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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. >> Hi everybody.

My name is Larry Thomas and I'm an alcoholic. >> And uh I want to thank Matt and you guys for asking me to come out here to South Dakota. I um I come out here every 26 years.

It seems like I uh been all around it, but it's good to be right in it. And uh I uh I'm really glad to be in this group. I uh I'm glad to be out of my room and uh Matt made sure of that.

I uh he called me up uh this morning and uh I kind of had a late arrival last night. I got held up by a storm in Minneapolis and the plane was delayed so I didn't get in till about 1:30. and he called me up in the in the morning and about 10:00 and he says, "Uh, you want me to show you Aberdeene?" I says, "No, I uh I can look out my window and see most of it probably, but he says it all looks alike." I said, "No, that's all right.

Why don't you just stay and relax and enjoy your day and I'll just stay here and you know, I'll just kick back." Well, he wouldn't have any part of that. You know what I mean? He No, no.

Why don't you come out? So, I didn't want to get into a big haggling thing with him. So, I said, "All right, come get me in about an hour." And he took me down and we went downtown to the pigfest.

And uh I mean, you can just walk by people and get splattered with you're going to eat, you know? I mean, it just or stuff you're going to eat. I uh But everybody looked like they were hungry.

And uh and then he said uh later on today we'll go have some sloppy joe's. I said, "God, you guys ever take a break?" I mean, you know, I said, you know, uh I'm used to eating peanuts on a plane, you know what I mean? Or something.

But uh it's been I I I love the town and and the bands and everything like that. I uh I had a heck of a ride over to the airport. I uh my I have this glove box that wouldn't stay shut and I'm running late to the airport and this thing plops open and I'm down on the freeway so I speed it up a little, you know, and slammed it shut and it plopped open.

So, I speed it up again. Turn the radio off cuz I want to get into it. You know, there's something I'm doing wrong.

And start slamming it, speeding up, slamming it, you know, bringing it up slow, locking it. It keeps plopping open, you know? Now, the idea of leaving the darn thing alone never enters my mind, you know what I mean?

We're going to work on that thing all the way to the airport, you know? And as I stand here tonight in Aberdine, I've got a car parked over in the airport with the glove box wide open, but I've got a long ride home and I know next time it's going to be different. You know what I mean?

I'm going to work on that thing all the way. I don't know about surrender. I don't know how how stopping things, you know?

Uh we uh he introduced me to one of the guys that uh that owns a uh a fitness center over here. Where's he at? He's over there.

And uh my wife just uh she came up to me uh Rosie she came up to me last Wednesday and she says uh I want to get a job. She not a job. She goes I want to get a membership at the Bal's Fitness Center.

And I says do you do you really you know and my head started going all right here we go you know. I says what do you want to do that for? She goes well I want to start exercising.

And I says well you can exercise you know walk the dog or something like that. You know what I mean? and and my head starts working on what she's going to do down there.

You know, she's going to go down to this membership club and she's going to get on one of these spandex outfits, you know, and I know what's going on down there. she's going to get on a treadmill and all these guys are going to be behind in her, you know, and my head's just working on this, you know, and uh so I thought, well, you know, I better go down to this valleys and check it out to make sure what kind of joint she's joining up to, you know, and and I went down there and sure enough, I walk in there and all these little girls are on their bikes and all these guys are behind them watching them, you know, in their spandex and I got me a membership that day. I uh I can't let the poor thing go in there alone.

You know, I've got a busy head. I've got a busy head. And uh my sponsor tells me that I'm living proof that a man can stay sober for a little over 26 years and not amount to a darn thing.

You know what I mean? So, I don't know where you think you're going if you're new in Alcoholics Anonymous, but the highest that I've ever gotten here was sober, basic human being, active member of my own home group. That's as high as I need to get here.

Now, I sponsor some guys who have gotten higher than that and they're useless, you know. I mean, you never, you know, you never can find them, you know. But I'm glad to be in a meeting of Alcoholics Anonymous.

Somebody was apologizing for the for for Aberdine. They were telling me, I said, "Oh, I'm sorry. You know, it was just a little town." I said, "Man, don't apologize for Aberdeene.

I'm not here for the town. I'm here for the meeting, man." You know, and uh and the meeting's great. Good meetings of Alcoholics Anonymous are hard to find.

You know, I uh I come from great people. My mom and dad are good people. I was born in Detroit and I came out to California when I was about three years old, three and a half years old, brought up in a little foster home for a while.

And my mom and dad got together again. And u uh my mom's a little Scandinavian lady, you know. I don't know if they have any of those out here, but she's a little square head.

And uh and uh and my mom loved diet pills. My mom was always running around the house around midnight, you know, sorting out nuts and bolts all night or raking the neighbor's yard around three o'clock in the morning, you know, just just a busy lady, you know, and uh and no matter what time you woke up, she was up doing stuff, you know, and uh her favorite thing was to eat that speed and make afghans. And everything in the house had an afghan on it, you know.

chairs had Afghans. Couches had Afghans. My dad's golf clubs had little pool, you know, she knit, you know, if you had any animals, they had a fresh vest on, you know, and everything was tight and pink like her, you know what I mean?

And uh just a busy lady. And our house was small. We didn't have a lot of money, you know, and uh and uh you can hear the next room just just going to town all night, man.

You know, and the diet was working. She was down to a stick, you know. And uh and you grow up and uh when you have a a little uh paranoid mom like that, uh they have these mom tales, these mom rules, you know, and she had a bunch of little rules like, you know, uh don't play in the gutter, you'll get polio.

Like you're going to run right out there. You know what I mean? And uh and burnt food is good for your gums was one of hers.

You know, cuz she's always burning stuff, you know. She got about five things going, you know? And uh don't you make that face, you know, that burnt food is good for your gums, you know, and and she don't have a tooth in her head.

She's grinded them all away, you know, and and but she meant well. My mom was a discourager, you know what I mean? Uh I would always say, "Hey, how about doing this?

I want to get a tree forward. I want to go to Little League." No, no, no. You'll hurt yourself.

No, no, no, no, no. You you no, no, you'll hurt yourself. And she was always discouraging me.

And it made me feel like I couldn't cut it. You know what I mean? How come, you know, why don't why didn't she ever say, "Yeah, go ahead." You know what I mean?

And uh and her favorite hobby, if she had a lot of them going at the same time, but one of her favorite hobbies is she would eat that speed and make these big jigsaw puzzles, these 30 million piece jigsaw puzzles, you know, of the Mojave Desert, you know, okay, it's going to be a beige night. We don't want any, you know, colors, you know. And u her favorite thing, her favorite hobby was uh getting her prescription filled.

I love that hobby myself, you know. And she would run down to Savon's drugstore, get her a carton of Raleigh cigarettes because they had coupons on the back. And she saved these coupons to buy more yarn.

It was a hideous cycle she was caught up in, you know, and uh and she would come home and put this proxide on her hair that smelled like sewer gas. And uh she had one mumu her entire life. That thing was wearing thin.

And she would put this puzzle to eat that speed and put this puzzle together. And she had, you know, a big pair of toenail clippers cuz if she got a piece that didn't fit, well, she'd snip that son of a gun down until it did, you know. She had a she had a job to do, you know.

And uh I tell you, my mom was a what I knew my mom loved me. Make no mistake about that. My mom was a hardworking lady.

She she she did a lot of things, you know, but she was a hard and she she made no mistake about that. She loved me. And I never want to forget what I would do with that love and affection because that was going to be a pattern of mine up until and after I come to Alcoholics Anonymous.

And that is I would play her like a fiddle. There would never be a time too inconvenient for me not to put the touch on that lady for a dollar or two. I never want to forget that.

I never want to forget what it's like to be in my early 20s and coming out of an institution and my mom hadn't seen me for a couple months. And it's an April morning and it's cold and it's raining and I'm standing in this parking lot of a dry cleaner she works in. And I'm about from here to that wall and it's raining and I've got my street mud on and it's early in the morning and I'm staring at her in that morning rain.

And the only thought that I have is she better have a buck for me to walk through that rain and ask that lady who's startled to death for a dollar. for her to go through her wallet and for a picture of me that falls out when I'm eight years old on a little league team, the only decent picture she has. And she's fishing through this little wallet she got at Walworth.

She gives me $1 and then $2. And I turn to walk away and as I'm heading out the door, she says, "Larry," she says, "what would it cost to get my son back for me to run off to Wilmington where I'm going to die." Now you take that same man and you bring him to Alcoholics Anonymous with his so-called desperation and willing to go to any lengthness and you stick him in a room where his life depends on his actions and you put a secretary of a meeting that same distance as me and my mom and I've often wondered how come I can't walk that same distance when my life depends on it sober and ask that secretary for a job in a meeting but I can use my mom time and time and time again with no second thought about it. And it dawned on me early in my sobriety that if my alcoholism doesn't kill me, my selfishness and my self-centerness will.

And the longer I stay sober, the deeper those roots go. And that's why it's so necessary for a guy with 26 years to still attend meetings of Alcoholics Anonymous. See, I never want to get it into my sick head that just because you've got some time, you got it made here.

See, if you're new, I'll let you in on a little secret. I'll never get so sober that I can't get drunk again. But I can get so drunk that I can't make it back.

And I never want to forget what it's like to stand at your doorways to a meeting of Alcoholics Anonymous and look in on a meeting and wonder, will I ever be a part of that thing? Will I ever be a part of anything? Because that's where I stood most of my life is always watching life from the window.

always wondering as I'm growing up, will I ever be a part of anything that I see? Will I always be some type of outcast with some this invisible barrier that makes me feel different? What is that about me?

And so, I never want to feel like I've got it made here. I'm hoping I'm hoping that I'll always be divinely thirsty for the actions here in Alcoholics Anonymous. You know, I hope I never get it in my little head that I've done enough here and that it's okay for me just to kick back and show up once a month for certain things or once a year for birthdays or stuff like that.

I want to be in the middle of you. Something happens when you're in the middle of Alcoholics Anonymous. Make no mistake about that because something happens when you're on the outside of Alcoholics Anonymous, too.

And make no mistake about that. When you're in the middle of something like this, you can't miss it. It blinds you.

Now, my dad was a was a My dad was a happy drunk. My dad was a happy singing the blues, Nat King Cole, Bobby Darren drunk. He loved to drink and sneak into his own darn house.

It was an amazing thing, you know. And he's always sneaking through my bedroom window. And I can tell cuz he's got these big refinery boots.

And when he's coming in, he's always stepping on my chest as he's climbing through there, you know. And I grabbed that boot one night and I said, "Gee, dad, why don't you have mom make you a set of keys, you know? My god, she's up anyway, you know.

I mean, I hear the Hoover going now, you know." And God, you know, and my dad, man, I tell you, I I I admired my dad so much, but there was there was this thing with him and my mom that I couldn't get it made me I couldn't trust either one of them, you know? I didn't trust my mom. I couldn't trust her for being with a guy like that.

And I and I didn't like him that much for the way that he treated my mom. And I wasn't really sold on on a lot of stuff, but and it brought up some type of confusion here, you know what I mean? And so I got into this thing where I'd play one against the other, you know, but my dad was one of these hardworking guys.

He used to tell me, you know, uh, you don't know how good you got it. Back when I was your age, we really had it tough. And he did.

My dad had a heck of a life, man. He, you know, um, his father died when he was a young man. Choked on his tongue and chewed it half to death and, you know, died.

And his mother hung herself in a Detroit jail when he was 13. She was a drunken And he he had he had his kid brother to bring up. And he had a dream.

And that dream was to go into the United States Navy and come out and marry my mom, get her out of that convent. She was in a convent. And his dream was to was to marry her and bring her to California after World War II.

Everybody was going to California and living the dream. They were childhood sweethearts and and they had a dream, you know. And for a long long time, I used to think that that my drinking robbed me of my childhood.

Bunch of nonsense I've ever heard. You know what my drinking did? It robbed them of their parenthood.

At the ripe old age of 11 years old, I started drinking a bottle of four rose whiskey. and they no longer would have a dream come true. They wanted to have a little family and bring up some kids and live the good life.

He wanted to see his kid in little league and his kid grow up to be some type of decent human being. My mom just wanted the best thing for a little boy. I had two sisters.

I was in the middle. I had no idea that my sisters admired me. I had no idea.

I was so full of self and there was no reason for me to drink. I look around that house, you know, and there was nothing going on in that house that could validate how crazy I felt when I was sober and how full of fear I was and how I was always struggling to feel good about myself. I've always felt like I was always had this shame and I've always felt like some type of thing that didn't belong in a family that decent.

And I didn't know what to pin it on. You know, all I knew is I I felt terrible because I didn't feel like I deserve the good life I had. and we didn't have a bunch of dough.

And you know what? I've learned that my folks used to blame themselves for the way that I was drinking. I can't tell you how many nights I would come in and I could hear in that little house, I could hear my mom and dad talking and you would hear stuff like, "Bob, where did we go wrong?

What could we do? Where did we go wrong with him?" They blamed themselves for year after year about what was going on with me. And never once did I go around that little hallway and knock on that door and tell them they got it all wrong.

No, I let them ride that pony. I let them ride that pony. At 11 years old, I'm playing little league and I'm doing everything that all the other kids are doing in school, getting Fs and playing hookie and all that stuff.

But these guys that I'm growing up with, they seem to be content with going on. They seem to be able to grasp and develop and slowly grow up and adjust to life. It seems like the older that I was getting, the the more my body was growing, but my mind stayed 10 years old.

By the time I come to Alcoholics Anonymous, I was a 30-year-old man with a 10-year-old head, you know, and I started becoming afraid. The older that I got, the more afraid that I got, the more restless I got, the more irritable I got. I seemed to need more attention than most people.

I seem to need a little more excitement. It seems to me that everybody seems to get along better. I seem to watch you guys and you guys talk better with one another than you do with me and everybody seems to get along and I always feel different.

I don't know what it is about me. All I know that I'm 11 years old. I had a bottle of four rose whiskey and for the first time in my life it shut off all that nonsense.

It quieted that head and for the first time in my life I found peace of mind. Something that I would never find when I'm not drinking. And I'll never forget that place that I found when I was drinking because it would be a window that I would revisit as I'm growing up.

Now, I didn't head out to Skid Row that next day. You know, I got the address, you know what I mean? But I'll never forget the effects produced by alcohol because I would never find that effect when I'm sober.

No matter what I did, where I was, what type of lifestyle I was living, I could never find a happy, joyous, and soberf free lifestyle because I've got this head that won't me let me enjoy a minute of peace of mind. I've got this head that hammers me. I got this thing that called alcoholism that strikes the alcoholic when he's sober, who works on that alcoholic day in and day out when he's sober.

Now, I used to think that, my god, if you're an alcoholic, you know, uh, you know, people would tell me, gee, Larry, why don't you just stop drinking and everything would be all right? Well, I'm an alcoholic. I stop drinking and everything is not all right.

And the longer I stay sober, the worse I feel. And coming to AA and watching you do wonderful things does not make me feel like a champ. It just makes me feel so different that I feel like maybe I don't belong here either.

And so I've got this constant head that just never lets me fit into anything. And the only way to shut it off is a bottle of four rows whiskey. And like I said, I I didn't head out to Skid Row, but all I did is that sobriety drove me to drink time and time and time again.

I'll never I'll never be able to get over that. And by the time I got into high school, I was uh dating this little uh Mexican girl over in Gardina. And uh and over in California, uh I I I love cars and and we love lowered cars.

We used to lower our cars down to the ground and we used to get our hair up real big like a Bakersfield tumble weed man, you know, and and we'd listen to the Four Tops and the Temptations and Marvin Gay and Smokey Robinson and God, I loved it. And we'd lower our cars real down and get our head big hair real big and we'd bounce around listening to the four tops, you know. And uh I had this little Mexican girlfriend named Lupy and and she had these brothers and I started hanging around these low riders, you know, and we'd bounce around all night and drinking that gin.

And hell, I was in my plumbing truck the other day and I heard the four tops and I just start sinking in my damn truck. Man, I loved it. We'd get our hair up real big.

I'd had these white t-shirts and black khaki pants that came up to here. Some of the gals were telling me that men who are wellendowed had big feet. I had a pair of 15-in shoes, you know, and I was running around with big hair and big feet driving around wondering what the hell you're looking at, you know, bouncing around with my girlfriend, them loopy, and she had her hair up real big and she had these big eyelashes, you know, and and we'd bounce around and drink that cheap Thunderbird wine, wonder what everybody's looking at, you know, and we'd have these frowns on our faces cuz we were bad and uh was cuz our butts hurt from bouncing around all night, man.

And I loved it, man. We'd drive around all night, you know, and uh drove into what they call a Jack in the Box. Uh it's a drive-in, you know, where you order your hamburgers, you know, and I'm driving around with this guy named Rudy, and I'm drinking that 151, you know, and I'm lit.

I've been drinking that stuff all night. We pull into the Jack in the Box and he says, "Larry," he says, "Pull up to the puppet and order." Well, I can't see the puppet, you know. I can hear the darn thing, you know, and I start aiming for the menu and I hear this big crash, you know.

This puppet's head's hanging over, you know. I I ran into the puppet, you know, and the cops swooped in on me, you know, and they threw me on the hood of the car. They shattered my hair all over the parking lot, you know, and I don't drive till I'm 30.

Well, big deal. Let Rudy drive, man. He ain't doing nothing anyway.

And there's nothing like riding shotgun, man. You ride shotgun and you let Rudy drive all night and you you drink that cheap Thunderbird wine and you make the most magnificent discovery an Alkey can make. It's one of the most beautiful things an alchemy will ever see when he's drinking.

And that's himself in a mirror. Oh man, you discover just how good-looking you are. You go, "My god, are you good-looking, man?" And you look at yourself in that mirror and you know, and you look at your hair and you got cigarette butt stuck in your hair, you know, and you got a bunch of vomit on your t-shirt, you know, and and you feel like dancing when you look like that.

I don't know about you, you know. And uh and I loved it, man. I bounced around with these guys and we drive into all these bars and you know and pick up on all these girls and you know and you always find that one and she looks just like you really.

She's got her flies in her hair, you know, and her eyelashes are all over her face, you know, and you know that's the one, you know, you know, and you bring her home, you know, and then you wake up the next morning and you put her in her walker and you wheel her home, you know, I mean, you know, you know, but I loved it, man. I love I love the bars. I love that whole thing because I tell you, man, when when I'm drinking, I am not me.

I am not that thing when I'm sober. I am somebody else and I am loving it, man. And and I tell you, I drunk and I had a good time for a long, long time.

And the only way I can describe it is that every time I drank, it opened after the second or third shot of whiskey, it opened the most beautiful picture, man. The most the beautiful place that an Alkey can step into, man, is after that second or third drink, he is in wonderland. He is in a place that nobody else will ever understand unless they're in Aberdeen tonight.

You know, in this room, you know, it is a place that we can't find anywhere else. I don't care how much money, how much love, how much anything. We find a place when we're drinking that is unmistakably the safest place on earth.

Man, it is heaven on earth to add ali. And that phenomenon of craving just keeps that window open. Just keeps that window open.

And I tell you, it was the most beautiful thing that I've ever found. And alcohol worked for a long, long time. But the problem with me is that the longer I drank, the smaller that window got.

And the smaller that window got. And the smaller that window got. And by the time I come to Alcoholics Anonymous, there was no window.

There was just an obsession that maybe somehow someday I can get that thing to pop open again because I would want it to open up so bad right now. And the more I depended on it to open up, the more I relied on it and it just wouldn't open up again. And maybe if I get the right combination of things, I can get that thing to open up.

But all I know is that I'm not drinking. And I need something to happen. And maybe this time it'll be different.

An alcoholic anonymous. We learned about the insanity of that first drink. And the insanity of the first drink, this alcohol insanity isn't that you're running around the house going and you're crazy.

The alcoholic insanity that this identification process is so important is the type of alcoholic insanity that I have. And if you're new, maybe you can identify with this is that I am the type of alcoholic that the memory of my last drunk is never enough to keep me sober. I am the type of alcoholic that every time I am sober, I have the ability to look over my past 20 years of drinking, 10 years of drinking, 5 years of drinking, no matter how long it is, I have the ability to look over my past years of drinking and I can see the damage that I've done.

I can see the people that I've hurt. I can see the damage that I've done to myself. I can see physical things starting to happen to me.

I can see consequences of insanity and and prison terms. I can see all that. And I am that type of alcoholic that every time I'm sober, I have the ability to think that as I'm looking over that, I come up with a profound conclusion that this time it's going to be different.

This time it ain't going to get me. I overlook anything called common sense for that flickering hope that maybe this time it'll work. And it baffles the onlookers because you have one normie spend one night with us and that son of a gun will swear off forever.

But not that ali because there comes a time in everybody's life that has been sober a while in here. There comes a time when you buy the deal. When you buy the idea, man, I better stop drinking.

You actually come to that conclusion. Whether you're sitting in your hotel or your car or your living room or the penitentiary, you come up to I got to stop the and you actually say, "Man, I'm going to give it a shot." And you buy the deal and you still can't. You still can't stop.

You even pray to something that you don't, oh God, help me, and you still can't. You even grab your little girl and your little son and I'll never do this, Bobby. I'll never do this.

and you still can't. And what do you do when you're like that? You're powerless.

I had no idea. I thought it was something that a certain set of circumstances is going to help me do. I had no idea that I was afflicted with this hideous spiritual malady that the longer I stay sober, the worse I get.

And that there isn't an answer. There isn't an answer. And I would come to Alcoholics Anonymous meetings and I would see guys up at the podiums with ties like this and tell me stuff like 30 days ago I was on the streets of Los Angeles.

Now I'm the president of the Bank of America. Thank you. You know, my god, I came in with that guy.

You know what I mean? Where do you go, man? And so, uh, I'm bouncing around with these guys and I tell you, I I I found happiness with those low riders.

I I I thought we were going to bounce around forever, man. You know, I I loved it. And in fact, I ran into a kid like that not too long ago.

I was up at one of our malls in Los Angeles. And I'm up at the Glendale Mall and this kid goes walking by me. He's about 19 years old.

He's shaved. He got a bald head. He's got his mom's earrings on.

He's got this big hole in his ear. In case you want to hook him and bring him over, you can, you know. He's got a ball bearing in his nose right there.

He's got a safety pin in his eye. He's got a ball bearing in his tongue. He's got a chain to his wallet.

I walk by him and he goes, "What are you looking at?" I says, "I don't have a damn clue what I'm looking at." You know, I I wanted to squirt him with some WD40 just to keep them going. You know what I mean? And we started talking and we started laughing and we talked for about a half hour and and now I sponsor the guy lives down in Chula Vista, you know, in San Diego, man.

And uh you know uh he said he was new. He used to call me up. He said uh spons what do you want me to do?

And I said well Ronnie I says why don't you unlock yourself? You know he says well I go to these meetings and I feel so different. I said really?

I says maybe you're the only one wrapped up in a chain link fence Ronnie. How about that? You know.

Well I tell you he's uh he's been sober ever since. It's been about seven years and he's over in Utah and he's still sober and got a little wife and kids and doing good. active member over there, you know, and I thought we were going to bounce around forever, you know, and around 1969, there's a war started and everybody's going different places, you know, and so, uh, I thought, well, maybe I'd go back to Detroit from Los Angeles and find my roots, head out to Detroit.

And so me and my buddy head out to Detroit and we wound up in Phoenix, Arizona. And uh, there I'm in Phoenix. I'm over downtown Phoenix at the Apache Hotel.

you know, it's about five floors, you know, and uh over there off Central and Roosevelt, and it's a nice hotel. Everybody's got a TV. It's in the lobby.

Everybody's got a bathroom, and it's down the hall. It's about $35 a month, and I don't got the dough to pay for that, you know. So, I I run down to the vault or manpower place where these high-tech guys like me go to, and they give me a job with this plumber, and I never plumbed before in my life, you know.

you know, and the guy says, well, he says, show up tomorrow, you know, and uh and so I show up, you know, and he sticks me underneath the house. I'm underneath a house, man. You know, he says, "I want you to start hanging up this copper and uh you spend all day and here's how you hang it." And he took off.

He says, "I'll come back at the end of the day and I'll pick you up. Just stay under here and hang that copper." So, I stayed under there, you know, and he gave me a transistor radio and and I had a pint of bourbon, you know, some Keslers under there and uh and there's this strange cat over there looking at me, you know. So, I figured, man, I'm on top of the world.

I got a mate under here, man. Nobody knows I'm under here. I got a pint.

I got a transistor. I got a pet, you know. I said, "This is great, man." Every now and then I'll bang on the pipe to let the guy know I'm hard at work, you know, and this this is great.

Nobody knows I'm under here. I love this. So I I said, "Let's have a drink, man." And so I started drinking that hot bourbon, you know, and nine hours later, they're dragging me out from underneath the house and apparently I got drunk and I busted up through the bedroom door, the floor, you know, and I robbed the lady of all of her jewelry and I took it underneath the house and they're pulling me out and this cat comes walking out with a bunch of necklaces on, you know, so I get canned from that job, you know, and so I don't know where you go when you're not working, but I always go to the I I went down to the Wagon Wheel are, you know, where these other guys aren't working hang out and telling you what to do, you know what I mean?

And so all of us hard workers are down there, you know, and uh talking about all the millions of dollars we have and borrowing cigarettes from one another, you know, and well, I know a guy. I met this guy named Ernie. Ernie was from Tennessee.

And uh I know what we're going to do. Um not too far from here is a horse track, Larry. He says, "Um, we're going to get you down to 95 pounds.

You're going to be a jockey." So, I figured, all right, you know, maybe I'll start going to a fitness center now or something like that. And he had a bag of of speed and I don't do that. I've just been doing heroin and minding my own business, drinking and stuff, you know.

Well, I And he was sure it was going to work. He said, "You know what I want you to do is I want you to take this stuff and uh in about 2 months uh we'll weigh you in and we'll go down to the horse track and get our colors." and he was sure it was going to work, you know, and he took off, you know, and he came back two weeks later and I'm stuck in that same little room and I haven't moved an inch, you know. I'm just I don't want to be jockey.

I'm going faster than any, you know, I just I'm just buzzing around there. My cheeks are getting sucked in. The only thing I can do is I've been chasing this fly around the room, you know, and my and I see these black and white flashes coming through my window and I'm looking at them every 10 seconds, you know, and it it's the damn sun going up and down is what it is, you know, and you couldn't have possibly taken.

Well, I did not eat some more and you can put a saddle on me and ride me around this house, you know. I mean, I'm tweaking anything that's white and on the floor I'm going to fire up, you know. It could be a toenail and it's going up, baby.

you know, that was the worst 12 days of my life, man. And well, what can that idea? So, I did what I always do.

I had to go down to the idea hangout, and that's the Wagon Wheel Bar. Went down there, found Ernie, you know, you know, well, let's see what we're going to do here, you know, and I know another plumber. I said, you jack it.

And so, you know, I start here I am. I'm next day I'm digging a ditch for a plumber. It's 120 out, you know, and I'm digging a ditch for this plumber.

And I dig a ditch for about oh, a half hour. And it dawned on me that this guy that I'm working for was younger than me. Well, I ain't working for a kid, you know, and I got my pride.

So, I did what any honorable man would do. I faked a knee injury. And they and he took me down to the county hospital and uh uh they gave me a prescription for some perkadan and uh and then I went back to my my favorite hangout, the Wagon Wheel Bar and we met these guys from Tucson, Arizona who knew some doctors in Tucson and we wrote prescriptions and sold them.

So we started writing prescriptions for Senol and Nebutl and Tu and all. You name it all, we wrote it all. You know what I mean?

damn near took it all too, you know. And after about after about nine months, they caught up with me. And when you're on whiskey and barbituates, there's no freeway chase.

Like they got there he goes down the 17 freeway, you know, none of that's happening. It's just a matter of the sheriff coming into the Busy Bee Hotel going there he is under there, you know. And uh so they arrested me and convicted me for a little while and put me in the Southern Arizona jail for a while.

And after about several months, they gave me a $45 voucher to come back to California. And I go over there and register with the city hall in 1974. And they gave me a little room in downtown Torrance at the Greyhound Hotel.

Beautiful hotel. Everybody's got a TV and it's in the lobby. Everybody's got a bathroom and it's down the hall.

It cost about $30 a month and I ain't got the money to do that, you know. and and I would just look out my little window and drink and dream and die and know one of these days it ain't going to be like this. One of these days if I if I just had some type of normal living, everything would be all right.

You know, that seemed to be my obsession growing up, not to be a a a mechanic or a carpenter. I was obsessed with this idea that one of these days I'm going to think and feel and be normal because there's a part of me that's not and I don't know what it is. All I know is that when I'm drinking it all goes away and I'm as normal as I ever wanted to be, you know.

And so I'm over there at the Greyhound, you know, and my probation officer puts me on uh an abuse. Take this, you know, and look for some work, you know, and and two months I'm uh I'm on an abuse and I'm not drinking and not doing nothing. And uh I'm on my way to to a refinery to work as a laborer and I stop off at a little league dugout at 10:00 in the morning and go absolutely out of my mind.

At 10 o'clock in the morning, the paramedics came and I'm in between hysterical and maniacal. I'm absolutely sober and my paranoia is so bad that I'm hallucinating and I'm in a place that I've never been before in my life and I know there's no coming back. And uh the paramedics took me to the Harbor General Hospital in Carson, California.

They looked at my jacket. They seemed that maybe some of my drug overdoses and possible suicide attempts. They see by the looks of my jacket that maybe I need to go to a state hospital and be observed for about 30 to 60 days.

And so they sent me to a state hospital out there in California. And a year later, they let me out. And they gave me my my antiscychotics and my anti-depressants and these little green pills called liquid shock.

And they told me that I would never be able to operate in society unless I took these prescriptions. And I would take these drugs and they would work on these certain mental disorders. But you know, there's one thing that they never took away.

There was one thing that they couldn't medicate away, and that is every time I'm out on the streets, I have this idea that maybe this time it'll be different. and I start drinking and I go after that four rose whiskey or I'll go after that Thunderbird wine. Whether I'm on medication or not, you can't medicate that idea out of an alcoholic.

And uh after about uh after they let me out of there, after about two months, they found me at Overl Street in downtown Los Angeles outside of Skid Row. And I'm not drunk. I'm just uh a public nuisance.

I'm curled up and I'm about a day sober. I'm curled up and I'm crying and uh they arrest me for being a public nuisance and they rolled me up and they sent me up to the county jail again and I'm up there for about 40 50 days and they put about 50 of us in a big black and white bus and send us down to the South Bay courthouse where I'm going to be tried and convicted for two and a half years in the state penitentiary. And I'm in a holding tank about this size and everybody's gone.

There's no more buses. I'm on a concrete floor with my Vons bag and no hope wondering where they're going to send me now. And at 4:00 in the afternoon, a Scottish man with a patch rolled up and he opened this jail door and he says, "Are you Larry Thomas?" And I said, "Yes, sir, I am." He says, "Why don't you come with me, son?

You're going to AA." I said, "Aa?" I said, "There's two initials I've never heard of before. I've heard of O R and P O, but what's AA?" you know, and who's a Scottish pirate all of a sudden, you know, I lad, you know, and it dawned on me later on in my sobriety that I'd laid my eyes on my first trusted servant of Alcoholics Anonymous. Now, why would he be a trusted servant?

Well, for me, come to find out, he had no business being there. He wasn't on an H&I panel. He didn't have a a jail commitment.

He was a refinery worker. and he just got the worst news of his life. His little wife was dying immediately of a terminal disease and she was going fast.

And he knew she was in good hands, but he knew he wasn't. But somewhere in his home group, somewhere in his book studies, somewhere in his 12 and 12, he grasped and developed this idea that practical experience tells us that nothing will ensure us from drinking than intensive work with other alcoholics. that this works when other activities fail.

And it dawned on him and he turned his little car around and he went over to the South Bay courthouse. He talked to Judge Foy and Judge Hollingsworth and they said, "I think we got a guy for you." And he sent him down to that little holding tank. And he said, "Come with me, son.

You're going to AA." And I said, "Oh my god." I, you know, and and I and it dawned on me. I said, you know, and I thought we were going to go on a long ride up north and maybe some lunch or something like this. And this guy takes me for a 15minute car ride to my first meeting of Alcoholics Anonymous in 1975.

And on the way over there, the guy nailed me. He says, "I've know you've have a tough life and I know you feel different." Oh my god, how does he know that? I've always felt different.

That's been my little thing is that I always feel different. No matter what group I'm around, I always feel a little bit different than the people around me. even in AA I always have this thing that makes me quite not like you.

And he says, "I know you've had a tough life and I know you feel different." He says, "But in Alcoholics Anonymous, we don't care." I says, "Really?" He says, "Yeah." He says, "Alcoholics Anonymous is the only place, Larry, where the more different you feel, the more qualified you are." He says, "I can't wait to introduce you to these people." And this guy took me for a 15-minute car ride to my first meeting of Alcoholics Anonymous. And he rolled up to this little dingy Alano club. Alan, I never even heard of that word, Alano.

And it was another And I thought it was like one of my dad's clubs. My dad was an elk, a moose, a eagle, you know, and I thought, "Wow, this is one of those animals, you know, watch for watch for crossing Alanos or something, you know what I mean?" And he pulled up to this Alano club, you know, and introduced me to all these people. He introduced me to you know, Indian Genie and and uh uh Captain Bob and Tennessee Bill and Singing Sam and Serenity Sam and Bicycle Ray and Santa Claus Ray and Dancing Pete and Whistling Butt, all these other people, you know, and I figured, man, I just left a group of people like this, you know, and little Moose was from T.

She comes running after me. Hi, honey. My name is Moose and I am expecting a miracle.

I said, I bet you are. I said I said, I'm not it. believe me, you know, and and then some transvestite came out of the out of the card room or something and he started circling me like a helicopter in Los Angeles, you know, and after about the third time he lands and he comes walking over, he says, "Hi." He says, "Uh, I can't wait to take you to a candlelight meeting." I said, "I don't think so, man." I said, "Not till I get a year anyway, for God's sakes." you know, I mean, I got my pride, you know, and I said, "Man, if that's aa, I'm not sure I want to mess around here, you know, and if that's the effect of that big blue book, I don't want to crack that thing open either, you know." And and I tell you, from 1975 to 1982, I came in and out of Alcoholics Anonymous on a regular basis.

30 days and get drunk, 60 days and get drunk. And the longest I could stay sober was six months because I was on heroin. You know, it it seemed to take the edge off, you know.

And the biggest lie that I've ever told myself was that I was coming in and out of Alcoholics Anonymous. I hadn't touched AA. I didn't even know what AA was.

I did what I always did my entire life. I sat in a room waiting for something to happen to me. I sat in a room waiting for something for people to do something for me.

That's the story of my life. sitting in rooms waiting for something to happen for me or to me. And in Alcoholics Anonymous doesn't work that way because what you're waiting to be be done to you, God's waiting to be done through you.

And I had no idea. And there was one thing that I hope I never forget. And that is when I was six months, there was this guy that was helping me out who gave me that six-mon chip.

And he was just a drunken cowboy from Montana. He had no idea about powder and stuff like that. He was just a drunk.

And I'll never forget the look on his face when he gave me that six-mon chip. How happy that guy was, man. And congrat.

You did it, kid. You did it, man. And I sat over there after that chip and I died.

It died on the inside. I'd never seen anything like that where a guy was happy for me. And it dawned on me that I couldn't play people for idiots no more.

I'd always been playing people for idiots because I wanted them to be like me, an idiot. I played people for simpletons because that's how I think because I'm simpleton myself. And I knew I could never sell out anymore.

And it just amplified about what a useless loser I was. And I had no idea. And I at the end of that meeting, I had to tell him.

I said, "You know, Don," I said, "Uh, I've been on heroin." I says, "I'm not sober at all." And he looked at me and he says, "My god, son, you were doing so good. I never want to forget that." Well, I tell you what happened to me is that from 1975 to 1982, I did this dance with death. And I'd stayed drunk as long as I could, and I stayed sober as long as I could.

And whenever I wanted a piece of cake or a donut, I'd show up at your meetings. Never once finding out what an alcoholic was. Never once finding out the miraculous power that these people in these rooms have, you know.

And uh on May 2nd, 1980, I'm over at the Dawn Hotel in downtown Wilmington. Another beautiful hotel. It's 10:00 in the morning.

I'm watching Jeopardy. I got a PM bourbon bottle cut in half. I'm watching Jeopardy so I could really feel like an idiot.

You know, every now and then I get one right. Donald Duck. Yeah.

You know, I don't need no college, you know. 10:00 in the morning, I hear this. Larry, it's Dawn.

My god, it's that guy from AA. I didn't even call him and he's coming over here, you know. He says, "Can I come in?" And he opened up the door again and he said, "Oh my god." He said, 'You had 15 days.

What's going on with you, Larry? Boy, I tell you this guy, I I said, 'I ha I had it with him. I had him with all his care.

I took a shot off of my bourbon bottle and I told this Montana cowboy, I said, Don, I says, you've been trying real hard. I says, I don't want what you have. I don't want what you got.

And if you ever get that bad, I'll know what to do. Why don't you just get the hell out of my room and let me do what I want to do? The cry of this alcoholic for my entire life.

And you know, the moment that I said that, it struck a cord in the back of my neck that shot me back to 1967 when me and my dad are fighting. My dad's kicking me out of the house because I'm getting drunk and getting in trouble at high school and selling dope. And he says, "You know, you want to live that way.

That's that's your that's your deal, hot shot. But you're not going to live that way under my roof with my wife and two daughters." And he kicked me out of the house at 16. And I remember going after the old man.

I remember where he had an operation. I remember making physical contact with my father. I remember what that felt like because it would never leave my mind because when I would joke about it with the guys, yeah, I hit my dad and I would ride around with these guys.

You know where you would find me at the end of the evening when everybody's out dancing and stuff? You'd find me at a bar with people twice my age talking to a man twice my age like he was my dad. And I'd be talking to him hoping he was my dad.

Or you'd find me talking to a a lady twice my age and talking to her like I I wish she was my mom. You see that shot of cord in the back of my neck that shot me back to 1972 when I'm running the streets and I sneak up on my mom at about 2:00 in the morning. I break into her house and she's on the couch watching Johnny Carson and I sneak up on her with my mud and I got my street mud on.

I'd been around for a while. And she puts my head on her lap and she starts rocking me and praying to this Michigan God to help her baby boy. And I'm saying, "Mom, it ain't that bad." And her tears are hitting me on her lap.

And she gets up and she goes to her room. And it dawned on me that I got a half a pint hidden in here. It seems like I've got it hidden somewhere.

And I go through the kitchen and I start going through her cupboards. And my mom comes out of the hallway and she says, "Honey, what's wrong?" And I start banging my mom around till I get blood out of her nose, demanding that she come up with a bottle that not even there, that I was going to wake up and see an empty in a trash can that I'd already drank it and put it away. See, all that races through my mind in a matter of 10 seconds when the only answer to life I've ever had, that bald-headed carpenter from Montana, leaves my room.

And I'm stuck with the memory of you. And I can't stay drunk. and I can't stay sober and I can't stop that idea that this time it's going to be different.

Even though it's not working anymore, my head don't care. My head wants relief and it remembers where it gets it. And uh from 1980 to 1982, I couldn't get you out of my mind.

And on May 2nd, 1982, I downtown Wilmington, I check into this little mission where you're going to sing for your beans. What what happens is they'll give you a little cot. If you come back that evening and sing hymns for Jesus, they'll give you a plate of beans.

And I went into this little mission and they it was a two little garage door garage sizes rooms and they had 24 CS and they had one more cot left and I checked in there and I did what I always did when I got that way. I I had a couple dimes and I called Alcoholics Anonymous. I called Alcoholics Anonymous on May 2nd, 1982.

And who do I get? I get Don. I said, "Don, this is Larry.

I've just checked into the midnight to the to the Beacon Light mission. I'm ready to come to Alcoholics Anonymous. Will you come and get me?" And you know what he told me?

"No." He says, "Uh, no. Now I'm going to come and get you." And he says, "Uh, you know where we are. You know what we got.

If you want to get sober, get your rusty rear down here yourself. I'm tired of chasing after you." He says, "That sign says we care." He says, "I'll be damned if I'm going to take care of you." And he hung up. I said, "My god, whatever happened to that aa love." You know what I mean?

And I just heard it. For the first time in my life, it was up to me to come to you. It was no longer necessary for the good people of Alcoholics Anonymous to be inconvenienced by this man crawling wolf.

It was no longer necessary for me to run my nons. It was up to me to come to you. And I hung up that phone and I took the longest walk of my life at 10 miles with my poopy pants and no hope.

And I walked down to this dingy Alano Club. And every step of the way, you know what my head was telling me? Don't go.

It ain't going to work. Pull over. Let's get a drunk.

Come on. Go to this liquor store, Larry. You're full of crap.

It ain't going to work. You've been here before. Come on.

My head was on me, man. And I walked down to that Alano Club and I walked in there and they said, "Uh, well, you know, you're not allowed in here anymore." I said, 'Well, I'm looking for Don. I just need to talk to him.

They said, "Well, he's in the coffee bar. Make it quick." And I walked up to that Montana cowboy and I asked him something I never asked him in all these years. I said, "Don, I don't know what to do with my life." I didn't say I I can't stop drinking.

I I don't know what to do with my life. the sum total of that first step. Drunk or sober, I don't know what to do with my life.

I said, "Would you be my sponsor?" That guy lit up like a chandelier for about 5 seconds. And then he lit into me for about 20 minutes, man. And he told me under no certain terms was he going to put up with my nonsense.

And he gave me some things to do. And I tell you, I was never so happy to be with you people because something happened to me. And that wasn't my worst drunk.

and it wasn't my longest drunk and and I knew I was going to be hallucinating and I knew I was going to be hearing things and I knew I was going to have the shakes and I knew the blood was going to start coming out. I knew all of that. That's that's just a part of the ride for me.

You know what I mean? But the one thing that dawned on me is that is the day that I called that guy is that I found out what an alcoholic was for me. I'm an alcoholic.

Doesn't mean that I can't drink. doesn't mean that I shouldn't drink. I'm an alcoholic.

I'm going to drink. Everything in me is faced that way. There's not a living condition in the world to keep me from drinking.

The only thing that keeps me from drinking is a program of Alcoholics Anonymous. Because I used to come to these meetings and if you're new, watch out because you come to these meetings and to the untrained eye, you'll see people not drink and they'll get jobs and they'll get cars and they'll get girlfriends. And to the untrained eye, it looks like the treatment for alcoholism is normal living.

And nothing could be further from the truth. Because there's people in this room today who've got all the money they need, but they're still a bit restless and irritable and discontent and they don't know what's wrong with them, but yet they're not applying the solution to alcoholism. The solution to alcoholism has nothing to do with the material world.

The solution for alcoholism has to do with me, you, and that book and the divine experience of the perpetuation of this gift. My primary purpose is to perpetuate this gift. My primary purpose is to carry this message out.

Not behind this box, in my home group. In my home group where I live, where people see me day in and day out. That's where I live.

That's where I do my work. That's where I talk to the strangers. That's where I talk to these guys that I've never seen before.

It's easy to go to your home group and stick to your own click, but do you ever break away and talk to maybe that fresh face? Give them your card. Introduce yourself.

See, I'm here because some people got out of themselves for me. Some people got out of themselves and they stuck out their hands and they said, "Hey, I'm Don. I'm an alcoholic." And they brought me into the rooms of Alcoholics Anonymous.

They didn't ship me off to some hospital or anything like that. I sobered up in rooms of alcohol. I shook it out.

I hallucinated and I grew up to be some type of decent human being with people of alcoholic anonyms. You guys took me through the steps and these people that I couldn't stand. My mother and father.

I started making amends to these people. I started making amends to this guy that I couldn't stand. It was my dad.

You know why I couldn't stand him? Because he was everything that I knew I should be. that I wasn't.

You see, that last that whole thing about my last drunk, it wasn't because I was a drunk that drove me to you. Is I got to see what a useless human being I'd become. I was useless to myself and anybody.

I was useless. I was I was worth nothing. And I didn't want to die that way.

And I got to make amends to my father because of not so much of it had nothing to do with my father's treatment towards me. This isn't some type of blame nonsense. It's I was a bad son.

I was a bad son and all my pop wanted for me was the best. And I wanted to make sure that he knew that his efforts weren't wasted. that maybe he wasn't the richest dad and maybe he wasn't the the dad that some of beaver cleavers would like to have, but darn it, he was my dad.

And man, he was stuck with me. And I wanted him to know that his efforts weren't wasted, that him having me wasn't a waste of time. And I got to become friends with that dad.

And you know what happened to me? He become my best friend. Me and my dad were running buddies for a long time.

In the last two years of his life, I was privileged enough to take care of this man. I was privileged enough to to help him through his last final days. I was He had one dream and that was don't let them take me away from my house.

Let me die in my own home, son. I said, "They'll never take you away, pop." And when he got to 90 pounds, the hospice people in the state would come and because if he can't stand up on his own two feet, they're going to take him away. And every time they would come, I would clean him up and I'd prop him up with his 90 lbs and he would stand on his feet and he was okay for one more day.

And we had a ritual. And that ritual was that every Thursday me and my dad would have chili together. That was our day.

And while my dad died on a Thursday and we never had our chili that day, I was making out his checks and I went into the room to kiss him goodbye and he'd passed away. Now, you know what Alcoholics Anonymous had taught me? That every time I see and leave him, I was going to give him a kiss and tell him that I loved him.

Not because I thought I was wonderful or anything, because I felt like doing it. Because in meetings of Alcoholics Anonymous, at the end of every meeting, I hold hands with men's and we say the Lord's Prayer. And that in meetings of Alcoholics Anonymous, men are giving men's cakes and they're hugging and they're telling each other, "Now, why couldn't I do that to my dad?" And I started doing that with my dad.

I fell in love with that little guy. I fell in love with that man. And after after that Thursday when he passed, I didn't know what to do.

So I called my sponsor and I told him that he passed. And he says, "All right, son." He says, "If you have time, I'll see you at the meeting tonight." And I took care of all the things. And I said to myself, "All right, Alcoholics Anonymous, do your stuff.

I'm not going to tell anybody that I sponsor that my dad had passed away and let me see you take this hurt away. And I went to my meeting that night and lo and behold, the only person that knew was my sponsor. And I walked into that home group 12 and 12 and one by one, everybody that I sponsored started telling me their little flat tire stories and how they argued with their wife stories and how they got fired from work story.

And little by little, these little rat bastards started making me feel on top of the world because they got me focused to what my primary purpose was. It didn't make my dad's passing less meaning, but it focused me in on what my primary purpose was. And these guys filled me up, man.

Now, I tell you, the funny thing that happened to me was that Thursday night was our night. Me and my dad, that was our night. Two weeks later on the Thursday night, I get a call from my sponsor.

What are you doing, son? I says, "Well, a couple hours I'm getting ready to go to 12 and 12. What's up, spons?" He says, "Why don't you come by the house and pick me up?" He goes, "Let's have some chili." For the past what, four years, me and my sponsor have chili on Thursdays.

He told me, he says, 'You know, I've never had a son, and you're the closest thing that I'll ever have. And he says, I want you to know that I love you. And you don't have to prove that.

You will never be able to do enough to make me love you anymore, Larry. And you can never do any less to make me love you any less. I just love you.

All I want you to do, son, is carry this message. Carry this message. and never forget that man on the bed, will you?

That's all I want from you. Well, I tell you, that's all I've done. I don't have any other desires to do anything but to be with you.

I love the way that I feel when I'm with you. And I I love what happens to my life as a result of being like that. I start doing these little things in Alcoholics Anonymous and I find myself being purposeful again.

I start taking actions in Alcoholics Anonymous and I find myself useful. I start working with others and I find myself thankful. Thankful to this thing called Alcoholics Anonymous.

Thankful for a God that presides over us all. My dad said, "You know, I know I'm not in good shape, but he says, why don't you keep an eye on your mother for me?" And they'd been divorced for years. And I tell you, there's not a finer lady in the world for me to be around.

I sponsor these guys and they they're arguing with their mom. I got this guy that called me up. He says, "Larry," he says, "I I just I just had it out with my mom." I said, "My god, Frank, how old are you?" "Well, I'm 52." I said, "How how old is your mom?" "Well, she's 95." I said I said, "What could you possibly be arguing about?" I says, "Look at where does she live?" "Well, she's over there in Gardinia." I says, "Come get me.

I think we can take her out. You know what I mean? Let's go beat the heck out of her.

You know what I mean? I said, "What are you arguing about? She's 92." You know, I mean, my god, let her have her way, Frankie.

She ain't going to hurt you. You know what I mean? I said, you know, when are you going to start having some fun with your mom and start I started I started bringing laughter to my mom.

And it wasn't hard to do because that lady's got a heck of a sense of she just wanted to laugh and be easy. She didn't want to be afraid of me anymore. Now, remember at the start of this thing tonight how I told you that my my mom was always telling me I couldn't do things.

She was always telling me, you know, you can't do that. You'll hurt yourself. You know why she was like that?

It wasn't because she was a a mean hag. You know why she did that? She had a son and he died at birth and she didn't want to lose her other one.

That was me. And I tell you what I do with my mom. I've been happily married for 10 years.

Every week I cheat on my wife. I date my mom. I go over there and I date my mom.

And I don't argue with her. And I don't We have a ball together. And I tell you what, that lady used to hug me like this for every reason in the world.

She puts around me now and she won't let go. She won't let go. And where she lives is a little retirement place and it's about six stories and all these little retire all these little gals have balconies where she lives and they all have flowers and they all have nice plants and stuff on their balconies.

And the last time I seen my mom, I noticed that she had a balcony but she had plastic flowers and I it dawned on me, you know, being self-centered that that's my fault. You know, my god, why don't you know what kind of goof are you? Why don't you have your mom some real flowers?

I Mom, you've got plastic flowers. I said, let me bring you some roses and some liies. No, I don't want any.

I says, "No, mom, no." I said, "I'll buy you some planters and we'll put some real roses and lilies on." No, honey. I don't want them. I I I really don't want them.

I says, "Mom, really?" I said, "I'll take care of them." She says, "Honey," she says, "Larry, I don't want no real flowers." She says, "I sit in here." And she says, "I love to watch the hummingbird suffer." You got it, man. You got it. I love her to death.

I'm going to close up real quick. I'm sorry for keeping you over. There's a daughter that I had when I was five years sober.

First time I ever got married that after a year and a half, I got a divorce and I wasn't supposed to see. And the women in Alcoholics Anonymous We understand divorce, they said, but even though you may not be somebody's husband, you may be somebody's father. Don't you ever let that little girl wonder where you're at, Larry.

And my sponsor made it sure that I wrote this little girl every week because she moved to Phoenix. And I didn't The women told me, "Don't write her on big yellow paper. My god, write her on Pocahontas paper." you know, and every week I would write that little girl and we would call and stuff.

And my daughter Lauren never never had to worry about her daddy. She never had to worry about where he was. She always knew where I was.

And and if I could go to South Dakota from LA, I can fly to Phoenix and see my little girl. What is more spiritual, right? And I would see her every month or so I'd be with my little girl.

And not too long ago, she was writing me that the kids were making fun of her because she's so smart. She says, "Daddy, did that ever happen to you?" I said, "You bet. Happens to me all the time, you know." Well, I tell you, I have these daughter and daddy dinner dates when I go see her.

And the last time I seen my little girl, she was sitting across from me and we're at this little restaurant and I'm looking at her and she's got her mom's earrings on. She's got a ball bearing in her eye. She's got a safety pin in her lip.

She's got a a little ring in her nose. She's got a ball bearing in her tongue. And she's got a tattoo on her tummy.

And she's looking at me and she says, "Daddy, what are you looking at?" I said, "The most beautiful little girl I've ever seen in my life." Now, where would I get that from? I got that in meetings of Alcoholics Anonymous where no matter where I'm at, where I go, I look in the audience and I see these kids with their bandanas and tattoos and rings through their noses. And you know, behind every ring in that nose, there's a tattoo.

There's an alkey in there. And that's who I talk to. I don't talk to the bandanas and the hats and the rings.

I talk to the alky that's in there. And when I look at my little girl, I don't see any of that. Behind all of that is a little girl.

And that's who I look at and that's who I love. And you taught me that. You taught me that.

I love that little girl to death. And she never has to worry about her daddy going anywhere because I can't wait to be in her little arms again. She makes me happy to be with her.

She makes me happy that I do what I do. She makes me happy for the wife that I have. I I I met my wife 10 years ago on Alcoholics Anonymous.

I was in a meeting in Downey, California, you know, and it was one of those meetings that I didn't want to go to, but my feet have been trained. My head's telling me, "I'm not going. I'm not going.

I'm not going." Hi, my name is Larry. I'm an alcoholic, you know, and I'm sitting in this meeting, and at the end of the meeting, I've been I've locked eyes with this little Nicaraguan lady, and I can't keep my eyes off her, man. She's the most magnificent thing I've ever seen.

And at the end of the meeting, I followed her out to her car like a terrier, you know, and she looked at me and we started talking. She says, "Uh, do you like the backpack?" And I said, "I love it." You know, now I've never camped a day in my life, you know. I I've been out there enough.

Thank you. You know, but I figured anything to get into the tent, you know, and I tell you, I've been talking to that lady every day since. And I love my I love my Rosie.

I I She's the first lady that I love. And I know that because she's the first lady that I tell other ladies about. She's the first lady that I want to come home and know that I've been loyal to her.

She's the first lady that her smile is my responsibility. She lost her mom and her sponsor this year. They both died within months of each other.

My sponsor says, "Your job is to be there for her with no advice. She don't need your advice. You just be there for her.

And to the Men and Alcoholics Anonymous, that means you give them that arm. You let them sob. There's no right or wrong way to grieve.

You let them know that they can do it with you, no matter how they do it. And my wife every night had an arm to cry in and an arm to sob in. And I tell you, I was glad that I was there for her.

I was glad I'm no longer useless. I'm no longer just a thing that's taking up space. I have the privilege of saying that I'm a proud member of Alcoholics Anonymous.

Ain't no I don't need to get higher than that. You see, I can tell everything I need to know about people by how they treat their meetings of Alcoholics Anonymous. I can tell what your God is, what your life is, because I have a feeling you treat your life the way you treat your meetings.

And I tell you, I've been treated kindly this weekend. I am in the midst of a good meeting of Alcoholics Anonymous with good people and it always makes me proud to be so far away from home and feel like I'm right where I belong. What an amazing thing to be.

For so many years I've always wondered where I belong. And there's nothing worse than an aliy feeling he needs to be someplace, but he doesn't know where to go. What meeting should I go to?

And it's so nice to have a regular routine and a nice home group to come to like this. There's a man that I used to talk for in Flagstaff, California every year, and he had a beautiful custom home. And the beautiful thing about this man's home is that no matter what window you looked out of, you had a peak view of the mountain range.

Whether you were in the den or the bathroom or the living room, you could look out the window and see a peak view. As I stand here tonight, in every area of my life, I have a window. And in every window, you're in it.

There is not one area of my life that I don't see the faces of the people of Alcoholics Anonymous. Some old, some new, some that I haven't even met and some that I've met tonight. But every window of my life is filled with your faces.

See, I don't know much about God. I don't know what he looks like. I don't know what he smells like.

All I know this. What do we got? A Saturday night in Aberdine.

I see row after row after row of people who should be dead, locked up, or put away. And look at us tonight. Look at us.

We're happy. We're joyous. We're free.

I may not have seen his face, but I know one thing. I've been playing in the evidence all night long. Thank you.

>> 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.