Matt J. from Santa Monica tells the story of a kid who never wanted to be where he was. Both parents alcoholic, asthmatic from birth, wired on childhood amphetamines, fantasizing in a Naugahyde chair watching Bullwinkle — he was an accident-prone, guilty, functionally illiterate kid who learned in sixth grade that "my father was drunk last night" was a magic excuse that got teachers to pat him on the back. By fifteen he found the real answer on New Year's Eve: a fifth of scotch, a handful of stolen Valium and Tedrol, two friends passed out, him staring into the fireplace feeling for once that he had complete information.
The middle of the tape is pure family-disease wreckage. He moves in with his vodka-drunk father in Hermosa Beach, builds a philosophy of better-living-through-chemistry around Ripple and mini-uppers and concert-hall hash, and then his blackout-rage mother moves back in. He comes home from surfing to find her in the kitchen sink smashing his father's Sony with a hammer, his father in pajamas saying "honey, don't do that." She breaks records out the back door — Jimi Hendrix, Jethro Tull, everything but the Christmas albums — and he starts sleeping in his car.
His parents sober up first. He notices his father grew a tan and his bald patches filled back in, but the anger in him is already in survival mode. After a detour through Sears tire department (sniffing vulcanizing glue, stealing $500 of merchandise), a sponsor named Art Cole tells him something he's never heard: change your actions and your attitude will change. He gets drunk one more time at 21, wakes up at Sambo's over 50 cups of coffee on May 27, 1973, and hasn't had a drink since.
The last third is about learning to be successful in AA — a harder lesson than getting sober. Sponsors Clancy and later John A. walk him through a BMW-parts career he didn't ask for, an Al-Anon wife and stepson, making amends to Sears, a reading disability he works around by listening to the Big Book on tape, his mother's terminal cancer turning into fourteen years of sobriety and total remission, and a nephew Stuart already six arrests in. At thirty-two, sober a third of his life, he says he used to think he was sentenced to AA — now he wouldn't trade it.
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