okay...

MR. SP: Not all the time, obviously. Sometimes I am just completely defiant.

SKATEPUP: King Baby.

The Skateboard Pup had latched on to that concept and found it truly useful.

MR. SP: Yes. King Baby. But other times... well, it's not so clear.

SKATEPUP: I identify with that.

MR. SP: So then, when you're trying to help, or even understand, someone else... and you find yourself really harshly judging...

I accompanied this with a rather direct look.

SKATEPUP: What? "Really harshly judging?" Maybe I was being a little judgemental, but "really harshly?" A) I don't think that applies and B) I don't think that's very grammatical and C) if it IS grammatical it's still a pretty awkward way to put it.

MR. SP: Nicely done, turning that around to me to deflect from what I suggested about you.

SKATEPUP: Thank you. You've been sponsoring me since, what, like April of last year? I've picked up a little more than Step work from you.

MR. SP: Vile aspersions! Calumny! Slander!

SKATEPUP: Wow, somebody's been binge watching PBS again.

MR. SP: Any slick verbal judo you practice is all you, my young friend. I make no claim and take no credit.

SKATEPUP: None?

MR. SP: Well... maybe a little. There might be a touch of Fagin in me somewhere.

SKATEPUP: I always saw you more as the Henry Higgins type, myself.

Even after a little more than a year he still occasionally surprises me with his references. Over time we all develop defensive masks -- shtick, if you will -- to present to the world. Although I know him to be extremely intelligent he downplays that more often than not. I filed that thought away to address with him some time down the line.

MR. SP: Anyway, of course sometimes it's pretty obvious when someone you're working with is being stubborn about working the Program, but other times it's good to consider that maybe what looks like defiance is... something else. Fear so big -- or so subtle, yet pervasive -- that it is an insurmountable block, for example. Or at least insurmountable at the moment. Those of us who were self-medicating trauma or issues in addition to our alcoholism may have a kind of legit paralysis on a few things. Though of course if you suggested that to me when I was new I would have seized on the idea and used it as an excuse, convincing myself it was true even when it very much wasn't.

SKATEPUP: Has anyone ever told you that while sometimes you make the complicated things seem simple you also sometimes make the simple things seem complicated?

MR. SP: No. Not like that anyway. And I'm not sure if it is, but I'm going to try and take that as a compliment.

SKATEPUP: It might actually be, but I'm not sure either. So... what should I do?

MR. SP: Look, you have worked all 12 Steps, yes?

SKATEPUP: Yes.

MR. SP: And you have had a spiritual awakening as the result of those steps, yes?

SKATEPUP: So you tell me. Some days I completely feel that way, but others...

MR. SP: Are you sober?

SKATEPUP (mildly indignant): Yes!

MR. SP: And do you react to things differently than you used to?

SKATEPUP: Well... mostly. Yes.

MR. SP: Then believe me, you can trust that you've had a spiritual awakening.

SKATEPUP: And how does that... I mean, can't you just tell me what to do, this time, kind of?

MR. SP: Pup, if there's one thing I never doubt it is this: If you have had a spiritual awakening as a result of the Steps, and when working with another alcoholic your whole motivation is to be of service to them, then you are Divinely inspired and you cannot go wrong. Your instincts are right in the moment for how to proceed.

SKATEPUP: That... sounds... right. Sounds great, even. Thank you. But...

MR. SP: But? But? How can there be a 'but?' That is some genuine 100% Primo Sponsorship I just laid on you, backed up by countless years of sober experience across the Fellowship AND the Big Book! There's no room for 'but' there, you heretic!

He laughed, which had been a while in coming during our exchange. I could see that taking his responsibility as a sponsor seriously was weighing on him. Not inappropriately, but not easily, either.

SKATEPUP: Well, I mean, it's inspiring. Thank you. And I do believe you. Mostly. But it's also... well, it's very 'Use the Force, Luke.'

Now it was my turn to laugh.

MR. SP: That's good. That's really good.

He grinned.

MR. SP: But the difference is, the Force is a made up thing, and different people can access more of it than others based on something in their blood... but your spiritual experience, your connection to a Higher Power, your Divinely inspired instincts when being of service to others is REAL. And limitless. Not flawless, we are human. Ego and fear cloud the lens sometimes, and occasionally it is through our mistakes that the Universe is best served, but the times I have been of service to others in AA (and out) have been the times I have felt most closely aligned with a... with Something. Something big and powerful and good. So I trust now. And I promise, you can too.

SKATEPUP: Okay, that helps. A lot. Thank you.

MR. SP: So I can't tell you what to do as much as I can suggest you trust your instincts and lean into them. Use all your intellect and heart to try to carry the message of the 12 Steps and you literally cannot go wrong. Because it will help YOU stay sober more than any single other thing we do.

SKATEPUP: Got it. One more thing though.

MR. SP: One MORE thing?

SKATEPUP: You are like, some kind of super nerd to know all that stuff about the Force right off the top of your head, aren't you.

MR. SP: Yep! <pumps fist in air> Super nerd!

SKATEPUP: You probably even know the name of the blood thing that...

MR. SP: Midichlorians! Woo! <pumps fist again>

SKATEPUP: In certain areas you're really kind of hopeless, aren't you.

MR. SP: Yes! Isn't it great? Woo!

 _________________________________________________________________

 

 There are more essays like this in "Mr. SponsorPants: Adventures in Sobriety and The 12 Steps for AA's and Others."  Available as an eBook on Kindle via Amazon.  Download the Kindle reader app for FREE on any device or platform, from PC to Smartphone.

 

 

 

The New Sponsee 13

 

 

 

 

 

 

I've discovered the "talk text" feature on my phone, which allows me to dictate my texts rather than laboriously enter them via the tiny keyboard on my phone's screen. This, as you might imagine, is both boon and bane. It saves me a lot of time and irritation and permits more complete, thorough text messages when warranted. But... I do tend to go on.

And on.

Still and all, it's been really handy for back-and-forth with sponsees, (in this case the Skateboard Pup) when one or the other of us is unable to talk on the phone and a more immediate exchange than emailing is desired.

Recently the Skate Pup has gotten a new job, and is having a hard time with some aspects of corporate life. And some aspects of corporate supervisors. I had laughingly told him recently that I had always thought of writing a brief business book entitled "Don't Click Send," as some of the biggest mistakes I've made over the years was sending that email that perhaps shouldn't have been sent -- or should have been very, very heavily edited prior to sending...

 

SKATE BOARD PUP: Don't click send... right?

MR. SPONSORPANTS: Right.

SBP: I was/am sooooo close...

MR. SP: ?

SBP: Boss.

MR. SP: Yes, that is not an amends you want to have to work to become willing to make.

SBP: Yes.

a few minutes pass

SBP: ...what if you're standing up for yourself? I'm not sending the email... just curious.

MR. SP: When I feel I need to stand up for myself... Well then it becomes a mindful exercise in HOW I say whatever it is I feel that I need to say.

SBP: Ah.

MR. SP: And then, in business communication, being mindful in that way not only keeps me squarely rooted in the principles by which I must live - not because I want to be a "good boy" - fuck that - but because if I don't, I have empirical proof that I will get crazier in my head.

SBP: Aaaah. Ok.

MR. SP: But also because I must not let my passion, my anger, my need for my day in court -- even when it is justified -- prevent me from playing a good game of chess.

SBP: The "good game of chess" being the thoughtful/mindful way I say what I need to say...

MR. SP: Yes! YES! And also literally "strategic communication." Both "Managing Up," i.e., managing my supervisors, and also "Managing Down," being sensitive to holding authority over people and how that can charge my communication with them and how they hear it (just as it hapens to me when people who have career power over me communicate with me...). Not speaking from either ego or alcoholism or just plain old fear and anger. One rarely advances their career or argument or cause when speaking from anger.

SBP: ...damn!

a few more minutes pass

SBP: But what about when I feel strongly about something?

MR. SP: Well, I don't want to lapse into a word game around this, but I believe there is a difference between when I speak with passion or enthusiasm vs. when I speak with rage and rancor.

SBP: What if I can't shift gears? I mean emotionally?

MR. SP: Then don't click send.

SBP: ...

MR. SP: Pop Quiz! Fill in the missing word: "We BLANK when agitated..."

SBP: LOL

MR. SP: No, that's not quite right. LOL'ing when agitated, depending on the circumstances, can result in a 72 hour hold.

SBP: LOL!

MR. SP: "We BLANK..."

SBP: Pause! Pause! "We PAUSE when agitated..."

MR. SP: Huzzah! A+! So basically, buddy, cool your jets, write about it but don't...

SBP: ... click send. Right.

several minutes pass

SBP: You realize you have a whole Mr. SponsorPants post here. :-)

MR. SP: lol I guess I do! Thanks!

SBP: Thanks, Mr. SP.

MR. SP: Hey, it's a two-way street, you know that by now. You're most definetely not the only one who needed to hear that today. It's a big help to me, too.  Cheers!

 

 _________________________________________________________________

 

 

There are more essays like this in "Mr. SponsorPants: Adventures in Sobriety and The 12 Steps for AA's and Others."  Available as an eBook on Kindle via Amazon.  Download the Kindle reader app for free on any device or platform, from PC to Smartphone.

 

 

 

The New Sponsee 12

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Skateboard Pup had an appointment at the Genius Bar in the Apple store to do something to one of his many tiny music devices, and since there was a cafe near the store in the mall he asked if we could meet there instead of our usual routine. He caught me both flexible on time and generous in spirit, so although it meant by meeting in public we would not get to read the Big Book together, I agreed. (I am neither proud nor ashamed to be in AA; it is by this point simply a fact of my life, like the color of my eyes or the graying of my hair -- but that doesn't mean I'm interested in sitting at a table in a mall cafe and reading aloud from the Big Book with a sponsee. That's just... not my thing.)

 

SKATEBOARD PUP: Thanks for being flexible, Mr. SponsorPants.

MR. SPONSORPANTS: No problem. Just remember this next time you or Girlfriend are moaning about what an old stick I am.

He laughed.

SKATEPUP: Fair enough. She doesn't think you're an old stick you know.

I shrugged and sipped my coffee. Talking about what Girlfriend did -- or didn't -- think was not a great use of our time together, and I didn't want to go down that road regardless.

MR. SP: How are meetings going?

SKATEPUP: Good. Good.

He rattled off his schedule of meetings, we talked about a few things he'd heard in shares or during fellowship that he either liked or was troubled by. Although Girlfriend had originally set my Sponsor Sense tingling there seemed to be an easy enough balance in place and Skatepup's involvement in AA was what I would (gratefully) categorize as "still in the middle of the lifeboat."

MR. SP: I was thinking the other day...

SKATEPUP: Uh oh.

MR. SP: Funny. Anyway, I was thinking that it is time for you to start raising your hand or standing up in meetings when they ask for people who are willing and able to sponsor.

SKATEPUP: What? No! I can't... I'm not...

I waited while he spluttered, keenly aware that my face most likely had the expression that another sponsee -- one whom I've sponsored for close to eight years since he very first showed up in AA -- has recently taken to calling The Look. I find it hard to credit that I have become that kind of Sponsor, and chalk his observation up to playful ribbing. Regardless, I looked at the Skateboard Pup until his monosyllabic protests sputtered to a close.

MR. SP: You can't keep it if you don't give it away, and it's time for you to start giving.

SKATEPUP: I... really? I don't feel like I'm ready.

MR. SP: You're ready.

SKATEPUP: I'm not sure I have the time, actually... work is...

MR. SP: You have the time. If I have the time you have the time.

SKATEPUP: What if I screw it up?

MR. SP: You won't screw it up.

SKATEPUP: What if I do?

MR. SP: You can't screw it up.

SKATEPUP: Sure I can! What if... what if I give them bad advice or suggestions or something and they drink.

MR. SP: Oh, I'm not worried about that.

SKATEPUP: You mean you think I'll give them good suggestions?

MR. SP: I have no idea.

SKATEPUP: Gee, thanks.

MR. SP: I am not in the least concerned with whether or not your sponsees stay sober.

SKATEPUP: You're NOT?!?

Eyes big. Face incredulous. Oh to have been able to snap a pic at that moment.

MR. SP: No. I'm concerned with whether YOU stay sober. YOU are my priority.

SKATEPUP: But then, if you're not concerned with my sponsees staying sober, who...

Penny in the air.

SKATEPUP: Oh!

The penny drops.

SKATEPUP: Oh! But...

MR. SP: Relax, you didn't give them alcoholism, you can't take it away. You help, you suggest, maybe you inspire. You don't cure. You are responsible for sharing the tools and helping with the Steps. What they do with it all is between them and their HP. And anyway, honestly, though I'm very fond of you now Skatepup, and I really hope you stay sober, I don't sponsor you so that you stay sober.

SKATEPUP: You don't... oh. You sponsor me so that YOU stay sober.

I smiled, shrugged and took another swig of coffee.

MR. SP: See? You're very sharp. You'll do fine. But I really do hope you stay sober too.

He laughed.

SKATEPUP: Gee, thanks. Hey... what if...

Trust an alcoholic to always have one more dodge left up our sleeves, so often wrapped in a "what if..." I raised my eyebrows in query.

MR. SP: What if...

SKATEPUP: Well, girlfriend was quoting someone the other day, I forget who, but it was something like "There are many paths to the top of the same mountain."

MR. SP: I think that quote has been around for centuries, not sure who it's attributed to -- there are a couple of versions making a couple of observations about the Path -- or Paths -- too. What does that have to do with you sponsoring people?

SKATEPUP: Well, if there are many paths to the top of the same mountain, maybe some paths don't have being a sponsor as part of them.

Oh brother. Often when sponsoring people I ask God to help me with the words -- and I am certain that my best material is sourced by the Divine far more than from me -- but this one I felt capable of handling on my own.

MR. SP: Well, there may be many paths to the top of the same moutain, but that doesn't mean you're on one.

Skatepup made a face like he tasted something he didn't like.

MR. SP: In fact, from my experience, the path of an addict who doesn't then take their turn -- or at least be willing to take their turn -- as a sponsor is one that is probably not leading anywhere but over the edge of a cliff.

SKATEPUP: Okay. Okay. That's not very poetic you know, but okay.

He held up his hands in surrender.

MR. SP: Skatepup, some of the best relationships -- and some of the richest learning and deepest growth I've had -- has been through being a sponsor. I promise it will be more rewarding than you can imagine.

It will quite probably be more frustrating than you can imagine too, I thought, but let's not go there right now. Let's leave that observation filed under "more will be revealed."

We chatted a bit more, I secured his full commitment to raising his hand or standing up when during announcements in a meeting he was attending they asked who was available to sponsor. The time came for his Genius Bar appointment and we shook hands, hugged and went our merry ways.

As I walked away I smiled to myself, because there was one thing I was sure of that, no matter how I tried to explain it, the Skateboard Pup would never believe:

That kid was going to make a helluva great sponsor to someone.

 

 _________________________________________________________________

 

There are more essays like this in "Mr. SponsorPants: Adventures in Sobriety and The 12 Steps for AA's and Others."  Available as an eBook on Kindle via Amazon.  Download the Kindle reader app for free on any device or platform, from PC to Smartphone.

 

 

 

 

The New Sponsee 11

 

 

 

The Skateboard Pup had been regaling me with tales of his weekend: Events both work-related and social, all unfortunately colored with a tinge of confrontation and a touch of self righteousness.  Our boy was on fire with sobriety, but found the rest of the world, sadly, did not burn as brightly as he did -- or as he thought it should.

If only people would do as he wished, things would be great. Everybody, including himself, would be pleased. Life would be wonderful!

Now where have we heard that before...

 

SKATEBOARD PUP: So I thought I was going to have a really amazing, killer time and it was all kind of... it didn't work out.

MR. SPONSORPANTS: Hmmm. How about try this on: It worked out fine, but just not the way you wanted it to work out.

SKATEPUP: Well... I guess. But that sounds as much like a word game as anything else. Unless you're going to tell me there's some step thing I should... waitaminute, is this going to turn into an inventory thing?

MR. SP: I don't know. Are you angry about anything now that the weekend is over?

SKATEPUP: Angry? Well... no, not really.

MR. SP: Are you just saying that because you think if you say "yes" then I'll suggest that maybe you should write out a resentment inventory on the whole thing?

The Skateboard Pup screws up his face for a minute and looks at me sort of sideways.

SKATEPUP: Mmmmaybe.

I laughed.

SKATEPUP (sighing with great drama): But this IS going to turn into some kind of Step thing, isn't it.

MR. SP: Spoiler Alert: It's about the 3rd Step.

SKATEPUP: Cool! There's no writing with that one, right?

Now it was my turn to be dramatic. I did a facepalm, sighing as dramatically as he'd done a moment before.

SKATEPUP: Hey, come on! I'm sober! I'm... I'm... I'm a spiritual warrior! A SPIRITUAL WARRIOR!

MR. SP: Really. You are, huh?

SKATEPUP: Yeah!

MR. SP: Well  I'm afraid I've got news for you, Spirit Warrior.

SKATEPUP: I am a Spiritual Warrior! Your news cannot dismay me! What is it?

MR. SP: A Spiritual Warrior does not do battle with others. He does battle with himself. Your battlefield, my friend, is -- and probably always will be -- on the inside.

 

 _________________________________________________________________

 

There are more essays like this one in "Mr. SponsorPants: Adventures in Sobriety and The 12 Steps for AA's and Others."  Available as an eBook on Kindle via Amazon.  Download the Kindle reader app for free on any device or platform, from PC to Smartphone, and enjoy eBooks anywhere you have time to read.

 

 

 

The New Sponsee 10

 

 

 

 

 

 

SKATEBOARD PUP: ...and I can see what I want to do with my life now. I have, like, goals.

The Skateboard Pup had been laying out for me the rather long list of things he was going to accomplish now that he was sober.

MR. SPONSORPANTS: Well that all sounds awesome. Ambitious, but awesome. I believe wholeheartedly that there's not one thing you've told me about that you can't accomplish if you stay sober and do the footwork.

SKATEPUP: Oh, I know. I feel like sobriety has given me... I dunno, I guess the ability to make these goals and move toward them.  It's like now I actually want a life.

MR. SP: I completely understand. You can try anything in sobriety.

SKATEPUP: I can be anything in sobriety!

MR. SP: Ok.

I held up my hands in surrender.

MR. SP: Ok. You can be anything in sobriety.

He's young. Maybe he CAN be anything in sobriety. For me, years farther down the road, the idea that I can "try" anything in sobriety feels like a better fit -- I try, but the result, while always a good one, may not exactly be what I was aiming for. But today I don't need to fine tune his passion. Either he's right or life will school him. Gently, I pray. Some of us got our quota of hard knocks fulfilled before we ever walked into an AA Meeting. The Skateboard Pup is one of them.

SKATEPUP: I never really... I want to do stuff I can be proud of. Not just sobriety... I don't mean "just" like it's small, I mean... in addition to. I want to accomplish big goals I can be proud of.

MR. SP: I have a suggestion.

The Skateboard Pup laughs.

SKATEPUP: You always have a suggestion.

MR. SP: It's how you can tell I haven't been replaced by a robot duplicate.

SKATEPUP: No that's cool! An android sponsor! You'd be like Arnold Schwarzenegger in all the "Terminator" movies. You're all "Come vith me if you vant to live!"

MR. SP: I don't remember the Terminator talking like a vampire.

SKATEPUP: Okay, okay, I can't do a good Arnold. But anyway, that's like your message though: Come with me if you want to live!

He has no idea how sweet that sounds or how choked up that makes me for a second. I get it together right away because I don't want to lose what I wanted to say to him about feeling proud of his goals.

MR. SP: Fine. Whether it's me or I'm an android or whatever, I still have suggestion about your goals.

SKATEPUP: Okay shoot.

MR. SP: Instead of feeling proud if you reach your goals -- and if you do you absolutely should, of course -- why don't you consider that you can be proud of each step you take to achieve them?

He looks almost flustered for a second.

SKATEPUP: But I... then I would be proud of myself, like, almost all the time. Is that... can I... can someone...?

I understand his confused reaction. Heartbreakingly, some of us with crippled self esteem and addiction issues almost feel like we need permission to feel good about ourselves.  Like somehow we're not "allowed" to.

MR. SP: Yeah. You would. And you can. In fact, go ahead and feel proud of yourself all the time. I am.

SKATEPUP: You're proud of yourself all the time?

MR. SP: No. Well, yes, a lot in some ways, but that's not what I meant.

SKATEPUP: I don't get it.

MR. SP: I meant I was proud of you all the time.

If he was flustered before this caught him completely off guard. I think without meaning to I returned the instant-lump-in-your-throat-for-a-moment favor.

SKATEPUP: Oh.

MR. SP: I've been sponsoring you for almost nine months now. You can maybe see one year sober peaking over the horizon. You've been willing -- mostly

He laughed

MR. SP: and honest and you keep showing up. From personal experience I know just how hard that is some days. Some weeks. So yeah, even though we get sober for ourselves, I'm really grateful I have the opportunity to sponsor you and I'm really proud of you.

He looked at me. Right in the eye. A long time ago we had talked about not deflecting things, about taking them in, about hearing positive things and not dismissing them. I know he was conscious of that conversation when he looked me in the eye and after a solid couple of moment said...

SKATEPUP: Thank you.

MR. SP: You're welcome.

SKATEPUP: This nice side of you is harder to take than the tough side. I like it. I just don't, like, know what to do with it.

MR. SP: I'm not that tough!

SKATEPUP: Wow, when you said alcoholics aren't very good at self assessment you weren't kidding!

I gave him a look.

SKATEPUP: My! Look at the time!

He faked looking at his nonexistent watch and jumped up.

SKATEPUP: Got a bus to catch! Thanks! Bye!

 

 

 _________________________________________________________________

 

There are more essays like this one in "Mr. SponsorPants: Adventures in Sobriety and The 12 Steps for AA's and Others."  Available as an eBook on Kindle via Amazon.  Download the Kindle reader app for free on any device or platform, from PC to Smartphone, and enjoy eBooks anywhere you have time to read.