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My Daughter Named Her Son After Me and It’s Not Because I’m a Good Dad – AA Speaker – Frank J. | Sober Sunrise

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Sober Sunrise — AA Speaker Podcast

SPEAKER TAPE • 49 MIN
DATE PUBLISHED: March 24, 2026

My Daughter Named Her Son After Me and It’s Not Because I’m a Good Dad – AA Speaker – Frank J.

Frank J. shares his raw story of hitting rock bottom homeless and broken, then rebuilding his life through AA. How his daughters came to respect him again—not because he’s a good dad, but because he stayed sober.

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Frank J. is an AA speaker whose life spiraled from the Marine Corps through Vietnam, violent crime, homelessness, and a complete loss of everything—family, money, dignity. In this AA speaker tape, he describes the exact moment a doctor told him he had months to live, how his parents committed him to a hospital, and what happened when he walked into his first AA meeting angry, broken, and convinced he was different from everyone there. The story doesn’t end in inspiration—it ends in the quiet, hard work of becoming a father his daughters could actually respect.

Quick Summary

Frank J., a veteran and former police officer, shares his descent into addiction through Vietnam, affairs, domestic violence, and homelessness, then his recovery in Alcoholics Anonymous over 29 years. He describes hitting bottom at age 36 with cirrhosis of the liver, being committed to a hospital, and initially resisting AA before finally getting a sponsor and working the steps. His central message: sobriety isn’t about becoming a wonderful person—it’s about showing up, doing the work, respecting the program, and letting your actions speak to your family, which is why his daughters eventually named their sons after him.

Episode Summary

Frank J. walks into this meeting as someone who has earned the right to speak hard truths. His story begins in a small Illinois town where he learned early to lie, cheat, and steal—not because of his parents, but because those things were easier. That character followed him into the Marine Corps at 17, where he discovered alcohol was the key to being the man he thought he needed to be.

What unfolds is a brutal account of how a guy uses alcohol to become someone he’s not. In Okinawa at 18, Frank gets drunk, sleeps with a woman, sets her house on fire, beats a cab driver nearly to death, and ends up in the brig for 337 days. He tells it plainly: alcohol made him believe he was untouchable. Everything he did seemed okay to him because he was doing it. He didn’t see the problem—he saw the people around him as the problem.

After the Marines, he becomes a cop. Gets married. Has kids. And the cycle continues—bars, affairs, fighting, escalation. One night, drunk and convinced his wife needs to obey him, he pulls a gun on her. His daughter is standing between his legs begging him not to shoot her mother. The safety is stuck. He hits a pen at the receiver. The gun fires. The bullet goes through his hand and between his daughter’s legs. It misses her by inches.

By his late 30s, Frank has lost everything. Two failed marriages. Four kids he’s damaged. Money from real estate, gone. He ends up homeless, passing blood, dying from cirrhosis. A woman from his past finds him on the streets, takes him to a doctor. The doctor tells him plainly: “You’re addicted like a heroin addict. If you don’t stop drinking, you’re going to die.”

Frank’s response? He buys a fifth of whiskey and drinks it.

His parents commit him. Strapped down in a hospital. And then they take him to an AA meeting.

He walks in hating every one of them. These “losers” in clean clothes, smiling, greeting each other. He’s lost everything they have—money, properties, women—and they’re acting happy. He judges them immediately. One old-timer looks him in the eye and says: “You ain’t got any of that now. You’re homeless. Get your coffee, shut up, and sit down. Go to 90 meetings in 90 days.”

What Frank does next is the real story. He doesn’t magically transform. He doesn’t become a wonderful person. He goes to meetings. He gets a sponsor. He learns that his wife’s not his business. His kids aren’t there to perform for him. Being a husband and father means respecting them, not controlling them. He learns to lower his voice. To stop using the language of bars around his family. To work the steps—not to become enlightened, but to become different enough that his kids might forgive him.

Over 29 years sober, Frank doesn’t float hand-in-hand with God. He’s still intense. He still feels lust, greed, sloth. He still has character defects. What changed is that he doesn’t act on them. He doesn’t let them overrule his life. His sponsor told him: “You’re never going to rise above human. You don’t have to be what your home group wants you to be. Find out who you are and start working on changing that.”

His daughters grew up. One became a lawyer and general counsel for a medical corporation. One got a master’s degree and teaches fifth grade. One went through the LAPD Academy and graduated in the top five. And when his oldest daughter had a son, she named him Frank. Not because he’s a good dad. But because he stayed sober. Because he showed his kids through action what AA could do. Because he learned to be present and let them make their own choices instead of trying to control them.

Frank closes with this: “It’s not because I’m a good dad. It’s because Alcoholics Anonymous taught me how to be a father.”

He also talks plainly about what AA isn’t. It’s not a self-help program. It’s not about journaling your feelings. It’s a program where you get a sponsor, you work the steps from the Big Book, you make amends to people you’ve harmed, you get involved in service work—picking up chairs, washing floors, giving something back instead of draining the meeting. He’s direct about this because he’s lived it: AA works if you work it. If you fake it, put on a facade, come in cute and don’t do anything—you’ll stay sick.

The emotional center of the talk is this: Frank isn’t here to inspire you. He’s here to tell you what he did when he had nothing left. How he showed up angry and stayed anyway. How he listened to people who’d already walked the path. And how, over time, his kids came to see him not as the man who almost shot their mother, but as their father.

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Listen to the full AA speaker meeting above or on YouTube here.

Notable Quotes

I’m a human being. I am exactly the same person that walked into Alcoholics Anonymous a little over 29 years ago. If you scratch a scab off of me, I’ll bleed on you.

Alcohol tells me when I’m drinking that I’m a good husband. Alcohol tells me that I’m a good father. Alcohol tells me everything I do is okay because I’m doing it.

My sponsor told me: You’re never going to rise above human. You don’t have to be what your home group wants you to be. You have to find out who you are and what you are and start working on changing that.

When I get direction from my sponsor, I don’t have to have seen it work before. All I have to do is get up off my dead butt and go do it. Everything I’ve been told to do in Alcoholics Anonymous has benefited me.

It’s not because I’m a good dad. It’s because Alcoholics Anonymous taught me how to be a father. And that’s what allows me to just be her dad.

Key Topics
Step 4 – Resentments & Inventory
Sponsorship
Hitting Bottom
Making Amends
Family & Relationships

Hear More Speakers on Hitting Bottom & Early Sobriety →

Timestamps
00:00Frank introduces himself and begins with humor about the meeting
03:15His childhood in Danville, Illinois—learning to lie, cheat, and steal early on
07:45First drink at a party at 15, blackout, and the beginning of his pattern
12:30Joining the Marine Corps at 17, drinking in bars in Okinawa, first violence
18:20Vietnam tour as a sniper, using alcohol to numb fear, committing acts he’s not proud of
25:00Coming home, marrying, starting a family, affair with his female police partner
28:45Getting shot in the head by his partner, becoming a real estate agent
31:15Age 36, losing everything—wife, kids, house, money, ending up homeless and dying
35:30Doctor tells him he has cirrhosis and will die if he doesn’t stop drinking
39:45Parents commit him to hospital, first AA meeting—hating everyone there
43:20Sponsor tells him: “You haven’t got a drinking problem, you’ve got a living problem”
48:15The turning point: doing what the old-timers told him to do, learning to love his kids again
54:00His three daughters’ accomplishments and how his eldest named her son after him
61:30His message: AA works if you work it, if you get a sponsor, show up, and give back

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Topics Covered in This Transcript

  • Step 4 – Resentments & Inventory
  • Sponsorship
  • Hitting Bottom
  • Making Amends
  • Family & Relationships

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Full AA Speaker Transcript

This transcript was auto-generated and may contain minor errors. For the best experience, listen to the audio above.

Welcome to Sober Sunrise, a podcast bringing you AA speaker meetings with stories of experience, strength, and hope from around the world. We bring you several new speakers weekly, so be sure to subscribe. If you'd like to help us remain self-supporting, please visit our website at sober-rise.com.

Whether you join us in the morning or at night, there's nothing better than a sober sunrise. We hope that you enjoy today's speaker. Please join me in giving a warm Laguna Beach welcome to tonight's speaker, Frank from Sherman Oaks.

>> I'm Frank Jones. I'm an alcoholic. Want to thank Jim for asking me to come and speak here at your meeting and then he split so he don't have to take the heat.

>> So I want to thank Andy for allowing me to participate here since he's the acting secretary. I'm sitting there in that front seat and I'm worried. I don't know when Tommy's oxygen bottle is going to run out.

Just it just keeps puffing and I don't know. Everybody keep eye on if he goes down. Somebody get up and give him mouth to mouth cuz I'm not going to always get a always get a kick out of this meeting uh when I come here and speak and uh they always ask for the newcomers and I don't know why.

All you got to do is look in the back. They're all standing back there wearing hats. So, hell, they're easy to pick out.

We're like men who have lost their shoes. We never get new ones. No, that ain't what it says.

It's legs. You keep working the steps and going to meetings and listening to your sponsor, you'll be able to afford shoes. So will you, Herby.

>> Well, it's just good to be here. And uh before the meeting tonight, I got to have dinner with one of the guys I sponsor and two of his friends. And uh if you just look at them, you'll know what I was doing.

I was sitting in the booth trying to look like they just moved in on me and I didn't know who they were. It's goddamn sad. I'll tell you that.

When I started sponsoring Vic, I had jet black hair and I've sponsored him about four years. This is what's happened. Just a heartache.

I love Alcoholics Anonymous and uh it's the only place I have ever found. It keeps my head quiet and calms my stomach and allows me to live outside these rooms relatively comfortable most of the time. And when I got here, I didn't think that Alcoholics Anonymous was for me.

I didn't care about the 12 steps. The traditions really didn't interest me. And uh I thought a sponsor was Pepsi Cola, Budweiser, or Marboro.

I had no clue what that was and what a sponsor was. And uh I sat in the back and I didn't pay attention and I did it my way. And I'm glad I stuck around long enough to find out that the more effort I put into Alcoholics Anonymous, the better my life got.

And the better my life got, the quieter my head got. So I'm glad I stuck around and found that out. I was born in Danville, Illinois.

I had great parents there. Married each other 50 years. That's not why I'm an alcoholic.

I did all the things that kids like doing in the Midwest. I played little league baseball and pony league. I played football, basketball, and run track.

Uh, won nine varsity letters in high school, had a scholarship to go play basketball at a university. And that's not why I'm an alcoholic. I come into Alcoholics Anonymous, and I finally did that inventory, read it to my sponsor, talked about my defects of character and my shortcomings, and I found out some things about me growing up that I didn't analyze or think about.

I don't analyze my childhood. I'm not searching for my inner child. If I ever find that little sob, I'll choke his ass out.

He needs to stay hid. And uh but uh I found out growing up I lied all the time. I cheated and I stole all the time cuz my parents never taught me that.

It's just easier to do that. I mean, when you're a liar, you can be anything you want to be. I've been an airline pilot, cross country truck driver, uh you know, I've I've been a dentist.

I've been a gynecologist. I've whatever the hell suited me in the bar, I was. And uh when you tell the truth, it's just there and you can't change it.

And I cheated all the time cuz I never wanted to work hard and earn anything. I'm lazy. Give me li can I have?

Let me borrow. Do for me. Help me out.

I need a hus. And uh that's my parents never taught me that. And uh and I just uh stole all the time because it's easier to uh steal than it is to stand in line and pay for something.

And when you leave the store, you got the money in the item, you're a double winner. I like that. And those things didn't make me an alcoholic.

I wanted to be a macho guy and I wore glasses. I was skinny and afraid of the dark. And uh that didn't make me an alcoholic.

First time I drank was at a party in Danville. It was a hot summer night and all the guys from Ball Team were there and we were having a big party with our girlfriends and my girlfriend brought me over a big iced tea glass with Slow Jin and Seven Up in it. And uh I didn't know what Slow Jin was.

Never heard of it. And uh it was red and had ice in it. And uh it looked like strawberry Kool-Aid.

And I took a little taste of it and that's what it tasted like to me. And I love strawberry Kool-Aid. And so I chug lugged it down.

Nothing happened. I asked my girlfriend to get me another one. She brought another one and I drank that one down.

Nothing happened. I didn't throw on a wrinkle trench coat and put a bottle of wine in a paper bag and shoot to Skid Row. I didn't uh talk to the high school counselor and says, "Hey, how do I become an alcoholic?

I want to drive my ass down to Laguna Beach someday so I can speak down there. And uh I wasn't drinking for the taste or the effect of what alcohol was doing to me or for me. I was drinking for one reason and one reason only.

All my buddies at the party were drinking. And I wanted to fit in with my buddies. I wanted to be a part of that brotherhood and fraternity guys that hung together and did stuff together.

And I was drinking cuz they're drinking. And uh I drank almost a gallon of slow gin in about 30 40 minutes and it was no big deal. Nothing happened.

About 20 minutes after I drank the last glass though, I found out where Slow Jin got its name. I got drunk as hell, went into a blackout. They drugged me home that night, dumped me off, and when I come to the next morning, I'm sicker than a dog.

My head's pounding. I'm puking everything up I had eat and drink that night and I'm sick. And I had no recollection of how I got home that night.

I didn't know what a blackout was. Never heard of it. And I come into Alcoholics Anonymous.

The old-timers told me for me a blackout's when I drink alcohol, I'll still go out and do whatever it is I'm going to do that night and the next morning I'll have amnesia either about all or parts of that night. They said that's an indication I had a problem drinking and that cleared it up for me right there. I missed three days of school with a terrible hangover.

Went back to school and the guys told me about that night. They said I was dancing and laughing and funny and some guy said something and I got to punch him and uh when they told me about that night, what I felt was a part of the guys. I felt like I'd fit in and had a great time.

I didn't remember any of it, but sounded cool to me. I had a great time. And I didn't turn into a blazing alcoholic after that and get the shakes and study all when I didn't drink.

I drank when I could get it. When I drank, I got drunk. When I got drunk, I got in fights cuz that's what men do.

And I wanted to be a man. And I started getting in trouble. Two weeks before I'm supposed to graduate from high school, I have a scholarship to go play ball.

And I got a committee now that talks to me. My committee told me, he says, 'What if you go to that college, Frank, and you don't make the team or get grades good enough to stay on the team? What that did is scare me.

That filled me full of fear. And I didn't know it was fear back then. And I made a keen alcoholic decision.

I quit high school. Made sense to me at the time. You don't have to go to college on a scholarship if you don't graduate.

So, I quit. Now, I didn't quit because I was full of fear. What my head says is, I'm tired of school and I don't want to go anymore.

That's what my head tells me. I don't know what your head tells you when you drink, but when my head tells me something when I drink, I do it because I believe my head. Two weeks later, I'm drinking with the guys and I had another keen alcoholic thought.

I'm a macho type guy and I decided to join the Marine Corps. If you're a wimp and a wussy and afraid of the dark, you shouldn't do that. You should go in the Navy.

and uh or he can go in the army. Doesn't matter. Either one.

And uh I found myself on a train going up to Chicago to get sworn in and I'm homesick and afraid. And the train ain't moved out of Danville yet. And I, you know, and I'm sitting next to a guy.

He's going in the Marine Corps and he's got a long sideburns and a ducttail haircut. And he's wearing one of those macho black leather jackets with zippers and chains on it. and this, you know, this is a cool dude here and uh he's drinking out of a little brown bottle.

He asked me if I want some of it and I want to fit with him. And so I tell him, "Yeah, I'll take some of that." And I chug like two or three big mouthfuls of it. And I don't know how you drank whiskey at the age of 17, but I sprayed that crap all over the seat in front of me.

And I I had whiskey coming out my eyes and my nose is running. I got whiskey coming out my nose. This guy's looking at me like I'm a wimp and I hate that feeling.

And I wiped off my face and I handed him the bottle and I said, 'You know, that's pretty good. He says, 'You want some more?' I said, 'I can't breathe right now. I drank.

All I did is drink to fit in and to be a part of. And I got sworn in in Chicago and they flew us out here to Marine Corps recruit depot and I went through boot camp scared and homesick and I can't tell anybody about that. And I learned to put a facade out there and act like what I thought a man should act like.

And I struggled. I got through boot camp in uh 1962 and then the Cuban crisis happened in October and I'm in the infantry and find myself on a ship going down the coast of California in a convoy to go to war and I'm afraid. I can't tell anybody about that fear.

I'm ashamed of that. Nothing happens in the in the Caribbean and we come back through the Panama Canal and go to the Far East and uh first night there we unpack our gear and the guys come up and said, "Hey, Frank, we're going out in the vil and get drunk. You want to go with us?" The guys asked me to go in the vill.

Now, I don't know how many of you guys have been in the vil, but that even sounds cool. I'm going in the vil tonight. Okay.

And I said, "Yeah, I'll go with you. That's great." And I went out in the vill with the five or six Marines, and we bought a typhoon fifth of Saki, and they're passing the bottle of saki around and chugalugging it, and they're doing the male bonding act. Macho guys do it.

They're hugging and headlocking each other, doing knuckle push-ups in the gravel, and they're ooh, and you know, I like that. You know, that bottle gets to me and I chug a lug three or four big mouthfuls of it. And I don't know how you drank sack at the age of 17.

I sprayed that crap all over their shoes. And uh they started laughing and pointing at me and I felt like a and I hate that feeling. And that bottle come around again and I chug lug some more and I puked it up and they kept laughing.

And uh I learned something that night in Okinawa. If you're going to be an alcoholic, you can't let bad bother you. You got to just hang in, you know.

And we hung in. I think that's important. And uh you know I kept drinking that stuff and I finally held enough sacki down and I don't know what alcohol did for you but I'll tell you what alcohol did for me.

I held enough sacki down and I looked at those five or six Marines I'm drinking with and I realized something. These guys are punks. Why am I hanging out with these sissies?

You know, I became all I could be uh when I drank. That's all. And I I left those guys.

I went out drinking on my own and I'm in a bar drinking a shooting pool with a marine from another unit and he said something that evidently offended me and I hit him in the face with a pool queue. Now I seen it in the movies that look cool, but he's laying there bleeding and they're calling the military police now and I don't want to go to the brig. I'm 17 years old.

I knew I shouldn't have done that. I feel that guilt and that shame when you're in a lot of trouble and you don't know how you're going to get out of it and I'm afraid and I run out of that bar down through the alleys in a noco and I go in another bar and I order a shooter and a beer and I drink that down and I order another shooter and drink that down and the feeling comes over me that if the MPs walk in they ain't going to take me alive. That's how I get when I drink.

When I drink, I don't care about anything. And I start bragging to the Marines sitting next to me about hitting a guy with a pool cube. And then I look down at the end of the bar and there's a Nissan sitting down there.

And I'm a sucker for a pretty face. Women have been able to take me for every dime I've got my entire life. It's just there should be another 12step program for it.

I'm telling you that right now. And that young lady slid up next to me and she asked me to buy her a drink. And so I seen the opportunity and so I bought her a drink.

And then she started telling me a sad story about how she needed money cuz her mom needed surgery. And it just broke my heart. And so, uh, I gave her some more money and her and I trudged the road of happy destiny to her hooch.

And, uh, you know, I'd like to stand here and brag to you tonight that she probably still remembers it to this day. Hell, it was over too quick for me to remember it. And, uh, you know, that embarrassed me and made me feel like a wimp.

And I hate that feeling. And, uh, when she went to clean up, I stole my money out of her headboard and set her house on fire. I just It just seemed right at the time and I went back to the base and I passed out and revly the next morning.

I'm puking up everything I'd eat and drink that night. My head's pounding and I don't remember anything that happened in the vil. I have no recollection of what went on that night.

And I'm in the head throwing up and the guys tell me the MPs are looking for who hit the guy. And the fear come back and the guilt and that shame. Then they told me about a fire in a vil.

You see, my father hadn't raised me to act that way. Him and my mom were married 50 years. And uh I don't know where those actions came from.

I never heard that man raise his voice to my mother. And I was ashamed of that. I didn't know how I was going to make that right.

And I was scared. And I found out a secret that morning in Okinawa. I opened up my locker and there was a bottle in there.

It had a big red dot on it. That's called Okadama wine. I took that bottle of wine out of that locker, unscrewed the cap and I chug lugged some of it and I didn't puke it up.

I drank some more of that wine and went out to formation. By the time that formation was over and I walked back in that barracks, something funny had happened. My headaches all gone.

My stomach I didn't have a hangover. I don't know what that tells you, but what that tells me is if I drink in the morning, I don't have to be sick. I went back to the locker, got the bottle of wine out, poured it in canteen cup, and started drinking it.

20 minutes later, I'm bragging about hitting that guy with a pool cube. I'm bragging about setting that woman's house on fire. You see, when I'm drinking, I think everything I do is cute.

I don't know about you and how you act when you drink. But when I'm drinking, I think everything that I do is okay or I wouldn't have done it. Once my head says it's okay to do, I'm going to go do it.

It's that way today. That's why I have a sponsor. And if I run it by him and he tells me something different, I ain't doing it.

But if I make the decision and I don't run it by anybody, I don't care what that decision is. I will go do it. You can't talk me out of it.

And uh when I'm drinking, I don't care about responsibility. I don't I don't know what kind of drinker you were, but I don't pay my bills on time. If I pay them at all, I'm not worried about being faithful to a wife or a girlfriend.

I don't care whose life I walk through. I don't care whose life I ruin when I'm drinking. What I care about is me.

I am the mighty I am. And I became a morning drinker and a daily drinker at the age of 17. All my money went on booze and women in the bars and uh I thought macho guys fought and so I did and that's going to keep you away from me and you won't know how I feel like a wimp and I became a fighter and uh Marine Corps frowns on that and I'd made a stripe and they took it away from me and then they restricted me to the base and then the barracks and if you'd ever walked up to me over there and said, "You know what, Frank?

Every time you drink, pal, you get in trouble. You need to watch your drinking." I could have looked you dead in the eye and give you reasons why my drinking didn't have anything to do with the problems I had. It was them.

If that guy in the bar hadn't have said that to me, I wouldn't hit him with a glass ashtray. It ain't my fault. He needs to learn how to talk to people in public.

The duty NCO hadn't said, "Shut up and go hit the rack." I wouldn't have smacked the duty NCO. I'm not stupid. He needs to learn communication skills.

And I blamed everybody and everything for all my problems until I got to Alcoholics Anonymous. I blamed my wife, the kids, the job, the boss. I blamed everybody.

And the old-timers in my home group when I got here snapped me up and said, "You want to see what the problem is, Slim? Go look in the mirror." The 12 steps in that big book are made for you to work, not the people around you. He said, "Your wife don't have to work this program.

Your kids don't. The boss don't. The police don't.

You have to work this program and become different. If you don't, you'll drink again." Because the Frank Jones that walked into a had to drink to live outside these rooms. So he said, "If you don't change, you're done." I'm glad I heard that.

I ended up getting in a lot of trouble over there. I perceived the cab drivers had their meters fixed to rip us servicemen off and uh I decided to get some of my money back and he decided he didn't want to give it to me so I beat his face in with a rock and they put me in the brig and I was in a lot of trouble. It was 1963 and uh March and uh my dad flew from the states to Okinawa and met with the commanding general.

I was in a lot of trouble and he paid for that guy's surgery and paid for his retirement. gave that cab company a lump sum of money and just begged the Marine Corps not to throw me out. It's the only thing I knew how to do and I'm 18 years old and it ain't the way it is today in the military and time by by the time some deal was cut to let me out of the brig I'd spent 337 days locked up.

If you'd have told me it was behind getting money to drink on, I could have looked you dead in the eye and said ain't got nothing to do with it. They let me out of that brig. They sent me to Camp Lleune, North Carolina.

And I went through Illinois on my way down there and met a girl out of high school and married her, took her down to North Carolina with me. And uh she wants me to stay home and be a husband. I'm a bar drinker.

I like the intelligent guys and the beautiful women in the bars. Now, I don't know how you guys would get out of the house, but I tell you what I'd do. I'd start a fight with that beast and make it look like it's her fault.

And now we're arguing and fighting and cussing, and I I just can't drink in a noisy place. and I got to get the hell out of there and I'd leave the house. And now I'm in there and I'm in a bar drinking and some guy say something.

I'd hit him with a bottle and I have to leave that bar. They're calling the Jacksonville police and I'd go to another bar and I'd sit in there and I'd lock eyes with some honey. And guys like me got to be validated cuz I don't feel like a man.

And so we hook up with a woman and trudge off to her place and do what we got to do. Then I'm laying in her bed sobering up and I'm starting to think. You should never drink and think.

That's a bad deal. That will get you in trouble. The feelings I'm feeling are the feelings you're going to feel when you're a liar and you're a cheat.

And I can't go home and look at that woman now because I know that it's me. It's not her. So I stop and have a couple of shots of whiskey and a beer.

And what my head says is this a guy thing, man. This ain't no big deal. Guys do that.

And I go home and I walk in and she says, "Where have you been?" I hate that question. Now I got to lie to her. I wouldn't be a liar if she hadn't asked that question.

And then we get in another cuss fight. I come into Alcoholics Anonymous and I found out my wife's none of my business. It's not my job to tell her what to do.

It's not my job to tell her what to cook for dinner or how to clean the house or what to wear. My sponsor told me if you don't like what your wife cooks for for dinner, cook your own dinner and shut up about it. She evidently likes what she cooked.

If you don't like how the house looks and it ain't clean enough, clean the damn house yourself, but keep your mouth shut about it. I had to learn a how to be a husband. I didn't have a clue.

I thought I had to be the boss. And then uh I found out that uh you know I needed to treat her the way I wanted to be treated and I had to respect her if I wanted her to respect me. I had to learn here about relationships cuz I didn't have a clue.

Then we had a kid and I don't know how to treat kids. I mean what the hell's up with them. I mean they cry, they make messes.

They break things. They crap in their diapers. I mean no human ought to do that to it.

And I would shake her and I'd throw her in a crib and the wife would start and the kids crying and now she's crying and I just can't handle that pressure. And the only thing that takes away being a bad father is a couple of shots of whiskey and a beer. I come in to AA and I found out kids are little people.

That that's what they do when they grow up. They make messes. They spill things.

They make noise. And my sponsor told me, "Lower your voice in the house. Don't use the language at home and in AA meetings that you used to use in the bars." He said, 'The women and and your wife and your kids don't need to hear the f- word and that other crap you used to talk.

He said, 'Th that don't make you a man to use that kind of language in front of women and kids. He said, ' It makes you a mental trying to express yourself forcibly. And he said, "Quit doing it." And I had to learn here how to how to be a husband and a father in Alcoholics Anonymous.

Because I didn't have a clue. Then I got called into the CEO's office. They issued me a rifle with a telescope on it, live ammunition, and sent me across the ocean to a place called Vietnam.

And Vietnam ain't my problem. It's never been my problem. My problem is standing here in the middle of my wardrobe tonight.

I'm the problem. I'm a sniper. I'm up at Kesan and Kiana in ' 6768 and I can't tell anybody about the fear I feel.

I'm ashamed of it. And I found out a secret in Vietnam. 151 proof rum.

You put that in your cantens, you drink that, you are bulletproof and invisible. And I used to put that stuff in my cantens and I'd go out on those patrols and uh I'd do the things I thought I had to do to impress the other Marines and show them how tough I was. And I did a lot of bad things to a lot of people.

And I'm not proud of that. That's where alcohol allows me to go. I don't know where alcohol allows you to go.

And I come into Alcoholics Anonymous and what I found out is I can't change those things. I can't undo my past. It's there.

What I can do today is try not to treat people the way I used to treat them. try not to act the way I used to act. And I'm not always successful at that.

I know you can't tell I'm still intense, but I am. And I'm not a wonderful human being. I hear old-timers stand at these podiums and I hear them talking.

I holy You got to be kidding me. They're floating with God hand in hand. They're about 8 in off the ground.

And I I've never seen anybody levitate till I came to AA. I got to tell you, I'm a human being. I hear them say, "I'm I'm a completely different person than when I came to AA." And I think, what the hell did you have a sex change operation?

They did a great job, man. Damn. I am exactly the same person that walked in uh Alcoholics Anonymous a little over 29 years and 8 months ago.

I am that person. If you scratch a scab off of me, I'll bleed on you. You're not going to believe this because you think everybody in A gets wonderful.

I still have lust, greed, sloth, I have all that crap. I have all those things. They're still there.

I feel them today. I don't act on those things. I don't let them overrule my life to where when I leave a meeting or I'm in a meeting, I allow those things to dictate how I act or how I treat people.

But I am exactly that same person that walked in here. I don't kid myself. My sponsor told me, "You're never going to rise above human." He says, "You don't have to be what your home group wants you to be.

You have to find out who you are and what you are and start working on changing that." He says, "You can't change something if you don't know what it is." And he said, "If you put a facade up there and you're a phony, you can't change a phony, a phony is going to be phony." I had to find out who Frank Jones was. He He told me, though, he says, "You're an asshole." And he says, "You have a lot to work on." And and I take that to heart. I'm I I don't kid nobody.

I make a lot of amends to a lot of people. And uh I'm not a good husband or a good father, a good man, cuz I'm over 29 years sober. I'm a better husband, father, and man today than I was 29 years ago.

and tomorrow maybe I'll be a little bit better than I am today. But I've learned it's progress not perfection. And uh Alcoholics Anonymous allows me to live comfortably with that and to change a little bit every day.

I ended up getting blown up over during the siege at Quesan. I got wounded. I come back to the States and uh you know I get out of the hospital, I go home and my wife wants my attention and we'd had a son born to us while I was there and my daughter's growing up and you know that's a lot of pressure.

I'm a veteran for Christ's sakes and uh her and I are having a cuss fight. I've been home less than 48 hours and we're both drinking and yelling and screaming and cussing at each other and I finally said, "Shut up or I'll kill you." And she don't believe me. And I walked in the closet and I got the gun out I had left home with her and I walked back in that kitchen.

I said, "If you don't shut up, I'll kill you." And she didn't shut up. And when I got to Alcoholics Anonymous, I didn't believe in God. I had done too many bad things to many people.

The old-timer said, "There's always been a higher power in your life." And when I look back today, I see that and I know that's a fact. But you see my daughter standing between my legs pulling on me, telling me don't shoot her mommy. And I'm trying to get the safety off that gun and it's rusted.

I hit a pen at the base of the receiver. I pushed the pen in. It's a firing pen and the gun went off.

And the bullet went through my hand and down between my legs where my daughter was standing. And that bullet didn't hit that little girl that day. You see, I'm a blessed man for that.

I could have accidentally shot and killed my daughter cuz my wife ain't doing what I'm telling her to do cuz I'm the boss. That's where alcohol takes me. I don't know where it takes you, but that's where alcohol lets me go.

Shortly after that, she divorced me. I couldn't believe it. I mean, I fired one shot I shot myself.

I don't know what alcohol tells you, but alcohol tells me when I'm drinking it that I'm a good husband. Alcohol tells me when I'm drinking that I'm a good father. Alcohol tells me that everything I do is okay cuz I'm doing it.

I don't know what alcohol tells you. That's what alcohol tells me. And I drank over her taking my kids for a long time, I was a drill instructor in San Diego and uh I hazed recruits.

I fought in the bars down there and uh started to carry a gun and I got crazier in hell. Then I had a keen alcoholic thought after about two and a half years down there on the drill field. I decided to go back to Vietnam.

I went back to Vietnam for a second tour. I was in the infantry this time and I just repeated my bad actions from the first time and again alcohol saved my sanity. I ended up getting shot up in an ambush over this time.

I come back to the States. I've been in the Marine Corps 11 years. Marine Corps wants me to come back afternoon chow.

I can't do that. I got to drink now cuz there's demons. I know they're out there.

And so I when my enlistment was up after 11 years active duty, I got out of the Marine Corps and I became a police officer here in Southern California. That ain't funny. I will jack you up, dude.

I will jack your ass up. How do you like me now? >> >> and put your cell phones away and don't text or I will break them.

Well, as a police officer here in Southern California, I can't tell my partner the in the police car that there's demons in the alleys and I'm afraid of the dark and so before I go to work, I drink. Drinking takes the fear away. I'm not afraid of anything when I'm drinking.

Now, on the other side of that coin, if you scare me, I get violent. And I was a violent police officer in the city I worked in. I'm not proud of that.

And because of AA, I get to go into the institutions and speak in there and I make my amends and I tell them what Alcoholics Anonymous has done for me and what it can do for them if they put the effort into it and allows me to make those amends. I got married again and we had a kid and my wife got pregnant and I still don't feel like a man. And so uh I started to have an affair with my partner and I have a female partner now and it doesn't matter to me what your preference is.

Mine's female. And so her and I are having an affair and she found out that I got my wife pregnant. She took offense to that.

She shot me and uh that's You got no goddamn shoes and you think that's funny? >> OH MAN. YEAH.

SHE SHOT ME IN the head, dude. All right. All you guys that want to date women in this group, look around and see which one of them are laughing.

Because if they think it's funny that I got shot, you mess with them, they'll put a cap in your ass. Don't kid yourself. I'm going to tell you that right now.

So, you better look to see who's laughing. I'm only passing on wisdom. She shot me in the head.

And uh I thought rather than get gunned down in a police car, I'd resign. And so I left the police department and got a real estate license. If you think money, property, and prestige will fix alcoholism.

If you're an alcoholic of my type, money doesn't fix anything. Allows you to do it in a better environment. Because I made a ton of money in real estate.

I bought two new Cadillacs, paid cash, put a house on a quarter acre with a swimming pool and three old putting green. My kids wore designer clothes. I had diamond pinky rings and gold chains and I I had an Alanto Club starter kit before I even knew what A was.

I just never stooped so low as to wear an earring, though. I never did that. Oh, now if you're wearing an earring and you're a guy, don't come up to me at the end of the meeting and say, "I'm wearing an earring." I don't give a I don't care what you have pierced or where.

Okay? If you were a real man on Mother's Day or birthday or Christmas, you would give it back to them so they would have a match set again. Okay, but don't come up and show me.

I don't care. But money didn't fix it for me. I'm going to tell you.

And at the age of 36 years old, I stood there and looked around one day. And everything I'd worked all my life to get was gone. My wife and kids, the job, the car, the clothes, the jewelry, everything I owned was in a cardboard box in the backseat of a stolen car.

And that's a hell of a note for a former police officer. I ended up homeless on the streets and uh I got very sick and started passing a lot of blood when I went to the bathroom. And uh one day a woman I had worked real estate with seen me on the streets and she picked me up, took me to her house, cleaned me up and took me to a doctor.

And I don't know why. I have no re no idea why she did that. And they gave me a physical and they let me go and I went back out on the streets doing what I do.

And uh when they got the results in she found me again and took me back to that doctor and I sat in his office and he looked at me and he said, "Mr. Jones, you're addicted to alcohol the way a heroin addict is to heroin. If you don't stop drinking, you're going to die.

He says, "You have cerosis of the liver and a hole in your throat from vomiting all the time. And if you don't stop drinking, you're done." And when he told me that, what flooded over me was relief because I'm tired. It's not easy ruining your life and everybody's life around you.

I was exhausted. And I stood up and shook his hand and thanked him. I said, "Thanks, man.

I appreciate it." And I left his office and the money they gave me to eat lunch on that day, I went and bought a fifth of whiskey and a case of beer. And I drank as hard and as fast as I could. To make a long story short, my parents found out I was dying on the streets out in Semi Valley.

And uh they had me committed. They had me strapped down in this hospital in four-point restraints. And uh once they strap you down, you ain't getting out.

I tried. It just doesn't work. You just get all tired and stuff.

And uh they pump me full of vitamin B and magnesium to help with the withdrawals. And some of them I remember and some of them I don't. And uh at the end of about nine or 10 days, Ann strapped me from that bed and put me in a van and took me to a meeting of Alcoholics Anonymous.

And there's a bunch of losers there like you people. You haven't changed in over 29 years. You're still the same doing all the same crap you were doing tonight and that I witnessed in here before the meeting.

Everybody's hugging each other. You said, "Hi, how are you? Good to see you." shaking hands and you know all the ladies their hair looks nice and their makeup's on and the guys are clean and they look good and uh what I did is immediately judged you and I know nobody here judges so it's okay but I realize that you couldn't have done the things I had done in uh in Vietnam and been homeless and abused two wives and four kids and done all the stuff I had done and look as good as you guys look and what you did is you said Frank why don't you get a cup of coffee shut your mouth and sit down and I I thought I'll rip your throat out.

Don't talk to me that way. And he said, "No, there's too many of us. Why don't you rip a seat and shut up?

Why don't you go to 90 meetings in 90 days? Why don't you go to AA? If you want to drink, go to AA.

Have respect for Alcoholics Anonymous. Put your butt in a chair and listen." And I heard that over and over and over. And I left that meeting and I hated you.

And I had to come back the next day. And I walked into the meeting and I realized I had misjudged you. None of you people had made the money I had made.

You didn't have the car, the jewelry, the clothes, the women, the houses, the rental properties. You didn't have any of that crap. You're a bunch of losers.

And you guys looked at me and said, "Frank, you ain't got any of that now. You're homeless. Get your coffee, shut up, and sit down.

Go to 90 meetings in 90 days. Go to AA if you want to take a drink." And I got to tell you, if you're an alcoholic of my type, what happened to me might happen to you if you don't plug into this thing called Alcoholics Anonymous. If you don't get yourself a sponsor, don't get somebody that you can talk to about your issues.

That is treatment center cycle babble. You ain't got any issues. Okay?

I'm just tell right now. You may have an issue with me. You know, it'll pass.

I guarantee it. Every four or five seconds you'll have an issue. Well, go home and write about it.

Now, that's another thing that makes me crazy in AA. That's a bunch of crap. And anybody that tells you to go write about how you feel, tell them to show you in the big book where it says that.

What it says in that big book is write a fearless and thorough moral inventory. What it says in that big book is to make a list of people you had harmed and become willing to make amends to all of them. It don't say right about how you feel.

Nobody gives a how you feel. Get a commitment. Get busy in AA and give something back rather than sucking the life out of the meeting and leaving.

Instead of coming in here being cute for the women or mooching money or a job, do something in AA. Help pick up, clean up, wash the floors, do the trash, do something. Give instead of being the taker you are when you got here.

Now, that's what I was told. Maybe you're not like me. I don't know.

But I got to tell you, if you're an alcoholic of my type, you better get a sponsor. You better take AA seriously, and you better start having respect for it because I don't believe anybody sitting in this room tonight got here on the wings of success. Uh-uh.

You don't get here all happy and stuff. I'm going to tell you that right now. If you if you did, you ain't done yet.

Whether you like it or not, I'm just telling you. I'm not here. I'm not going to lie to you cuz I'm not going to drive back down and make amends.

You see, I walked out of that hospital and I stood out there in the sun and I started crying and all the things I had done all my life came down and sat on my chest and started choking me out. And I didn't want to take a drink of alcohol. Well, I haven't had a desire to take a drink in over 29 years.

I had a desire to commit suicide. Where do you go when you want to take your own life? Where do you go when you look down that long dark tunnel and there ain't no light down there.

Where do you go when you have no hope? What happened to me might happen to you if you don't plug into this thing called Alcoholics Anonymous. You're playing.

You bet your life. Believe it. Talk to any of the old-timers in there.

asking them how many people they've seen die because they wouldn't stay sober. They did it their way cuz they're macho or they're too cute or whatever. If you're playing, you bet your life.

I found my wife and kids up in Oregon. We moved into garage, not attached to a house in the middle of a 6acre field. We slept on the floor, ate government cheese, and block baloney, and I didn't go to meetings.

And at 6 months without a drink of alcohol and no meetings, I'm driving a stolen car on the Hollywood freeway with a 45. I'm looking for work. I have to get a job.

I have to feed those children. And this guy in front of me is driving slower than I think he should on the freeway. And I'm honking at him to get out of my way.

And he won't get out of my way. Now, here in Lagouna Beach, you folks probably really don't care about that. You probably think it's cool that everybody drives like a bunch of dummies.

I get aggravated and I'm honking at him to get out of the way and he ain't moving and I rear ended him and I chased him off the freeway and when he stopped I stopped. I got out of my car. I took the 45 out, walked up to the driver's window.

I put it in his face and I said, "If you ever drive that slow again, I'll kill you." I didn't want a bourbon and water, folks. I wanted to take that man's life. Now, you probably won't get that way, so don't worry about it.

Don't get commitments. Don't get a sponsor. Don't go to meetings regularly.

Just do it your way. So you you you're not like me at 10 months without a drink of alcohol and no meetings. I'm an alpha beta buying me Pepsi and cigarettes.

I'm not going to buy my children milk for their cereal. I'm selfish. I'm self-centered.

I'm always going to get mine first. I say I care about my children, but my actions dictate something else. And I'm standing there with my Pepsi and cigarettes, and it says 10 items or less, cash only.

My head said, "Count that woman's items." She's got 13 items in a 10 item line. I can tell already that don't aggravate you people. That aggravates the hell out of me.

And I'm standing there angry. And then my head says, "You better look at our items a little closer." And I don't know if you analyze things and and look at stuff close. Is 12 eggs 12 items or is it just eggs?

Is four apples in a bag. Is that apples or is that four more items? By the time I looked at her crap, she had about 30 items and I'm ready to launch.

I'm angry. And she broke her checkbook out. And I said, "You can't write a check.

Read the damn sign. It says cash, lady." And she said, "I'll be through in a minute, Sunny." I said, "My name ain't Sunny. I ain't Sunny right now." And you ain't writing a check.

And I took her eggs and milk. I threw that crap all over Alpha Beta. Four sheriffs will come and talk to you.

I guarantee it. I didn't want a pinina cola. I wanted to rip her blue wig off.

I hated that old person. 13 months without a drink. No meetings.

I don't go to meetings. I don't need you. I don't need a sponsor.

I'm a tough guy. I'm macho. I can do it my way.

I'm in an office interviewing for a job. A guy walks by and said, "Hey, Frank. How you doing?" I said, "That's a personal question.

Why are you prying into my private life?" And I said, "I'll tell you how I'm doing. I don't want anybody to hear this stuff, bud." I grabbed him by the throat, jerked him over a partition on, and I'm choking the hell out of him, saying, "HOW DO YOU THINK I'M FEELING RIGHT NOW?" I had a nervous breakdown. That won't happen to you.

Don't worry about it. Now, that's how I get when I don't go to meetings. That's how I get when I don't have a sponsor and I don't have commitments at the meetings and I just go there and suck the life out of it.

That's how I get today. I got to tell you how God worked in my life when I don't believe in God. There's an active member of my home group in that office that day.

Only day that man had ever been in there. And they pull my fingers off this guy's throat and they laid a card down and says, "You need to go see this guy." They took me back to the garage I was living in. I had guns and debt cord and a hang grenade.

while I was waiting on the war and they put it in a box and took rid of it and they sent my wife and kids to his family's house and uh they sent with me for about a week and I don't remember those days at all and they told me about them later and then they took me down to this guy's office and I sit in his office and I cried and what that man told me that day saved my life and my sanity up to including tonight he said Frank you haven't had a drink in over 13 months he said right now drinking ain't your problem he said what you've got's a living problem and you better find a living answer to that living problem. He says, "You'll probably find it in meetings of Alcoholics Anonymous." He said, "If you go to those meetings, there's a group of people. Walk that path before you got there.

Fall in behind them and do the things they're doing." He didn't tell me to bring the body and the mind will follow. If somebody tells you that, get away from them. They're trying to kill you.

Your mind ain't going to follow you into an AA meeting. You're going to sit there and wonder about yourself and what's that dummy up there saying, and your your mind ain't going to be on AA. He told me to just start doing the things that you people are doing.

Shake hands. Get your sick mind off your sick self. He said, "Come up here and sit in the front.

Have respect for AA and listen. It's going to save your life. Get a God." And I said, "Whoa, I don't believe in God." And he said, "Well, whoever hangs the moon out at night and takes it down in the morning, pray to them and I can do that." And I came into the meetings of Alcoholics Anonymous and I watched you people.

I watched a bunch of you and I watched how you treated each other. watched how you held hands when you said the Lord's Prayer and when you had your children with you, how you treated them. You see, you can tell me anything, but my head's as thick as my butt.

I don't listen. I got to see it. And you guys told me to go home and tell my wife and kids I loved them.

And I said, "Whoa, this is an honest program." I got sober. I don't know who they are. I have never seen them before.

And I went home and I told them I loved them day after day and week after week. And one day I went home and told them I loved them. And something funny happened.

I loved them. They had changed. I don't even know what program they've been going to.

And what I got out of that exercise in Alcoholics Anonymous and my sponsor is this. When I get direction from my sponsor, I don't have to have seen it work before. I don't have to I wonder if this will work.

Maybe I should go talk to somebody about this. Maybe I had to get some opinions on it. No.

When I get direction from any old-timer or my sponsor, NA, all I have to do is get up off my dead butt and go do it. And everything to this day, I swear to God that I've been told to do in Alcoholics Anonymous has benefited me. It's quieted my head and calmed my stomach.

To this day, I've never been told to do anything that's hurt me. Everything I've done in Alcoholics Anonymous has been of benefit to me. I got to make amends to those kids.

And uh that little girl that uh I almost shot in Oceanside, she's general counsel for medical corporation. She graduated from law school and give the commencement address. the first woman to do that.

She didn't do that because I'm a good dad. She did it because I stayed out of her life, set an example, and took AA home with me and allowed her to make her own decisions. And what I was was to try to be an example of AA.

And her and I have a relationship today. And when she got married and had a little boy, she named him after me. And that's not because I'm a good dad.

It's because I'm a member of Alcoholics Anonymous. And I take this program to heart. My middle daughter has a master's degree and teaches fifth grade.

She got married, got a little boy, and he's 19 months old now. And I get to watch that little dude. And she leaves, and she said, "Don't give him Pepsi or cookies." And I give him all that And uh cuz that's what grandparents are for, you know.

And uh you know, and then my other daughter graduated from college down here in San Diego. And she got with me and she said, "Dad, I don't I don't want to go to college three or four more years to be a veterinarian. I'm going to take my second choice." And I said, "Well, what's that, Beck?" And she said, "I want to be a police officer." And I almost crapped.

I What? And uh she said, "Yeah, I want to be a police officer." And I said, "Well, you know what? I support you.

You do what you got to do, babe. I I love you." And she went through LAPD Academy for 32 weeks and she graduated in the top five. And she did her probation year at Rampart Division.

And uh ain't nothing but a bunch of dirt bags down there. And I know that. And uh I met her partner one day and he's a big buff dude and stuff.

And I said, "Let me tell you something, pal. if my daughter ever gets injured on the job and I'm going to the hospital to visit her when I get there you need to be injured too even if it's self-inflicted. And he looked at Beck and he says, "Your dad's serious." She said, "Yeah, that's my dad." I have a relationship with her and she got married in July in Hawaii and I thought I'd walk her down the aisle like my other two daughters in a tux.

Now this daughter hears different music and uh I was in sandals and linen shirt, linen pants. She got married on the beach and It just made me crazy. And her reception was on a boat.

They went scuba diving and grilling and she jumped in the ocean in her wedding dress. That was $1,000. I was really happy to see jump off that boat.

And uh I love my daughter. And you know whose wedding it was? It was hers.

And whatever she wants to do, she can do because Alcoholics Anonymous allows me to just be her dad. >> That's all I am. I'm her dad.

And it's not because I'm a good dad. It's because Alcoholics Anonymous taught me how to be a father. Does bad things happen when we get sober?

You bet it does. Bad things happens to everybody. You know, my dad died when I was 9 years sober.

I love my dad and he did a lot for me. And I got to go back and put my 9-year medallion in his pocket before they lowered him into the ground. And Clancy and Johnny said, "Go back and support your mom.

Quit worrying about how you feel." She was married to him 50 years. And I went back and I did that. Then my brother got sober in my house.

And I loved my brother. He was a people couldn't believe he my he was my brother. He was so nice.

And uh hell, everybody in the group loved him and uh he got 17 years, 10 months sober and he got a rare disease from Agent Orange and he died. I love my brother. I just went to more meetings.

I just talked to the newcomers. I did what I've learned to do here. Four days later, my mom died.

I just I go to Alcoholics Anonymous. This is where I get my strength. This is where I get the ability to walk outside this door tonight, live comfortably most of the time.

Alcoholics Anonymous will work, but it won't work if you just come in here and put on a facade. It won't come if you come in here and act like you're all pissed off at the world. I'm just telling you what I've seen in 29 years and 8 months.

You have to come in here and do something. You have to lower that facade and that ego and start helping people here. You got to stick your hand out.

You got to get a commitment. You can't come in here and suck the life out of the meeting and expect to build a wonderful life. You have to give something back.

This is the only program in the world that it doesn't matter whether you're black, white, Hispanic, oriental, male, female, gay, straight. If you reach your hand out for help in these meetings, someone will help you. Nowhere in the world does that happen except Alcoholics Anonymous.

And if you're not looking for this, you're not looking for anything if you're an alcoholic. I gotta tell you this, I lost a job. by 14.

I mean, I was 26 months unemployed and I got in the business I'm in today. And we lost everything. Our house, car, credit cards, good credit.

I can't file bankruptcy. My sponsor don't let me. He said, "Make looking for a job a job." And I did that.

I got in a profession I'm in today. And I make a good living. I caught up on my bills.

And I ended a 31-year marriage in sobriety. We didn't even get an attorney. I gave her everything I took to file cabinet of bills.

Nothing happened. We just grew apart. It just happened.

and uh she's a decent woman. She raised those girls and stuff and uh I have nothing bad to say about her. She's a good member of Alanon.

She's a good lady. We just grew apart and it's it's sad but the way it happens and I was uh divorced for about four or five years and I met a woman that's not an alcoholics anonymous. Didn't even know what this is.

And we started dating and uh she met Johnny and Clancy and Larry Todd and Cindy Coleman and everybody in our group and she said, "Boy, they're really nice people." Clancy gave her away at our wedding. We got married on 1212 04. And she said, "Boy, they're just really nice." And I said, "No, they're not.

No, no, those people you just named are not. They're asses, I'm going to tell you." And she said, "No, they're they're really nice people." She said, "I really love them." And I said, "They're and convicts and mental patients and thieves and child abusers. They're they're not nice." And she looked at me and she said, "Look at what they've done for you." >> I hate it when I have no answer.

And uh she loves Alcoholics Anonymous and she thinks you people are wonderful. And uh she encourages me to go cuz I don't act right when I don't. If you're new or used in this meeting tonight, you're not going to remember what I said anyway.

It doesn't matter. The only thing you should hear out of meetings is what's read to you out of this big book of Alcoholics Anonymous. And the most important thing I think that uh the sentence in that book for me when I hear it read out of chapter 5, keep this in mind.

Rarely have we seen a person fail who has thoroughly followed our path. Thanks. >> Thank you for listening to Sober Sunrise.

If you enjoyed today's episode, please give it a thumbs up as it will help share the message. Until next time, have a great day.

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