An Alcoholic’s Parable

A few days ago, at work, we were having a discussion about drinking booze. A coworker asked, since I had been so long in recovery as an alcoholic, one drink wouldn’t hurt me. He asked, couldn’t I have just one beer? I hope my answer helps someone out as much as it has helped me over these past ten years of sobriety.

Somewhere around the 1^st of January, 1998, I was moved to an Air Force hospital in Washington D.C. for alcohol rehab. I don’t remember how many people were in the ward at the same time, but I do remember one man in particular. We got to the ward about the same time. He is a friend. I am sorry I do not remember his name. He told me his story. It is a parable every alcoholic should hear.

My friend was about 65 years old. He had been on a Senior Senator's Capitol Police detail for many years. His recovery started 6 years earlier than our meeting. He told me, for six years he was sober. Not once did he relapse. Not once in 5 ½ years did he take a drink. Then one day he was invited to have a drink with a friend at a bar. One drink, he thought. He’d just have one drink. And he did. He was able to limit himself to having just one drink. Six weeks he thought to himself, six weeks, one drink. There were no cravings. He could control his drinking. Again he had a drink. He knew his limit. As long as he only had one drink, he was still sober, he was still in recovery. After the second drink another month or so past and my friend was feeling pretty proud of himself. Then it was about six months after he had had that first drink. Six months and only two drinks. It was there about the end of 1997, within days of the New Year. His wife had a bridal shower, at the house, for their daughter. Not being invited, I cannot remember where he was. But because he was not home the guests drank beer and champagne. Since his recovery began, six years earlier, neither he nor his wife brought alcohol beverages into the house. But this was a special occasion, and he was not there to boot. That must have been a Saturday, because the following morning his wife and daughter went to Sunday Church Services. The booze was still in the house. My friend does not know what happened. What was told to him when he woke, in Detox: His wife and daughter came home from church service and found him passed out in the cab of his pickup truck. They called for an ambulance. From there he began his 1^st day of sobriety, his 1^st new day of recovery.

No, we alcoholics, with one week, ten years, or thirty years sobriety, can not have one drink. Not if we want to keep our sobriety. Do not listen to those who are not here with us. There is a reason your Alcoholics Anonymous Sponsor is a Recovering Alcoholic, just like you. That is the reason, they have been, and they are just like you. They are Alcoholics, too.

Barry Bonds says he is embarrassed to be wearing the San Francisco Giants’ uniform. His comments were related to the terrible way he has been performing on the field this year. Barry Bonds should be embarrassed, but he is embarrassed for the wrong reason. Mr. Bonds, everybody goes into a funk. Slumps are a part of everyone’s professions. But that is not the reason Mr. Bonds should be embarrassed to be wearing a professional baseball uniform. How much pride can a man get when he looks into the face of a true Great Baseball Legend, his own Godfather, and say with a smile, I broke the homerun record. Yes, I stuck junk in my body to do it. Yes, Mr. Willie Mayes, I know Hank Aaron made the record without using drugs, but junkie or no, I beat the record. Godfather Mayes, aren’t you proud of your godson?

And if Mr. Bonds should be inducted into the Baseball Hall of fame, will he acknowledge his success is partially do to his use of needles full of junk? Mr. Bonds, your performance on the field, this year, should not be the source of your embarrassment. Your embarrassment should start with the number 755. I refused to watch the all-star game this year because you were suited up. If I were a ten year old fan asking if you thought someday I might be able to achieve 755 home runs, would your answer be, “Sure, all you need is a little talent and an arm full of junk.”

I’m no where near a living saint, Mr. Bonds. But at 45 years old, I can look my children and grandchild in the eye and say, “I am proud of what I accomplished, because it was all me. I wore a uniform for 20 plus years, and I did not embarrass or disgrace that uniform or my family name.” My children and grandchild have a family name that I have not tarnish before them.

Mr. Bonds, do not embarrass yourself. Take off the Major League Baseball Uniform.

Before I go off on what we are teaching our children and the thoughts of whether we should actually look to celebrities as role models, I feel I should comment on the stupidity of such parents. The news report stated the single parent of this young girl permitted the combat uniform to be worn because the child stated she wished to wear a soldier’s uniform. A four year old child wanted to dress as a soldier. The parent was simply obeying the child’s wants. A parent was obeying the child? This is the equivalent to the old adage, putting the cart before the jackass. Yes, I know it is cart before the horse, but in this case jackass is appropriate. This single parent is a staunch opponent to the current war in Iraq and publicly blames President G.W. Bush and his administration for the 11 September 1991 terrorist attacks. The only baring this information has is that this parent claims to be an opponent of war. Still what was the defense of this adult? My child wanted to dress like a soldier. What could she do but to obey her child?

There was lots of commentary about children want toy guns, parents buy toy guns. That is the way parenting has to be. No, that is not the nature of parenting. In 1972 my father retired from a distinguished career in the U.S. Air Force. In 1988 he retired from a distinguished police career. Other than toy soldiers, mostly Calvary and Indians, a G.I. Joe and Action Jackson, I do not remember guns being a part of my toy chest. Okay, let us pretend that I never asked for such toys. I do not remember ever asking, battles of toy soldiers was forte. Leap ahead to 1986 when my first wife divorced me and I took the role of single parent to my two year old son. Four years earlier I began my own career as a policeman, soldier, in the U.S. Air Force. Guns were then a part of my career life. My son grew up seeing a pistol strapped to my side and often a rifle over my shoulder or carried in my hands, but what he did not grow up with was the toy equivalents in his hands. There is not a glory in the killing of another person. There is no glory in shooting an animal or human. I know there is a lot of pain left behind, as there should be, when a person kills another with a gun.

In closing my message to everyone faced with the same dilemma as Ms. O’Donnell, children will want damn near everything they see but do not have. As a child I often pretended to be the Calvary Soldier but I remember the gun I carried and the uniform I wore were only in my imagination. I do not think less of parents who have the money to buy Battle Dress Uniforms for their children to wear in their play, but bandoleers of bullets over their shoulders… What child thought of that as part of the uniform? If next the child asks to dress as a terrorist suicide bomber, should she be given a vest of dynamite or a match and a shoe? I do not think less of parents who encourage their children to role play, use their minds to imagine themselves as they think they want to be. I do think less of parents who do not add a little restraint to their children. Children playing soldier do not need bullets or grenades they have imaginations.