San Bernardino, California. E Street. Tom F. describes a youth spent cruising with hot rods, popping "little red devils," and drinking Ripple wine until he fell face-first into the dirt. He built a psychological fort—an Alamo of the ego—manned by imaginary soldiers with M60s to protect his right to drink. He describes the crash as a full-scale invasion: a righteous army with bayonets and howitzers that slaughtered his defenders and left him pinned down. He surrendered when a general pointed a .45 at his head.
After a moment of clarity in a bathroom mirror, seeing a soul "dark and dingy," he entered recovery in 1985. He speaks of the "phenomenon of craving" and the danger of the first half of the first step. For Tom, the Big Book became a mirror. He now navigates life through a Higher Power, moving from the wreckage of a "bonehead" to the quiet of a farm, where he trades the bottle for chainsaws and the prayers of a grandfather.
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