Mind the Gap

Not long after we moved to Arizona, my daughter found a new best friend. Let’s call her Jaime.

Jaime was a quiet, serious girl. I should have liked Jaime better than I did. My daughter was in middle school and failing. Her behavior had become more and more erratic, and it was clear that she had figured out the truth parents like me dread: that I had absolutely no control over anything she did.

In a way, Jaime stepped in to fill the gap. If I set off a rocket inside her room, I could not get my daughter out of bed in time for the school bus. But Jaime did. She’d come over early and coax my daughter out of bed, into her clothes and onto the bus.

And while I knew my daughter would ignore me if I said it was time for Jaime to go home, Jaime never would. So when it got late, I’d tell my daughter loudly enough for Jaime to hear. And she’d leave over my daughter’s protests that she stay.

I should have liked Jaime, but I didn’t. I didn’t like Jaime because my daughter started really slipping about the time she met her. And I didn’t want to admit that it could be my daughter (or me!) who was the problem. Jaime made a convenient and uncomplaining scapegoat.

The other reason I resented Jaime is that her mother never did any of the driving. So one day, I decided that I was done with that. I agreed to drive the girls to the movies one night, only on the condition that Jaime’s mom would drive the next time. All parties agreed and I assumed it was all settled.

Until the night Jaime’s mom was supposed to drive. My daughter had walked over to Jaime’s house, but not long afterward, the two girls turned up at our house with some story that didn’t make any sense. Something about Jaime’s shoe being lost after it fell off the top of the car.

So I marched over to Jaime’s house to get to the bottom of things. I pounded on the door, and Jaime’s mom answered. It was obvious that she was quite drunk.

I don’t know why I hadn’t figured this out before. My mom did the same thing. When I was growing up, she always made excuses for not driving. She said she couldn’t drive me anywhere in the evenings because she didn’t want to change out of her robe. But the truth is that every evening she was drunk.

Once I saw Jaime’s mom, everything made sense: Jaime’s hyper sense of responsibility, her desire to take care of everyone else, her serious nature. Yet she never let on. I imagine she was ashamed.

I was ashamed, too. Jaime was a lot like I was at her age. If anyone should have seen the signs, it should have been me.

My sponsor talks about “the blessing” that every child should receive at birth: Receiving the blessing means to be:

Named
Accepted
Revered
Respected
Cherished
Loved

That doesn’t always happen. I believe all parents want to give their children these things. But sometimes they can’t. They didn’t receive the blessing from their parents, and they can’t give what they don’t have.

Having grown up in an alcoholic home, I didn’t receive the blessing. So I didn’t know how to give it to my own daughter, much less anyone else’s.

Yet, I always wished that, knowing what I knew, I could have been an adult who “stood in the gap” for Jaime.

During Alateen certification training, I was counseled to “check my motives.” I thought I knew what they were. I thought that having grown up in an alcoholic home, I had something to offer these kids. Short of murder, there could be little dysfunction that I could not relate to from my own personal experience. I can relate to having witnessed alcohol and drug abuse, violence and sexual abuse, scuffles with police.

But I realize today that my motives run more deeply than that. I did not subject my daughter to the same conditions I grew up in, but I was not the parent I wanted to be. Even after having made my amends, I regret that I wasn’t able to give my daughter the blessing. God knows I wanted to. I did the best I knew how.

And I can’t think of Jaime without regret.

But this program teaches me that I can’t go back in time. I can’t be the mother I wish I had been. And I can’t be that caring adult for Jaime.

I can only choose how I will behave today.

At some point, I realized that my service in Alateen is less about the kind of parents I had, but the kind of parent I was. It’s a kind of living amends.

By being an Alateen sponsor, I can be an example of the Al-Anon program to these kids. I can stand in the gap for them. And that’s a blessing.

The Breakfast Club

I attended my first Alateen meeting last night.

When I walked in, my first thought was "Breakfast Club." There were a couple of kids with gloves with the fingertips cut off. Three of them wore winter hats, one with ear flaps.

Should I mention the temps hit 100 yesterday?

I tried not to stare at one girl, whose side part seemed to originate at about her ear. I kept looking to see how she kept her hair from cascading down her face.

One of the older boys brought his new iPad. Another showed the other Alateen sponsor pictures of his new dog on his cellphone.

After my certification training and my conversation with my sponsor, I had certain expectations. (I cringe to have to write this, but it's true.)

I was surprised to find kids ranging to 8 to 18. There are differing thoughts on this. At the certification training, the Alateen coordinator said that groups are often age segregated, as the things the older kids want to talk about is not always appropriate for the younger ones. She also said the older kids use a fair amount of profanity.

"Don't expect them to behave like adults in an Al-Anon meeting," she said. "They will sit on each other's laps. They will be texting while other people are talking. This will bother no one but you. Don't think they are not also listening."

The Alateen sponsor last night told me that this group used to start the meeting together, then break up into two, age-segregated groups, but they haven't had enough certified sponsors to do this for some time.

But the kids were all respectful. One boy started to say a swear, but caught himself. They all seemed to like and care about each other, and to want to be there. They had voted not to allow texting during the meeting, and the chairperson (an Alateen) enforced the rule.

At the appropriate time, the other Alateen sponsor introduced me and asked me to say a little about myself. I said that I was recently certified as an Alateen sponsor. (At this point, the boy next to me offered me his fist in congratulations, which I bumped with my own.) I said I had grown up in an alcoholic home, that I had been in the program for a couple of years, that my daughter was the reason I was in Al-Anon, that I was happy to be there.

The other sponsor explained that they would get to vote me in.

"You don't have to take what we give you," she said.

"I vote for her," the boy next to me said.

"Well, let's wait until we know she's interested," replied the other Alateen sponsor.

"Are you interested?" a boy sitting across the table wanted to know. His gaze felt intense. The room got quiet.

"Yes," I said. "As a matter of fact I am."

"Okay, then," the boy said, slapping the table. "I vote yes."

Then hands went up around the room and there was a little cheer and they boy next to me said, "There, now you're in. You can't back out of it."

The kids run their own meetings, and the chairperson shared on the topics of laziness and trust. They passed by getting up and hugging the person they were passing to.

There was a lot of giggling and side whispering which, as the Alateen coordinator had said, seemed to bother no one but me. The kids all shared, but one, who asked the other Alateen sponsor if she was allowed to pass. They seemed to talk easily and honestly.

Laziness was the chief topic. They confessed to not doing their homework and barely passing classes as a result, cleaning their rooms by stuffing everything in the closet. One girl said it took her, "seriously" all day to clean her hamster's cage, while it took her mom just an hour. The older kids talked about putting off filing financial aid paperwork, looking into colleges, looking for jobs.

As for trust, more than one kid said, "I trust you guys."

The girl with the side part shared that she had invited a friend to the meeting, whose parents were alcoholics. "It's really fun and awesome," she told her friend. But her friend didn't want to go because "then everybody would know. It was sad."

After all the kids had shared, the other Alateen sponsor shared. Then she passed to me.

She did this with by offering me her fist. I hit her fist with mine, and then we both opened our hands flat, as the kids had taught us to do. We both laughed as we did it.

While I talked, kids looked at the table or their hands or fidgeted with the tassels on their hat. They sneaked sideways glances at me. But they got quiet. I could almost hear the Alateen coordinator say, "Don't think they're not listening."

Then we all shared "happys and crappys," of each. Me included. My happy was that I had been voted in, and they all cheered.

Grace Calling

God came calling the other day.

At least I’m pretty sure it was Him. Sometimes it’s hard to be sure. He takes so many forms.

But I’m pretty sure it was Him, because I had been praying for guidance, and this seemed to be His answer.

If you have been reading this blog for a while, you probably know I recently got certified as an Alateen sponsor. It’s something I’ve wanted to do for a long time.

Then Alateen certification training just happened to be held on a Saturday I was going to be in town, which was rare. So I went and got certified.

I knew there was a need—a desperate need—for Alateen sponsors in a couple of groups. The problem was that those groups were held on nights that I’m almost never in town. So I’ve been praying about it, knowing that God would put me where he needed me.

Then last Monday, when I saw my sponsor at a meeting, she said: “Remind me to talk to you about Alateen during our call time.”

So I did.

My sponsor has been an Alateen sponsor for three years, in one of the groups where there is a desperate need. At this point feels she’s probably been there too long. She feels burned out. But she’s unwilling to just walk away.

“I know you’re not usually home on Thursdays,” she began. “But I was wondering if you’d be willing to commit to one week a month.”

I had thought about that myself but I worried how my husband would react, and whether one week a month was enough to forge a meaningful relationship with the kids.

But now I was feeling led.

I agreed to talk with my husband about it. As it happened, I knew this weekend we’d be home, so I could attend the meeting and meet the kids.

She told me the meetings varied between 10 and 20 kids each week.

“I have to tell you, it’s a rowdy group,” she said. “That’s part of the reason we’ve had trouble getting sponsors in there. You definitely have to be able to be willing to be tough with them and tell them to cut the crap.”

Yikes! This was beginning to sound tough.

But I reminded myself that God puts me where he needs me. That I always get more than I give. That God doesn’t choose the equipped, he equips the chosen.

I talked to my husband, and he was supportive.

So tomorrow I will attend my first Alateen meeting.

Pray for me.

In the Stars?

I attended Alateen certification training yesterday.

As an adult child of an alcoholic, service in Alateen is something that's been on my heart since I started exploring service opportunities a year ago. But I didn't have enough time in the program to qualify.

Since then, I've taken service commitments in my home group, begun my service work in the state prison and taken on three sponsees. I believed I was pretty well committed.

But I also believe in being open to guidance from my Higher Power, and I know that what He has planned for me is seldom what I have planned.

Last week, the area Alateen coordinator announced the training this Saturday and I had just passed my second year in the program (the length of time required to qualify). I'm almost never in town on a Saturday, but there I was, with plans to be in town on a Saturday.

So I attended the training and submitted my references and required documentation for certification.

I don't know what I will do with this. There are two meetings desperately seeking Alateen sponsors, and both are on nights I'm seldom in town.

So while I'm waiting for my certification to be processed, I will pray on this.

I'm not big on Horoscopes since I've learned to rely more on God, but just for fun, I clipped the horoscope on my birthday this year.

It says: "...As you study and take in many experiences, you have the sense that you don't yet know how to apply what you've learned. Hold tight. Your purpose is more obvious in the spring. A door opens to your life's work in April..."