Can I Just Drink Until I Need Glasses? – Ralph W.

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About This Speaker Tape

Ralph W. shares his story at the 54th Florida State Convention in Miami, beginning with his childhood in South Central Los Angeles where he grew up one of six boys in Watts. His father was an absentee alcoholic who drank away paychecks, leaving his mother to raise the family alone on welfare. Despite the hardship, Ralph describes a home full of love, baseball, and a remarkable mother who put herself through high school and college while working two jobs. From an early age, Ralph lived trapped in the prison of what he thought others thought of him, driving a lifelong need to be liked.

Ralph took his first drink at 16 — a plastic cup of rum and coke in the back seat of a car at a drive-in movie — and alcohol instantly gave him the courage he had always lacked. His drinking progressed steadily through college, moving from weekend parties to daily use with drugs by 1973. He rose in the workforce to a management position in a major utility company's law department, but the "vampire" of his disease overtook the businessman. He stole from his wife's purse with escalating rationalizations, got thrown out of his home, and watched his daughter's childhood from the shadows of his mother's yard.

By 33, Ralph was sleeping in his mother's garage and eating lemons off the neighbor's tree. On October 11, 1986, he entered the Harbor Life Center on Skid Row in downtown Los Angeles. At his first AA meeting, a speaker told him he was not responsible for his disease but was responsible for his recovery. Ralph got a sponsor, found road dogs in recovery, and threw himself into service work — panels, commitments, and eventually a Sunday morning workshop that grew to 250 people.

With nearly 24 years of sobriety at the time of this talk, Ralph describes hitting a devastating valley at 22 years sober — divorce, losing his house, going broke and homeless — yet never drinking. He learned that Higher Power does his best work in the dark, and that his identity was never defined by what he had. His first daughter, the toddler whose piggy bank he once raided, had just finished the California bar exam. Four of his five brothers got sober. And his mother, who spent her whole life raising others, finally got her first party at age 75 — thrown by her recovered sons.

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