Starting the New Year on sober footing

Sue Clark

I jogged down an unusually quiet Balboa Peninsula on New Year’s

morning noticing signs of the previous night’s revelry. Empty beer

cans, sometimes entire six-packs, languished in front of beachfront

properties. Half-empty magnums of flat champagne and broken wine

bottles lay scattered across usually tidy patios, and forlorn little

party hats were squashed on the boardwalk. For a few sleeping within,

the morning would be filled with regret, and they would be feeling

like those hats.

The holidays are often the last battle cry for the problem

drinker; yet they open the door to a new beginning for those with

addiction problems. For some fortunate women, already sober for a

little while, this New Year’s would be the first good one in a long

time. This courageous group had already received a boost from the

Costa Mesa Alano Club at a holiday dinner that marks one of my

favorite memories of 2003:

“Dude, let’s go play video games.” An 8-year-old -- his hair

gelled in spikes -- pulled a younger boy off to the Alano Club game

room. Checking for eavesdroppers, he quietly added, “I think Santa’s

here, too.”

I’d signed on for a few hours of pouring coffee and cokes to the

300 or so people who showed up for a holiday dinner provided by the

Costa Mesa Alano Club, a gathering place for those in 12-step

recovery programs. For the newly clean, as well as the longtime

sober, the club is a safe haven, particularly during the holidays,

when the media relentlessly assaults the public with ads equating

holiday fun with alcohol.

Steve Sweet, one of the managers of the club, came up with the

idea last year and searched for recipients for a holiday fundraiser.

He decided on Women Helping Women, an organization dedicated to

helping abused and needy women transition to economic self-reliance.

Women Helping Women provides career counseling, computer training,

job referrals and clothing and cosmetic makeovers to women who

transition to financial independence. All funds generated by the

holiday dinner go to help the organization.

In addition, anonymous Santas can sign up to buy gifts for the

children of women living at Heritage House, a sober living facility

for single mothers in recovery.

Not all the folks attending the dinner were newly sober, or even

in recovery. Many were there as cheerleaders. Spouses, kids, families

and community members were gathered in brightly decorated rooms,

eating a ham dinner and singing carols. The club rang with greetings,

hugs and merriment. A dance was planned for later in the evening.

I had the best spot in the house, as I poured sodas, cappuccinos

and coffees to a diverse crowd. I saw a Harley-shirted biker with a

long gray ponytail discussing philosophy with a 20-something that

remembered me from her high school days. Women living in Heritage

House held blanketed infants or were trailed by toddlers and

school-aged kids. Two gorgeously dressed teens looked as world-weary

as they could, given how much fun they were having being idolized by

the little kids and fussed over by the adults.

“Are you guys bored?” I poured them a Diet Coke and a hot

chocolate.

“Actually, not really,” the brunet sheepishly admitted.

The blond turned as holiday music began floating in from the

patio. “When does the auction begin?” she called over her shoulder as

they sauntered off to explore.

I saw hundreds of kids bouncing in their folding chairs as Santa

and his elves arrived with numbered bags. Each child and his mom from

the sober living house had written a wish list, and club supporters

had bought and wrapped the presents. The tension was growing, along

with the pile of gifts. Steve raced by mumbling, “We missed one gift

for an 8-year-old boy!” He dispatched a runner to buy, wrap and

hurry.

As Santa called the kids’ names, each beaming child came shyly up

to receive a gift. It was equally exciting for the “mystery gifters”

to spy on the kids and see how their efforts were received.

“Where is he? I hope he likes the gift I got him,” said one

delighted man, scanning the crowd.

I peered around the crowd of excited children, looking for a

certain 3-year-old. I spotted a dad holding some Barbie clothes, and

a small girl seated on the ground. She was speechless as she looked

at not one but two Barbies. I was still nervous. One was a real

Barbie, but it had been the last of its kind at the store. The other

was a wannabe. I restrained myself from rushing over to explain.

Suddenly, she grinned and held up everything to show her dad. He

smiled down at her.

“Wow! You mean Barbie has a computer and a cell phone? Cool,” she

said.

If the little girl knew one was a Barboid, she didn’t let on.

As I looked at the donations being auctioned off, I noticed each

one had a price. “One week at the Beach House Recovery Home,” read a

sign, “worth $135.” “Manicure and pedicure: worth $25.” “Boombox:

worth $100.”

I rubbed my sore feet (I should not have worn sandals to work the

counter), and added one item to the list:

Helping people turn their lives around: inestimable.