Tell Me A Story

So I was at a meeting recently, listening to people talk. There was a mother of three, now divorced, jobless, broke and nearly homeless. Her savings are gone, her ex won't talk to her, the kids don't want to see her. She's turned her life over to Jesus and hasn't had a drink for 22 days.

There was a young guy with scary tattoos and piercings, who spent significant time in prison for attempted murder. A bar fight that got out of hand. He was living temporarily with his mother and looking for a job, trying to start over. He hasn't had a drink since he got out 8 months ago.

There was a distinguished older gentleman in pressed slacks, tasseled loafers and a polo shirt, facing almost certain jail time for his third DUI. His hands were shaking as he told us he hasn't had a drink in 4 days.

Consequences: They suck. There were other stories too, good ones. Stories of success, of redemption, of personal growth.

Look, I spend a fair amount of time on this shitty blog snarking at AA, and much of it is well deserved IMO. If I never hear another passage from the fucking Big Book again, I'll be just fine thank you. There are times when AA makes me break out in hives, what with the talk of higher powers, the programed chanting, the droning recitation of the Serenity Prayer, the Lord's Prayer, the slogans and on, and on, and on. In a perfect world, we would dispense with all that, and just spend the hour talking amongst ourselves.

Because those stories? They speak to me, because my own record is far from spotless. That DUI a few years ago was, shall we say, not my most triumphant moment. And while it set me on the slow path to finally dealing with my problem, it wasn't my last time in a car while under the influence.

The stories, the shared experience of this struggle -- which only someone who's been there can fully understand -- is why I still sometimes go to the meetings. Forget the readings and the chanting. Tell me a story.