LOOKING BACK - AS A BEGINNING

Sunday, November 16, 2008

LOOKING BACK - AS A BEGINNING
This is the first post of my new blog, on which I will summarize my life.

This period was a linchpin in my time on this planet, an end and a beginning.I had just spent an hour at Donwood on a recent Saturday evening, (in the late sixties), and was driving home on Yonge Street in Hogs Hollow, in Toronto wondering what I was going to write about for my monthly editorial piece in the Donwood Newsletter, I saw the Jolly Miller, all lit up, fat and sassy, with people pouring in and out.

Now, anyone who knows the North end of Toronto knows that the Miller was the flagship for drinkers. It had been the local watering hole for a hundred years or so. It was available to all, had a great atmosphere, and was a great place to drink.As I passed it, a great flood off memories swept over me; the many times I had spent there with buddies, drinking maybe 10 to 20 drafts after a ball game, or straight from work, and often closed the place at one in the morning. I paid 10 cents for a draft beer, $4 for a case of 24 bottles, and $4 for a carton of cigarettes.

Then I thought of the not-so-pleasant memories, the climbing up the long outside steps to the men's bar (beer only), then the tenuous descent down those high stairs, unsteadily, but happy as hell. The crawling up the hill home about a mile away. Sometimes I drove and had trouble keeping the white line in the middle of the road from weaving from side to side, so I could follow it home.One particular night, (I quit drinking forever the next day), I left at 1.00 in the morning but got only to the subway. Now in those days the Subway was under construction, and it was only a muddy hole up Yonge St. Since I had too much to drink, I lay down in the mud and went to sleep. The last thing I thought of was, (don't sleep in the subway darling - a popular song that year). The next morning I got home, cleaned up, and went with my Sponsor from AA, Jack, never to drink again. Jack had told my wife that he thought I would never be able to quit, I was a hopeless drunk. This was coming from an expert, since he had imbibed a 26 oz bottle of whiskey for the past 25 years, and had only quit drinkingthe year before. Well I proved him wrong.

Coming out of this memory a few years later, I thought of my current life. I drive a new car, we are a prosperous middle-aged couple in the prime of our lives, living in a home in the country, just outside of Orillia. We had four happy, well-adjusted children, and even in these times of inflation, things were pretty good. We don't appreciate the things we have until we almost lose them.

Could have lost my wife, my home, my children. But I pulled back in time!I have been dry 39 years now, in 2008. I wake up every morning now thanking God that this day is another bonus in a litany of days. Something to take full advantage of every minute, and hour in that day. There is no way I am ever going to screw up my life with alcohol.Having material things is not important to me know. If they were I would still be at the Bank, earning that big salary, facing the pressures - not able to enjoy my children.

I quit the Bank and took a much lower paying job with the government. There was a lot less pressure, and I work only 37 hours a week. I see my kids every night, every weekend and we do lots of things together., and I am sober. They can bring their friends home, happy in the knowledge that the old man won't be on the floor passed out, or weaving over the dinner table, grinning like a chesire cat, high on booze. They are confident that I will be there when they need me. Aand, most important of all, we like each other.

My wife are lovers and friends, something we couldn't have been if I were still drinking.Sobriety brings an important feeling of worth, pride, and a feeling of self confidence.So, as I drove along Yonge St that day so long ago I remember shivering as I thought how far along drinking I had gone, how much more damamge there could have been to my marriage and family. I would have missed so much had I not gone to Donwood. DON FELSTEAD