The New Guy

I had a new guy ask me to be his sponsor a while back for reasons that are opaque to me.  Why anyone would voluntarily seek advice from me about anything when I give it so freely unbidden is beyond my capacity to comprehend. 


Anyway, he really hasn't been making much of an effort to pick up the 1000 lb phone.  This is understandable.  I considered the phone to be some kind of inanimate serpent when I was getting sober, something that could only deliver bad news from bill collectors, legal type people, pissed friends and family members, and the like.  A ringing phone was not something that would normally cause my spirits to soar.  It was certainly not something I would use to initiate contact with anyone else.  Not very many people were glad to hear from me and those who were weren't people that I was glad to talk to.


I suggested to the new guy that he call me every few days, and not because he's all that interesting to talk to, in the way of self-absorbed new people who think their very ordinary problems are way more significant and unfair than they really are.  But I made this suggestion so that he could get into the habit of calling regularly because when something really troubling comes up, as it invariably will,  I don't want him to be frozen with the fear that we're all familiar with.  In my early days I never called anyone because I never wanted to "bother" anyone, unaware that my presence was keeping several hundred people sober.


"God, I never want to be like that again," they were probably thinking.


Nothing really changed in the weeks after I made my suggestion, which is also not surprising.  None of us had check marks in the "Takes Instruction Well" box on our kindergarten report cards.  He is waiting to get his driver's license reinstated so I gave him a ride home from the meeting a few days ago.  It was about a 15 minute drive so we had time to have a nice talk about nothing in particular.


When I got home there was a message from this guy on my answering machine.  Nothing for 6 weeks then a call immediately after getting out of my car.  I wonder if he would have given himself credit for calling me while we were driving home.


"Excuse me," he would have whispered, sotto voce, putting his hand over the mouthpiece of his phone.  "I have to take this.  It's my sponsor.  He's a real asshole."


I don't think he gets it yet.