Yes, I had a privileged childhood growing up. My dad was a very hard-working man who did very well financially. He worked 24-7. My brothers and I had the finest education any child could have ever hoped for. We had opportunities most people simply dreamed about. And I was able to pass the same along to my son and daughter. I am not embarrassed or ashamed of how I was raised— sure, no parent is perfect and there were plenty of challenges and disappointments growing up—but my mother and father taught us respect for ALL people, no matter one’s race, faith, color, gender, political leanings, etc…
The dearest person in my life was a Black woman named Corinne who helped raise me until I went to college. Though she has been gone for years she remains in my heart as my guiding angel. She had dignity. She had faith. At that time, her job prospects were extremely limited, being a maid was all she could be, despite her level of education. I can only imagine what she could have been in today’s world—maybe even our president!!! Living in Memphis, TN I witnessed the aftermath of the assassination of Martin Luther King, Jr. Our city was shut down. Strict curfews were set. At the age of 14 at that time I could not comprehend it all. He was a very peaceful man with a vision of hope. My parents respected him. I clearly remember my dad telling the Black members of our staff how very sorry he was, how inexplicable his assassination was.
I grew up with truly remarkable people around me. Each one helped mold me into the person I am today. I am proud of who I am. I am not ashamed. Let’s all come together and do our part in helping make America the beautifully diverse and accepting nation it truly can be!
For more on my story and life with Corinne, I encourage you to read Smell the Raindrops. Though it’s a book I wrote more than two years ago, its themes of racial injustice, healing and reconciliation resonate now more than ever.
My Name is BA Austin and I'm an Alcoholic...
“My name is BA—I am an alcoholic”—I have said those words in AA meetings for over 23 years, and will say them the rest of my life—alcoholism is an incurable disease—you either make the commitment to deal with it, to never pick up that drink, or you decide to succumb to it…
In June of 2012, fifteen years after I got sober, I wrote my daughter and son a letter of gratitude that I and they will always have as a reminder of the gift they gave me…
Dear Savanah and Steven,
Fifteen years ago this month, at the age of 43, I walked out of the Betty Ford Center, head held high, hopeful about entering “life” a new person, a new mom. Not a single day has passed since that life-altering experience that I have taken my sobriety for granted, that I have not thanked God for you, that I have not thanked Him for another day.
The years leading up to my demise are indelibly marked in my brain, my soul. Nana had passed away in 1990. Your dad and I separated a few months following. You were nine and six years old at the time, two innocent children now products of a broken family. Though I was seemingly carrying on raising you in as healthy and loving way I knew, inside I was drifting, sinking lower and lower into despair, bereft over my mom’s death, shameful of now being “a divorced woman”, and worst of all, the sense of failure as your mom.
As the days and months passed, after you had done your homework and gone to bed, I would reach for a glass of wine to unwind. Over time that one glass became two, three, and ultimately a bottle, or even two. I did whatever it took to deaden my senses, to put myself into a coma-like sleep.
As the years passed, though I tried to hide the glasses, the bottles, you became increasingly aware of my drinking, so much so that out of love, not disgust, you went to my brothers to tell them your mom needed help. That afternoon as I entered your Uncle Billy’s house thinking I was coming to a bar-b-q; the silence in the walls spoke loudly. He put his arm around me and brought me into the family room where before me you sat, tears streaming down your faces. Surrounding you were the rest of the family and a pastor, himself a recovering alcoholic. You read a letter to me as to how my alcohol problem had impacted you. I listened intently, heart aching, knowing full well the truth you were speaking.
That afternoon I walked through the doors of the Betty Ford Center with trepidation, wondering what laid before me for the next thirty days, looking at desperate faces of other men and women, moms and dads, children, wondering what their story was, wondering how they had reached rock-bottom as I had. Though I was in a daze, the one single thing I was sure of was I KNEW I never wanted to have another drink again, that I would do whatever it took to make that happen. And so my journey began…buried somewhere in my mind was a glimmer of what could be, of hope for a future…through adversity would come joy…I knew this much…Through the years I have shared with you how addiction has wreaked havoc on our family from one generation to the next, causing heartache, broken relationships, and often times premature death. Addiction is an insidious disease. It knows no boundaries. I pray that this disease in our family has seen its end.
Today you are adults living solid, healthy lives. Savanah, you are a wonderfully loving wife and mom. Steven, you are a man with a kind, carefree spirit that I so admire. I am so very proud of you both. Without the love you showed me in my darkest hour, I might not be here to write you this letter. I am so blessed to be your mom.
I love you so dearly,
Mom
