I’m posting two days later this week since I spent the majority of Saturday preparing for the Hurricane Hilary and the majority of Sunday enjoying a rainy day curled up the couch. My thoughts go out to my friends in Wrightwood who are secluded on the mountaintop after all the roads were washed out. Also to the people in Mexico and those in Palm Springs area that had severe flooding.
This weeks post is about living in Alaska - itself a world of extremes.
I’ve also added an audio recording for those without time to read. (That means you Adara!)
Audio Recording: Property of Scott - Or Not
Alaska is a world of extremes. In the winter, the tired sun would peek over the horizon for a few precious hours before falling out of sight. It was like watching a drunk slowly stand up, take two steps, then trip and fall flat on their face.
We went to school in the dark. We came home in the dark. In December, the sun would finally rise after 9 am. By that time, I was in a windowless room learning to say Me llamos es Sidse and donde esta el bano. We never saw the sunset because it was dark again by 2:30. In October of 1982, the month we moved north, it snowed three feet, covered every inch of land and we didn’t see dirt or pavement again till May.
I longed for the hallowed snow days. Days that were preceded by nights of heavy snowfall and mornings that stalled the city. We’d listen to the radio for the list of schools that were closed then rejoice by donning our coats, hats, scarves, gloves, and if your parents were flush enough to afford them - snow pants. The rest of the day was a winter wonderland of sledding, snowball fights and spiced cider.
But the idea of snow days in Alaska was laughable. It could snow three feet overnight and the buses would magically lurch down the street to pick up us shivering urchins waiting in chin deep snow. If we were lucky, by the time we got to school, five miles later, the sky would’ve turned from black to a deep blue.
In my three years of high school in Alaska we only had one day off due to inclimate weather. It wasn’t snow that caused it. It was the Chinook Winds. Warm winds blew in, melted the top few layers of snow and turned the city into an ice rink overnight.
Within a few months of living in Alaska, I had acclimated to the cold. The girls at Service High School were hip to the ‘lower 48’ 80’s fashion and in a desire to fit in, I shunned my snow boots and learned to walk to the bus stop in a mini skirt, bare legs and four inch spiked heels. It was very WIM HOF esque of me, but I wasn’t doing it for my health. I wanted to be cute and cool in the Alaskan tundra.
The move to Alaska had accomplished a few things. First, with the end of the cold war, the nuclear power plant in Richland Washington was under scrutiny and rumors of closure. I remember getting roped into attending a protest march to keep the nuclear power plants open. I didn’t understand that the economics of the city relied on the plant staying open. But I knew my dad’s work as a builder had dwindled and he was spending more time away from home to make ends meet. The Alaskan pipeline construction was booming and his brothers and brother-in-law had moved north to cash in on the abundance of work. My dad worked the summer in Alaska while we stayed in Richland. When I started drinking at 14, my parents wanted to get me away from my wayward peers and Alaska looked like a solution to both problems.
In the recovery world of 12 step programs, this type of move is called a geographic. In essence it’s a set of problems that are linked to a people and a place. Since the problem is them, not you, the grand idea prevails that if you move elsewhere, your problems will be left behind. That’s why a geographic always looks like a solution.
Unfortunately for everyone, I was a budding alcoholic. One set of friends was quickly replaced by another. I was fifteen and I found my people. It wasn’t hard. The access to alcohol had never been easier and in the last frontier, weed was also legal. Plenty of parents worked a shift on the North Slope. That was two weeks on, two weeks off. Two full weeks, every month, with an unsupervised household. In a school with thousands of kids, you could bet on plenty of parties every weekend.
When I was a sophomore I turned sixteen. I was in my spiked heel and mini skirt phase, when I was asked on a date by a senior named Scott. The date was to see the Dark Crystal. It was a PG movie so my parents approved.
After the movie, we went for a drive. He parked up on Hillside to show me the view of Anchorage. I climbed out of the car for a better view. It was March and the sky was a black canvas sprinkled with twinkling stars. The city lights paled in comparison and the snow covered landscape stilled the air. Scott leaned against the back bumper of his car, took my hands and pulled me next to him. We kissed, but since I wanted to be ‘technically’ a good kisser, it was about doing it right instead of enjoying the moment.
After a mini make out session we ended the night at a party. I hadn’t had a drink for months so when I found some kids on the stairs buzzing about this bottle of crazy hard stuff, I was curious. It was Everclear, 180 proof. They said it was practically illegal, even for adults.
They were daring each other, but no one stepped up to the plate. “I’ll do it,” I smiled.
Someone handed me the bottle, I wrapped my fingers around the neck and took a swig. WHEW. I handed the bottle back and they stared at me in awe. I think they expected me to burst into flames.
“I can’t believe you did that!” one of them said, “are you okay? How do you feel?”
“It’s not that bad.” I said, as my stomach began to warm up.
“Bull!” said the kid holding the bottle, “this isn’t like Vodka, this is strong stuff.”
I reached for the bottle, “I’ll do it again.”
Another swig. I smiled. Their mouths hung open.
This time I didn’t hand the bottle back. Hmmm, I thought to myself, I need one more before my date finds me. SWIG - WHEW. MMMM. I smiled and handed back the bottle.
They waited for me to fall over. I didn’t. In fact, I never felt more than buzz.
My last date had to carry me up the stairs to my house and hand me back to my dad. This time I was able to walk up to the front door by myself. Another hallmark of alcoholism - you can’t predict how it will affect you.
I didn’t like Scott the way he liked me, but I also didn’t know how to be honest about that. I didn’t know how to say no to a date and I didn’t want to hurt his feelings. I came up with a solution that matched my maturity level. I avoided him. I’d wait out the ten minutes between classes by hiding in the bathroom and taking different routes to class. I hoped he’d get distracted by one of the thousands of mini skirt wearing girls that populated the crowded halls of Service, but a couple days into it, while closing my locker door I heard, “you’re hard to catch up with!”
There was Scott. Leaning his six foot lanky frame against the locker, his expensive jean jacket with its collar standing up, his slicked back blond hair and an arrogant smile.
“Yeah,” I said, closing my locker, “I’m trying to get to my classes on time.”
He opened his arms to hug me. I gave him a quick, sideways hug and turned to go to class. He patted me on the back as I walked away.
“Sidse!” my cousin said. His locker was next to mine and I’d enlisted him in helping me avoid Scott. “You have something on your back,” he said.
I reached behind my back. Yep, there was something there alright. I pinched it between my fingers and pulled. It was a sticker:
You have got to be kidding me I thought! I spun around, walked up to Scott and slapped the sticker back on his chest and told him,“NOBODY OWNS ME!”
I nodded a thank you to my cuz and walked into class.
Scott didn’t try to ask me out again, but for the next few weeks, he took up the habit of wearing PROPERTY OF SCOTT stickers on his own clothes. One day, he conveniently landed in the lunch line next to me, pointed to his sticker and asked, “so, what do you think?”
“Looks like you’ve got it in the right place,” I said. He laughed and we parted ways.
Ownership of others is a common theme in relationships. We use the word MY ‘fill in the blank’ all the time, as if someone belongs to us. We’re protective of MY children, MY family, MY friends. It’s true that it's a connection and responsibility. They are my children, my family and my friends. But when the idea goes beyond connection and responsibility it can quickly become ownership and control.
What un-wove this idea of ownership for me was a poem by Kahlil Gibran.
I first read a quote by him when I was in college. ‘The deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you can contain.” I loved it. It represented hope for me.
Later I bought the small book he wrote called The Prophet and I studied its ideas. I was a parent at 19 and a single parent at 21 when I read what he said On Children. It made me sad. Not because it wasn’t true, but because of the level of detachment. But over time, it unraveled my belief in ownership of anyone. Nothing is mine, not even my children. I have tried to raise them with these principles in mind and enjoy my time with the people I’ve been blessed to have in my life.
ON CHILDREN - by Kahlil Gibran
Your children are not your children.
They are the sons and daughters of Life’s longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you,
And though they are with you, yet they belong not to you.
You may give them your love but not your thoughts.
For they have their own thoughts.
You may house their bodies but not their souls,
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow, which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.
You may strive to be like them, but seek not to make them like you.
For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.
You are the bows from which your children as living arrows are sent forth.
The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite, and He bends you with His might that His arrow may go swift and far.
Let your bending in the archer’s hand be for gladness;
For even as he loves the arrow that flies, so He loves the bow that is stable.
Circling back to the geographic. I didn’t know for years that my parents made the decision to move to Alaska to help me. They hoped it would, but I didn’t get sober for 3 more years. I had a spiritual experience when I was 18 and didn’t drink for 10 years. It was a big move to take a family with six kids to the extremes of Alaska. I have a lot of great memories. One summer, when the days so were so long that 2am looked like 2pm, we lived in tents on the land my parents bought and we built a huge beautiful house. But it was equally tough. Anyone who’s lived there can attest to the cabin fever and depression that takes hold when long dark days in a frozen world seem to never end. My dad had it rough because he had to work outdoors. Both of my parents had it tough, because I didn’t make it easy.
I want to thank my parents for taking the chance. Thanks for believing I was worth the risk. Every troubled kid needs someone to believe in them.
And with that I close - I hope you enjoyed it. Please consider sharing, liking, commenting or all of the above. Have a great day!