We hear at meetings that gratitude will
help eliminate self-pity and resentment, as well as
some of the other demons that seem to afflict alcoholics
even in sobriety. But how does it work in practice?
Is there a quick, easy way to put this principle into
operation?
I think I stumbled onto the one-minute
solution for self-pity back in the winter of 1988. Our
daughter, Lynne, was in her first semester at Kent State
University, and I had driven from Toledo, Ohio, to bring
her home for the Christmas holidays. But first I had
gone to Cleveland for a brief business call and began
encountering considerable snow as I headed south toward
Kent, Ohio.
When I arrived on the campus, I discovered
that I had to park about seventy-five yards from Lynne's
dormitory. The snow was getting worse, and I had not
brought overshoes. I also discovered that Lynne had
to take mountains of clothes home because of some college
rule that I didn't understand. I found myself making
several trips to the parking lot, staggering under each
load of clothes, fearful that I would lose some of the
garments in the snow. My ankles were cold and wet, and
the fierce wind and snow were tearing at my face.
As I struggled, the thought came to
me that I was a wonderful dad to be helping Lynne in
this way. My second thought was that lots of other dads
were perched in front of the TV drinking beer or weren't
even around to assist their children. My third self-congratulatory
thought was that I had been a great dad for a long time,
as we had previously trekked over to Kent State during
the five years our oldest son was studying architecture.
My wife and I had also put ourselves out for our other
two children and our young grandchildren as well. Not
bad for a sixty-three-year-old dad who had once been
a high school dropout!
It's hard to pat yourself on the back
while struggling through the snow with loads of clothing,
though. And I had no sooner finished praising myself
when some dark thoughts began to hit me. I thought about
my own problems growing up during the Great American
Depression, and the fact that my parents had neither
the desire nor the means to send me to college. I lashed
myself for my failure to take advantage of the GI Bill
after World War II, which gave veterans such as me a
generous stipend for four years of college. I groaned
inwardly at the way drinking had destroyed other educational
opportunities. (I had finally received a college degree
at age fifty, but that didn't seem to be the same as
getting one at twenty-two. I didn't even recall that
my father had sent me congratulations and the price
of a new watch when I finally got my degree.)
As I continued to let these angry thoughts
seethe in my soul, my mood became darker and darker.
I was feeling really bad, and there were still mountains
of clothes and other items to bring back to the car,
which was now covered with snow. On top of that, we
would have to drive back to Toledo under difficult road
conditions. My gloom and self-pity deepened.
But then I returned to the dormitory
and saw Lynne chatting with her friends and apparently
enjoying all the benefits of college life. I suddenly
started to feel grateful that she could have this experience
and that she was making the best of it, as she had done
earning honors in high school. I immediately felt grateful
that AA had kept me sober for thirty-nine years so my
income and my wife's earnings could go for such things
as tuition, books, and dental care, instead of booze
and bad trips. I thought of all the other nice things
and experiences our family had, all due to AA. And as
my gratitude for this increased, the dark feelings and
self-pity simply disappeared. This probably took all
of one minute, but it worked. Snow or no snow, I suddenly
felt great.
Because of road conditions, it took
longer than usual to drive the 150 miles home to Toledo.
But I felt pretty serene and happy all the way. If I
still thought I was a great dad, it was only because
Alcoholics Anonymous had helped me become what a dad
should be. Gratitude works, if you work it!
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