“Did you enjoy the Lakers win last night?” I asked Tyrone as he sat across from me on the couch.
Tyrone nodded. “Yeah, it was awesome.”
“Frank was going crazy with the triple overtime. I almost had to give him a sedative to calm him down. By the way, do you know if Ray Gutiérrez is a Lakers fan?”
“Nah, he’s a big time Dodgers fan.”
“Too bad, but to quote my husband, Frank, anyone who lives in California sooner or later becomes a Lakers fan.”
Tyrone’s smile faded, and the light in his eyes grew dim. “Marcos left.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. I know how much you looked forward to seeing him at the center.”
“Yeah, but it was the best thing for Marcos,” Tyrone admitted. “Ray said his mom got a better job.”
“Then I am very happy for Marcos,” I said, watching Tyrone extract a small brown book from his jacket.
Handing it to me, Tyrone remarked, “Dr. Martínez, I wanted to show you this book. Ray gave it to me.”
“The Tiny Warrior,” I read aloud, noting the author’s name. “Sounds intriguing.”
Tyrone’s voice thickened with excitement. “It’s the story of a guy named Justin who dropped out of college. He’s real depressed about his life, but his grandpa helps him by telling him the story of an Indian boy named Cricket. This is the best book I’ve ever read. I couldn’t put it down until I finished it.”
“It must be a powerful story,” I exclaimed, reading the comments on the book jacket.
“What I like the most are the Points of Wisdom at the end of each chapter.”
“Will you share one with me?” I asked, handing him The Tiny Warrior.
Tyrone opened the book and began to read. “Choose your pack wisely. Your spirit is like a sponge, soaking up who and what surrounds you.” His eyes shining like beacons, Tyrone said, “This saying reminded me of the things I was doing when I dropped out of Roosevelt. I was hanging out with Max, getting loaded, getting more depressed. Then there’s the one about the spirit dogs.”
“Read that one,” I suggested, delighted with Tyrone’s sudden enthusiasm about reading.
Turning a few more pages, Tyrone continued to read. “The positive and negative ‘spirit dogs’ fight for your attitude every day. The one you feed determines the winner.” Pausing to catch his breath, Tyrone said, “I really liked this one. It made me think about how angry I’ve been acting toward my dad.”
“It sounds like The Tiny Warrior has helped you sort out your feelings.”
“Yeah, it really has. It has blank pages for each chapter, so you can write your feelings down. I haven’t done that yet, but I know I want to be like Justin: get a college degree and give back to the community. After reading The Tiny Warrior, I’m more determined than ever to be like Ray, so I can help others.”
I reached out to pat Tyrone’s hand, complimenting him on his self-determination and desire for social change. Capitalizing on Tyrone’s positive attitude, I ask, “How are you and your dad getting along?”
After a lengthy sigh, Tyrone described the party with Max and the tense conversation that followed with his father. “But everything turned out fine. At first, I thought Dad was dissing me, but I found out he was just worried about me drinking and that I’d end up like one of my uncles. I made it crystal clear that I’m going to make something out of my life and go to college. That made him real happy. But you know what? Sometimes I’m still angry at Dad. I still have my doubts about trusting him.”
“Just be patient, Tyrone. Give it some time. You’ve already taken an important step by listening to your dad and talking with him straight from the heart.”
We spent the remainder of the session discussing Tyrone’s meeting with Mr. Grinde about his college goals. Before Tyrone left, I copied D.J. Vanas’ web site address with the intention of ordering myself a copy of The Tiny Warrior.
While I waited for my next client to arrive, I dialed my parents’ number in Delano. Surprised to hear Dad’s voice at the other end of the line, I asked for Mom, but he explained that she was at her comadre María’s house.
As I was about to ask how he was feeling, Dad said, “Hija, I’m glad you called.”
“Dad, I’m sorry I didn’t go back to the hospital, but …”
“It’s all right, hija,” Dad interrupted in a hoarse voice. “You don’t have to explain. I just want you to know how important you are to me and how much I love you.”
I had to blink back the tears as I whispered, “I love you too, Dad.”
Coughing softly, Dad paused to clear his voice before he went on. “Sandra, last night I went to my first AA meeting.”
“You don’t know how happy that makes me, Dad. Did Mom go with you?”
“She wanted to, but I wouldn’t let her. Maybe later. For now, I want to try to do it on my own. Hija, I never thought I’d set foot in one of those meetings, but it wasn’t so bad. There was a speaker who called on me to introduce myself, and for the first time, I had to admit I was an alcoholic in front of strangers.”
“Dad, I want you to know that whatever it takes for you to get sober, you have all of my support, as well as Frank’s. He loves you as much as I do.”
“Thanks, hija. That means a lot to me.” There was a moment of silence. Then Dad continued. “Last night I met a lot of men just like me. Some of them even went up in front of the group and told their stories. I don’t know when I’ll be able to do that, but I bought an AA book that has the Twelve Steps in it. They’re a set of principles to live a sober life. I already shared them with your mom.”
“That’s great, Dad. Maybe you can share the Twelve Steps with me the next time we visit.”
“Sí, hija, I will. Guess I shouldn’t have been so stubborn about AA all these years.”
“Don’t worry, Dad,” I reassured him. “Today is what matters, and you’ve already initiated the recovery process.”
Dad’s voice broke as we said good-bye.
Hanging up the receiver, I felt suddenly lighter, as if I had released an enormous burden I’d carried inside my heart all these years.
That evening, I happily described my day to Frank, starting with Tyrone and The Tiny Warrior. As Frank began to congratulate me, I interrupted him, exclaiming, “Wait a minute, panzoncito. I’m not finished with the good news. Dad went to his first AA meeting, and he liked it.”
“He did? How did that happen? Did Mom tie him up and drag him there?”
Chuckling at the idea of Mom kidnapping Dad, I answered, “No, he went on his own.”
Frank stretched out his hand to stroke my cheek tenderly. “Hon, I knew your dad would come around. He’s a good man, just like Tyrone’s dad.”
“Why, Mr. Burton, for an accountant, you’re awful perceptive!” I cried as Frank’s face broke into a sheepish grin.
Drawing me into his arms, Frank wiggled his tempting pink tongue in my face, saying, “Okay, woman, time for some lengua!”