It sounds so silly — I got into recovery when I was 29 because my dad wouldn’t go to a Mets game.
My sisters, who were sober by then, just laughed at me when I told them my plans.
“You aren’t going to a game,” they told me. ‘You’re going to a bar.”
They were right.
They even named the bar.
My dad was still drinking then, and I was foolish to think that I could dislodge him from his alcoholic routines.
My sisters told me to go to Al-Anon, and I went to my first meeting, all the way back on August 25, 1987.
I was so blown away by the truth-telling I literally couldn’t get out of bed for a day and a half.
I wasn’t alone.
Others lived with the same insanity and had found a way to thrive.
There was hope, and there was hope.
In Al-Anon I learned what alcoholism was–a disease, not a disgrace.
My dad had it, and eventually I realized I had it, too.
I learned that my father had done the best he could with the tools he had.
That he hadn’t woken up each morning wondering how he could make my life worse.
That I couldn’t sit in blame or anger or hoping for a happier past.
I didn’t even need him to stop drinking.
I just needed to put the focus on myself.
And here I sit, almost 30 years later.
I have four kids now, and we go to a lot of ball games.
I was back in my hometown this weekend. After a morning AA meeting, I went for a walk and passed that same bar where I “celebrated” a birthday almost 30 years ago.
Saw my Dad, too.
He’s 82 and still drinks.
He barely knows my kids.
Or me, for that matter.
I love him anyway.
Thanks to Al-Anon, there’s acceptance where there used to be anger.
Detachment where there used to be harsh words and bitterness.
No, my dad and I didn’t see the Mets play 30 summers ago.
But for me, thanks to Al-Anon, it’s been a whole new ballgame.
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