My Story: A New Life - Part VI
Continued from A New Life - Part V
The Salvation Army Adult Rehabilitation Center (ARC) provided me with just the right amount of structure necessary in those early days of recovery. It helped that I was at an above-average ARC (the relatively new facility in Romulus, MI - pictured at right) which was under especially good management at the time.
The ARC program is six months long. There is no charge for services; funding is provided through donations and sales of items in the thrift stores. There is also a lot of free labor in the ARC - residents are required to complete 40 hours of Work Therapy per week, in various positions related to donated items (e.g. receiving, processing, and merchandising), or doing janitorial or kitchen work in the ARC itself. When not doing Work Therapy, residents participate in individual and group counseling sessions, as well as other didactic programming, chapel services, and Bible study.
There is plenty of free time as well, in the evening and on weekends. We had a ping-pong table, a pool table, a library with computers (plenty of software, but no Internet), and four TV rooms, not including the big-screen TV in the main recreation area. In good weather we also had a basketball court, volleyball, and a small driving range with donated golf clubs and balls.
The second floor included bedrooms and showers. It was here that the country club vibe gave way to more of a military feel. Each bedroom housed five or six men. Every man had a cot, a night stand with two drawers, and a locker. Upon intake to the facility, everyone received a voucher for clothing to be obtained at the adjacent thrift store, including a suit of spiffy Sunday-go-to-meeting clothes for chapel. In addition to our "new" garb, we were given a shaving kit and a pocket-size, paperback New Testament. Then we were sent off to shave, shower, and make ourselves look presentable for a change. I had already been sober for about five weeks, so I came in clean as a whistle, but the majority of new recruits were a bit grungy.
We were required to keep our hair short enough that it didn't touch our shirt collars. That's another thing - all of our shirts had to have collars and be tucked into our pants. And forget about facial hair, except a well-trimmed mustache.
Work Therapy assignments began the first full day of the program, i.e. the day following intake. I lucked out and got assigned to a Stores position. These thrift store jobs were highly desired. The work involved sweeping and mopping the sales floor, arranging furniture and other merchandise, and occasionally assisting customers. It was far easier than working in the warehouse.
The massive warehouse was behind the thrift store, and provided Work Therapy assignments for around 70% of the ARC residents, including most newbies. Donations were picked up from homes and other drop-off locations by drivers, some of whom were residents, and brought to the warehouse for processing. The majority of most truckloads consisted of clothing donations, which were processed on a conveyor belt. At the beginning of the line was the Bag-Buster. He tore open the garbage bag, often dusty from months of sitting in someone's musty garage, and scattered the clothes on the belt. Beside the dust and smell of unwashed clothing, there were sometimes bugs, and occasionallyaccidently donated lawn clippings. Next came a long line of Sorters, who picked out garments deemed resellable. Whatever clothing didn't make the cut ended up in a huge bailing machine, where it was compacted into half-ton cubes and, as I recall, sold to some other company which picked it up and trucked it down to Mexico.
My adjustment to the ARC program was made a good deal easier by the spiritual awakening I experienced shortly after my arrival, which I outlined in the previous My Story installment. The experience produced such an upheaval that much of my worldview was turned around 180 degrees in a matter of days. As I began to look at life through the eyes of faith, I had to discard many long-held opinions for new ones. But despite the dramatic changes taking place, I felt a profound sense of peace and joy.
I now felt I had a much stronger armor to defend me against the slings and arrows of early recovery. And I would need all the help I could get - the next year would bring some of the biggest challenges of my life.
As a youth, I had accepted at face value the doctrine and theology I had learned. Then, in my high school and college years, I had welcomed the common objections to Christian doctrine with enthusiasm, having already abandoned the Church. I had outgrown my childish understanding of spiritual matters, and had never bothered to seek out a more complex understanding. Now, for the first time, I found myself wishing vaguely that I could find a mature faith - an adult conception of God. 
After a couple weeks in the slammer, I was granted a personal bond by the court, following my preliminary hearing. I was facing charges of Impaired Driving (2nd offense), and Possession of Cocaine. This was, without a doubt, the most legal trouble I had ever been in.
This post consists of some memories of the two weeks I was held in Wayne County Jail. This was technically at the beginning of my recovery, although I didn't have a very strong sense at the time that I was getting better. It felt as though I was trapped at the bottom, and might finally be down for the count. 
I've never enjoyed the taste of the vile greenish-yellow concoction; I drink for the effect only. In fact, that's one of the signs that I'm addicted. 
It's a good thing I quit when I did, or I might be wasting money on Nic Time nicotine drink, in addition to cigarettes. You can read all about this "refreshing" new beverage 
I was reflecting on all this while I celebrated my first Father's Day today. My little girl, Allison, is four-and-a-half months old. I hope and pray that she will only know her daddy as a sober, responsible parent. I'm grateful to say that my wife has never seen me drunk or high. If I continue to take some simple steps, on a daily basis, neither my wife nor daughter will ever have to see my dark side.