Oh Captain, My Captain
My friend A was celebrating a sobriety milestone, and asked me to speak at his celebration meeting. They have these two-speaker meetings around here where people celebrate their anniversaries by having a couple of speakers tell their stories — these are longer, half hour shares, where you go into a lot of detail about what it was like (when you were still drinking/doing drugs), what happened (how you stopped and got into a spiritual way of life), and what it’s like now (the effects of recovery on your life, today).
The first speaker told how he was the only one in his family with a drinking problem, and how hard it was to figure out what was going on, along with all the struggles he went through before he finally realized he was an alcoholic and found a way out through AA.
My story was a lot different in some ways, but much the same in others. I came from a long line of Irish drunks — my mother, her father, and a long line before them — but AA, and the miracle of recovery, had been introduced into my family way back in 1945, nine years before I was even born. My mother’s Uncle Jerry, who was too drunk to come to her wedding that year, was taken in by AA, he got sober, and eventually, through a guy he worked with who never got sober himself, carried the message to Mom’s little brother, Pat, who got sober and directly carried a message to Mom, who also got sober.
None of that could stop me from finding the wonders, and an Irishman’s love, of the grog myself, which I did at age 15 and was off to the races on my own alcoholic journey. I took the fast lane in that race, fueled within a year by the acceleration of drugs, and crashed hard by age 22.
Having a Mom who knew what to do, and where to go, helped at that point, and after many fits and and starts, I managed to escape hell at a relatively young age, getting out altogether by age 25. In a week I’ll be having a celebration of my own, 37 years sober/clean. It’s actually been nearly 40 years since my last drink, but since I continued smoking dope and a few other drugs, I count from my last mind or mood-altering drug, so the date I mark the beginning of my journey of sobriety is St. Patrick’s Day (3/17), 1980.
As I told my story, the “what it was like” part, I talked a lot about my Navy exploits, which always highlights that scary Mediterranean Cruise, where I almost failed to make it back to the ship when we ported at Haifa, Israel, coming out of an alcoholic blackout just in time, then going AWOL at the end of that cruise, to get away from a captain I couldn’t stand, and had many beefs with.
I never mentioned the name of the ship, or gave many specific details about exactly when this all happened. My AWOL journey led to my honorable discharge, when all I was trying to do was get transferred to another ship, and then my quick demise after that, crashing hard in the Navy town of Norfolk, Virginia, crawling home, and out of the bottle, from there.
After the meeting, a fellow came up to me, thanked me for sharing, and asked if the ship I was on was the (he named the ship I’d been on). I looked at him in amazement, sized him up, and figured he was just a little bit too young to have served on that ship with me. He asked if the skipper of my ship was Captain N. Now, he really had me going. Yes, Captain N — he was the good captain, the one I liked. He got a promotion in the middle of that Med Cruise, and it was his successor at the helm who I had all my problems with.
“I’m Admiral N’s son”, he smiled. His dad had gone on to become an admiral — no surprise there. He had been a fine leader. Turns out his son, T, was now in the program as well. He also got in young, at age 27, then went on to a long, distinguished navy career himself, and was now a captain in the navy’s special forces. His dad now suffered from alcoholic dementia. “He never found a way out — it’s too bad. He was a good Navy man — never really much, as a father, as he was pretty much married to the Navy. I understand it — I love serving myself — but getting sober when I did, I’ve learned to have a balance in my life.”
We had a great chat, and I told him how his father’s successor, the “bad captain”, was still on my list of amends I have to make, as he has been for many years. “Just call him”, T suggested.
The problem is, that amends could have ramifications that could cause more harm then help. Most sponsors I’ve had, have suggested I just be willing to make that amends, but not to make it until an opportunity presented itself where I could make it, without causing more harm.
I feel more ready than ever to make that call. A way came to me, as I made my way home from that meeting, to make that amends in a way that will allow for the healing that an amends can bring to occur, without causing the subsequential harm that it has the potential of bringing down.
I don’t believe in coincidences — I believe that things happen for a reason, though I am usually not privy to the understanding of what that reason is — I’ve just learned that when the door of opportunity opens in front of me, it’s best to walk through it. Even though fear compels me to want to turn around and walk as far away from that open door as I can get — walking through it will bring change, and change is always scary — on the other side of that door, and that change, freedom beckons.
To be free of the chains, and the fears, that thoughts of this captain have always raised up in the back of my mind, along with the twinges of guilt and shame for what I did to him, would be something, indeed. Something I never thought would be a possibility in this lifetime. Now, maybe, there is a way. I have learned that in this life, all things are possible. I’ve experienced healings that were way beyond my wildest dreams, and had moments that just blew my mind, they were so far beyond the realm of what I once thought possible.
Ironically, this is all happening in the same week that a retiring Navy captain has come to work for me, as my deputy. Four days in, it is appearing to be a perfect fit. This is another of those “beyond my wildest dreams” experiences. Whoever thought a Navy captain would be working for me, and that it could work out? Crazy stuff, this life of sobriety. Good crazy, mostly.
I suspect that soon, I will be making that call.
