THE GREAT ADVENTURE

One way to get the most out of life is to look upon it as an adventure. ~ William Feather

I didn’t think it was possible to have a good time without getting wasted.

Turns out I was mistaken.

Once you get involved with AA, you stay involved. No matter what.                                    

When they say, “don’t drink” they mean ever.

As a result, I’ve always found the meetings near me, and stayed involved.

Although AA is basically the same no matter where you go, you don’t have to look too far to notice little regional differences.

One of the big differences I’ve noticed between the AA in Southwest Florida, and the meetings I was weaned on in Massachusetts, is the phenomenon of, speaking commitments  (commonly known as, “gigs”).

I love Florida AA, but there’s an utter lack of speaking commitments.

Our group on Cape Cod was very active with speaking commitments, and spreading the word.  There’s an interesting subculture to it.

Each group had a “Bookie”  Our bookie communicated with the bookies from other groups, and scheduled a gig.  Announcements went up in our meeting about about an upcoming gig. 

On the big night, we’d congregate at our meeting’s parking lot, and pile into a car.

Even though our meeting was fairly large, (90+ people)only about 5 or 6 of us showed up.

I remember one gig we had in the dead of winter in Duxbury. Only 3 of us showed up.  Like Forrest Gump’s box of chocolates, you didn’t know what you were going to get.  It was an adventure.

Obviously, the more people showed up, the less ‘talk time’ you had. The less people, the more time you’d have. Either way, it was a good idea to be prepared with what you wanted to say.

I never considered going on gigs  as some kind of inconvenience, because I was missing Wheel of Fortune, or Jeopardy.

It was an opportunity to hang with friends: A concentrated evening of recovery.  More than that, it was a fun adventure.

There was a meeting in the car on the way there. There was the meeting itself.  Then, of course, there was the meeting in the car on the ride home.

We always stopped for supper someplace – usually at a Friendly, IHOP, Pizza Hut or whatever…depending upon what we stumbled on.           “Hey, look! It’s a Friendly! They got a deal going on…a free sundae with your entree.” “Really?” said the guy who was driving, “That bitch is mine!”

 We covered a lot of ground:  Cape Cod, Fall River, New Bedford, Plymouth, Duxbury, Savin Hill,Dorchester, Brockton, Bridgewater, Providence, Raynham, Woburn, Auburndale…you name it.

We spoke at meetings, prisons, hospitals, detoxes…we didn’t discriminate.   From small, intimate venues – to huge, packed, loud & rowdy halls.

 The more people, the better.  The energy and electricity of the crowd made it a lot of fun.

On the third Sunday of every month, we had a standing commitment at the Barnstable County House of Correction.

Prison commitments are hard core, and there’s an unyielding protocol:

If you had any outstanding tickets, or a dubious record, you didn’t qualify. Stay home.

If you’ve seen to one prison, you’ve pretty much seen ’em all.

The decor is always the same: Contemporary American Penal.

Upon entering, the first stop was a small waiting room with a bank of airport-style lockers: Deposit fifty cents, place all your metal items into the locker, and pocket the key.

After signing in, we were lead through the visitors area. Prisoners and their visitors were seated facing each other at big, wooden tables.

Next we went through the ‘General population’ area, then we moved deeper into the bowels of the prison. We descended a steep, narrow stairway, then down a corridor, and into the dining hall. It was small, closed in, and quite claustrophobic.

At the far end of the room was a table, (where we sat) and a podium.  At this point the door was locked, and we were hermetically sealed in there.

I’d instinctively look around and count the number of inmates.

Then I counted the number of people in our group.

Finally, I considered our chances, and gauge if we could take them in the event of a riot (I’ve seen way too many prison movies).

It was always the same guard ( a guy named Ray) who attended the meeting. Ray was a recovering alcoholic. If Ray wasn’t available, the meeting was called off…an unyielding condition.

One time, we’d all finished speaking, and there was still some time left over. We went around the room, and gave each prisoner the opportunity to share.   I was astonished.

To a man, our showing up there was greeted with a deep and abiding appreciation.

It meant the world to those guys that we showed up.  After that, I never missed that gig.  What’s more, I stopped bothering to count heads after they locked the door. It didn’t seem likely I was going to get shanked. 

I liked those meetings because they were ‘in-your-face‘ and heavy-duty.

I’d start off by qualifying myself:

I’d say that the only difference between me and them, is that I didn’t happen to get caught.  I ended with an open invitation, encouraging them to come and visit our meeting after they were cut loose.  Every time I walked out of there, I had a whole new appreciation for my personal freedom.

Going on gigs was a great way to connect with group members.

If someone was just a nodding acquaintance, after a couple of nights on the road, you were bonded.  The long rides were just an incidental  blur: serious talks, raunchy jokes, a lot of laughter and camaraderie.

I went on tons of commitments with John, a retired teacher from Brockton.

I heard his story so many times, I could lip sync it right along with him. Watching him made me a better speaker.

He embraced Rule 62,

and commitments were always more fun when he was around.

On a typical ride home, one of the guys – a relative newcomer named Richard – sat in silence and glared out the window.

I knew what was bothering him:  He was wallowing in disappointment because he didn’t get a chance to speak. We ran out of time, and he drew the short straw. The exact same thing happened to me, and everyone else in the car. You can’t take it personal.  We all got over it, and so would he. 

John looked at Richard, “Pissed you didn’t get to speak?” Richard glanced over and grunted.

John held up his hand like he was giving him a high five, “Here. Talk to the hand.”  The car erupted in laughter, and in spite of himself, Richard lightened up.

We told him that we’d all been there, “Win some, lose some…some are rained out. Just keep at it.”

And that’s exactly what he did. In time he became a staple, developed his own style, and saw more speaking action than he bargained for.

Many times I wouldn’t get home until well past midnight. I always went to bed feeling that I’d done something meaningful.

                                         ANYWAY…

Once upon a time, I would never consider attending a party (or any type of social gathering) without being sufficiently numbed.  

Those days are now a distant memory.

On our group’s first anniversary (June,1992), one of our members, Maureen, rented a beach cottage in Chatham for the weekend (Maureen always did stuff like that).

I don’t know how she did it, but as it turned out, the cottage belonged to Tip O’Neill.  Yes, that Tip O’Neill.   I was duly impressed:

There was a wall of ego featuring all types of awards, certificates, and photos of Tip with all sorts of personages from the world of entertainment, sports and politics…from the famous to the infamous.

Just a select few of us were invited for a weekend of sun, sand, barbecue, games and fellowship. I brought my swimsuit, Trivial Pursuit game and toothbrush. That was a very special, and unforgettable weekend. 

On another group anniversary, Maureen reserved Burgess Park in Marstons Mills, for the day.  We played frisbee golf, croquet, volley ball, and had a barbecue…

I never did any of that stuff with the gang of knuckleheads I partied with.

Either up in Massachusetts, or down here in Florida, I’ve attended campfires. By invitation only, we met at a particular campsite or empty lot.

Not a bonfire, and definitely not a barbecue, five or six men & women showed up.  On a typical campfire, I arrived, reached into the cooler, grabbed a soda and sat down.

Eddie, who I’d just met, took a soda, opened it, took a long pull, pointedly looked at me, smacked his lips, loudly sighed with satisfaction and said, “Tranya…I relish it!”  That killed me. 

I Immediately recognized the reference and played along, “Thanks, Commander Balok.”

Diane, an older woman seated across the fire, had a puzzled look, “What’s going on with you two?”

“It’s from Star Trek,” Eddie explained.

“The episode, The Corbomite Maneuver’” I chimed in.

Not to be outdone, Eddie said, “Clint Howard played Balok.”

I was in it now, “Actually, the real quote is, (mimicking Balok’s voice) “This is Tranya. I hope you relish it as much as I.”

Diane sat quietly, watching this exchange, “You guys are such dorks!”

I nodded at Eddie, “He’s the dork. I’m an enthusiast. ”  Everyone laughed.  And that was how it went. 

Campfires are always a good time: Food & drink, jokes, stories, riddles, gossip…and laughter…always a lot of laughter.

                                  HERE’S THE TAKEAWAY:

As pathetic as it may sound, I didn’t have any friends until I came to AA.

I thought I had friends, but what I really had were drinking & drugging associates.  People who shared my particular pathology and could keep up with my drinking & drugging without throwing up, or passing out & keeling over…and see absolutely nothing abnormal about it.  Hey, everyone needs a hobby.

 Remove the booze & drugs, and there was nothing left to discuss.  

Alcoholics anonymous has always been consistent:  There hasn’t been a drink or drug involved the whole time.

And that’s the Great Adventure.