Willingness and Hope

The program and fellowship of Alcoholics Anonymous has afforded me some incredible experiences. I could work tirelessly until my death and never repay the debt I owe. I've been so fortunate. I've been able to meet and develop relationships with some of the most impactful and profound men and women I've ever encountered. These giants would be superstars or celebrities in society at large, but in Alcoholics Anonymous, they’re simply another drunk that's recovered from a seemingly hopeless state of mind and body.

I grew up in Fort Worth, Texas, the third of five boys. My mother and father were married for over 50 years. I grew up in the same house my parents bought when they discovered she was with child, yours truly, and they needed a bigger house.

My two older brothers, Ronnie and Vernon were born when my father was active duty in the Army. My father regretted not spending more time with my brothers, so two years after he retired, my parents had another child.

My upbringing could aptly be described as old fashioned. We addressed every adult with respect. Every adult in the neighborhood had the right to discipline you as their child and would promptly walk you home to inform your parents.

My father could be described as a disciplinarian. He had a quick temper and although I’m not quick to pronounce him an alcoholic, every memory from my youth he was either drunk, drinking, or on his way to drink.

My mother was very religious. She became a Jehovah’s Witness during her pregnancy with me. We followed the precepts of that religion during my childhood. We didn’t celebrate birthdays or holidays. I was instructed to not stand and say the Pledge of Allegiance in school.

School was fun, but boring. I frequently finished my in classroom assignments and began speaking to my classmates as they worked. My principal recommended to my parents that I skip ahead a grade. My father declined. The following year, my fifth grade year, my father declined a second invitation. At that point I stopped doing my best in school and did enough to get by and not stand out from my classmates.

My parents didn’t communicate well. They didn’t address adult problems in front of children. When my oldest brother Ronnie killed one of his high school classmates, my parents never mentioned why we were visiting him in prison. We simply woke up early on Saturday mornings, drove a few hours to the prison, and visited Ronnie.

When Ronnie was paroled years later, my father showed up with him and announced his return. He didn’t tell my brothers, nor I, of Ronnie’s release. For the next couple of years Ronnie and I became steadfast companions, playing video games and enjoying being brothers. He’d been sent to prison as a 15 year old so he didn’t have much of a childhood.

Until this point, I hadn’t done any drinking, except the occasional sip of a beer, with my father’s approval. That soon changed after my two older brothers were arrested my eight grade year. They’d gone on a crime spree and killed four people. They were arrested, put on trial and convicted of First Degree Murder. Both were sentenced to death by lethal injection.

The two years of their court tri

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