Why am I sober? It’s a good question—one I was asked
recently by a neighbor. Instead of drawing
out an epilogue of the history of Vince, or deflecting with a joke, this time I
told it like it was.
We have two sets of neighbors that the girls mainly play
with. Their parents are the adults we see most often in this little town of
ours, and seven months into living in our house and our kids playing together,
I thought it was time to tell everybody a little more about myself. I just didn't know how. This can be
a scary subject to broach since the term prison
has such a stigma, and one of these neighbors happens to be a 12-year
veteran of the police force in Michigan. Fortunately, it came up naturally at a
Halloween party for them when the wife—who happens to be a doctor— asked very
bluntly why I was sober. And it came up in my own living room while I was
reading my own book, when the other father from the other house brought over his child to play.
It’s an awkward moment when somebody asks, “What are you
reading?” And you happen to be holding your own life story with the word prison right on the cover. I hesitated, and
then I let it out. After a brief synopsis of my using career, I mentioned that
I spent some time in a state facility, and had a number of years of sobriety
under my belt. I went on to explain how I was active in my recovery and had a
lot of support in the forms of family, friends, and a sponsor. I finished by affirming
that I hoped he would never be afraid to send his kids to play here because of
anything I had ever done. And his reply was beautiful, but private.
I can’t go in to detail, but I can say that he was able to
identify with my story in many ways. He liked who I was now, and was interested
to hear more about who I was then. So we decided to make some time in the near
future to discuss life-both past and present—and let the girls run around and
get into mischief while we conversed.
A few days later I had a very long, incredibly rewarding
chat in my kitchen with somebody who has spent about as long as I spent using,
on the opposite side of the fence. He had other ways to look at my situation,
and was astonishingly insightful. He dealt mostly with drunk college kids
during his cop career, and saw a lot of men drinking their lives away. We
talked about drugs, felonies, sobriety, A.A., and so much more. It was a
necessary conversation, and probably the first of many to come.
We are going to live in this house for a long time. It’s
important to me that the people I know best around me know me. For seven months
I had to shade stories and only allude to certain parts of my life with obfuscation.
If anybody asked what job I held a few years ago, or where I lived before
Delano, things got a little tricky, and I didn’t necessarily lie, but I did use
some alternative facts and some long-winded skirting explanations of my
whereabouts and accomplishments. Now, I can simply state the facts and not
worry about judgement and shame.
Hiding my past no longer has a place in my life. I am no
longer hiding anything about myself, because it is those great struggles and
triumphs that have given me my oddity and forte. And it is my stories that can
inspire hope in strangers, and beckon admiration from those who know me, and
get to know me.
I hope I explained all of this well enough. To be clear,
there are two separate couples in two separate houses, both of whom have two
girls. Children girls. And we have two girls, so that’s six girls and six
parents. Also we have a house. Thank
you.
And a side-note—I would love to thank all of you who have
purchased our book, whether in paperback, or electronic. It isn’t going to make
us rich, but it is wonderful to know that so many of you care enough to show
your support. You are why I keep writing.
