This is a closing segment from an AA speaker tape, structured as an imagined dialogue between the speaker and his family members. He addresses each of his three children and his mother in turn, weaving together themes of purpose, connection with the dead and living, humor as a survival tool, and quiet faith.
Speaking to his oldest daughter Crystal, he explains that real fame comes not from TV but from touching one newcomer who walked in hopeless. With his daughter Frances, he reflects on the friends no longer living — including Chuck and Bill Wilson — whose presence he still feels. His son Jason draws out the speaker's philosophy of humor: that nothing is so serious it cannot be met with a laugh, and that smiling through pain is its own kind of freedom.
His mother closes the dialogue by asking why he does not leverage his faith for fame and fortune on Christian television. His answer is simple and understated — he does his best, the way she taught him, because that is what was modeled for him. The whole piece is a love letter to the anonymous, unglamorous work of carrying the message one person at a time.
I'd like to close with tonight as if it were a dialogue between me and my two daughters and my son and my mom. If I remember the words, I'd like to share this with you, as it says above. My oldest daughter's name is Crystal. She says,...
I'd like to close with tonight as if it were a dialogue between me and my two daughters and my son and my mom. If I remember the words, I'd like to share this with you, as it says above. My oldest daughter's name is Crystal. She says, Daddy, why don't you claim it? I said, Crystal, I think I am. Because all the people you see here tonight came out here to give me a hand. But their applause isn't what really matters. It's what I can feel from their hearts. And if tonight I made dreamers of some who had lost them, or made friends with a few who were scared, or if it's one new believer who came here a trick, and I told him that somebody cared, then Christy, I always feel famous. Though I'm not seen on TV, I get all the attention my ego can handle doing this live and for free. You see, I do it live. My daughter, Frances, says, Daddy, why are you on there? I said, Frances, I give my hand. Because there are some people I miss tonight who aren't here to give me a hand. But you know, in some ways, they're closer than the people out on my front row. And if I'm quiet, I can hear a grumpy heart beating with them. You see, Chuck is driving his car. And there are preachers and poets that I've never met, like Bill Wilson, who hasn't gone far. So I'm alone, but I'm not really lonely. I've just got a group of friends here. They give me all the companionship my faith can handle doing this talking with me. You see, they do this talking with me. And Jason says, but Daddy, I think you're crazy. And I said, Jason, that's what you're doing. He keeps me sane. I was going with a strange sense of humor to go with a strong sense of pain. And I found that there's nothing so serious that it can't hold us on as a joke. So I may smile at stories about people suffering and laugh about losing my hat. Maybe people think I give talks without answers because I tease them and hide where they're at. But I also love things that are simple. And a smile is the last thing you'll see on the face of this crazy little outlaw laughing out loud because I'm me. I laugh like this because I'm free. And my mother, the southern daddy, said to her, Tom, do you love Jesus? I said, Mama, didn't it show? She said, I've been listening to you for an hour, and frankly, I've got to say no. Because if you did, you'd be famous. Big contract from Christian TV. You'd be so well-known that you'd never get lonely. You'd never be crazy or weird. But you've got to give up making talks without answers, and you ought to shave off that old beard. I said, well, I love you too, Mother. But you sure found it different than me. Because I do my best. And I do it like you do. Because he did it.
Discussion
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