Bag of donuts
Sometimes all it takes is a kind gesture to save a life
In the summer of '73, my
family and I had just moved
to Los Angeles. With no
place to live and no money,
we found ourselves staying
at a mission on skid row.
It was not the best place
for an 11-year-old boy. This
was the turning point of my life.
Not having any other kids to
play with, I would walk the streets,
and I met many types of people.
normal people would call them
drunks, bums and tramps; I called
them my friends and my teachers.
The streets were my classroom.
Alcohol was the first step into my
new life. I learned how I could afford
to eat and drink. I would drink one,
two or three bottles of cheap wine a
day. My friends called me lucky, although I never felt that way.
After living on skid row for six
months, my family transferred to another mission. There were kids like
myself, except that I was far more
streetwise than even their parents.
I learned at a young age how to
manipulate others into doing what
I wanted, not realizing what I was
becoming and not caring about others' feelings. I was an alcoholic in
the making. Things got somewhat
better, and we moved into our own
home. But by age 15 I couldn't make
it through the day without a drink.
We lived on the Watts and
Compton border. My choices were
slim; I could join a gang and sell
drugs, or I could become a thief.
The first three days that I attended
school I got jumped. On the fourth
day, I was ready. I brought a bike
chain with me, and I swung first. I
hit one kid on the back of the head
and another on his hand. I told them
that I lived there now, so they could
get used to it, or we could keep doing this every day. They looked at
me and each other and said, "It's
cool." I have to admit it went better
than I thought it would.
I met this older dude, J.C.,
and his girl, Sue. We hung out and
drank. They were the closest I had
to real friends. One day I went over
to their house, and Sue told me
that J.C. was killed robbing a convenience store. I can't remember
a lot after that. I drank every day
and night for the next six months. I
woke up one day sitting in a police
substation. I'd gotten popped for
stealing a 40-ounce beer, and the
judge gave me six months.
By this time I was 17 and had
decided not to move back home, so
I moved to Hollywood. I met other
street kids, and we ran together. I
was still drinking every day. I sold
pot to support my drinking habit, but
also started taking other drugs. Then
something unexpected happened.
It was three o'clock in the morning. I had wasted the better part of
an hour on the corner of Hollywood
and Vine, waiting for my dealer to
show, and watching many different
types of people come and go: men in
women's clothing, a hooker or two, a
guy begging for change. There was
this bag lady pushing her cart; she
must have been looking for a place to
sleep. I wouldn't sleep in this part of
town, but there I was, waiting to buy
dope—I wondered which of us was
the crazy one. As she passed by me
she smiled and asked if I could buy
her a cup of coffee. I was pissed that
my dealer hadn't shown up yet and
without thinking I said, "Hell, no."
She smiled and thanked me anyway.
"Wait," I said. "I'm sorry. Let's go to
the donut shop across the street."
I ordered two large coffees and
four donuts, and we sat at a table
where she could watch her cart and
I could watch for my dealer. "What's
a nice kid like you doing in this part
of town?" she asked. Before I could
answer she said, "Drugs, I bet."
"Why would you think that?"
I asked.
"How do you think I got here?
Do you think that I was always like
this?" She told me that she was an
alcoholic and a drug addict. She told
me of her home and family that she
lost because she couldn't stop using.
She said she had been living on the
streets for the last two years and for
the last three months she had been
attending AA meetings and had been
sober for six weeks. "That sounds
great," I told her. I felt that she could
see right through me.
"Why do you seem to be so
happy?" I asked.
"I live just for the day and God
gives me everything that I need,"
she said.
The night passed by, my dealer
never showed up and I really didn't
care; I was feeling kind of good as we
said our goodbyes. She told me that
she would pray for me. I never saw
her again.
A few years later I was 25 years
old and homeless. My life rotated
around liquor stores, barrooms and
rundown motels. I couldn't keep a
steady job and worked as a day laborer to earn just enough each day
for a fifth of whiskey, a loaf of bread
and a jar of jam. It wasn't much of a
life. I was just getting by.
One night while walking home
I passed by a midnight AA meeting.
This guy invited me to come in;
they had coffee and donuts inside.
I thought, What the hell, at least
I'll get to eat. There was this guy
speaking up front. I thought he
talked a good talk, but how could
just talking about drinking make
me feel better? I told them that I
didn't get it, but thanked them for
the coffee and donuts.
A couple stopped me at the door.
They introduced themselves, handed me a bag of donuts and invited
me to come back any time. I kind of
got choked up and said OK. Walking
home, I started to cry. no one had
ever been kind to me before.
But the next day I was back to
my same old routine, and I kept living that way for the next 20 years.
Today I ask myself what was so
hard to understand. I let my fears
stop me back then. I was weak and
afraid to ask for help.
But better late than never. I have
come to a point of my life when I am
ready for a change. Change isn't going to be easy and at times my feelings will probably get bruised. now
I am building a good strong foundation using the wisdom of my brothers and sisters who came before me,
and with the strength of my Higher
Power I now have the ability to become a better person.
Why did I tempt fate to the
brink of death before I started to
see the light? Why did I live with
loneliness, self-pity and fear? Why
did I blame others for everything
that went wrong in my life? I needed to take a good look at myself
and start from scratch.
I have been attending meetings
and listening to others and expressing my feelings. My life is in the
care of a power greater than myself.
I don't know if I have changed, but I
like the person I am becoming.
Medically, my liver is shot. I have
congestive heart failure and diabetes.
I'm not going to let this hinder me.
I have been sober for five months. I
am attending meetings, I listen to
my sponsor, and I am following the
Steps. I am living with my eyes wide
open, knowing what I do and doing
what is right. I have found serenity
and hope and peace of mind.
Dave F.
Hutchinson, Kan.
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