A couple of years had gone by and I was in high school, eagerly awaiting the day I got my driver’s license. My father went with me to take the test. During the test, my father distracted the police officer so I could pass. He was good with people and he always found a way to connect with anyone. That was what made him a great salesman. We seemed to have a lot more in common now that his drinking was under control.
By the time he had quit, it was too late for my parents’ relationship to be rekindled. My brother Jason always said, “The old man quit a day too late!” He kind of had wet brain but everyone liked sober Joe. He was a good guy without the alcohol. He just said things that didn’t make sense sometimes, but we got used to it.
Later in high school I worked a couple of jobs. One was pumping gas late at night and the other was in a machine shop after school. Getting my driver’s license was a big deal for me since I could escape the wars at home of my parents’ failing marriage.
My senior year of high school was bittersweet. I had a bunch of friends and developed a taste for cocaine. One afternoon, I came home from school to find that my mother had finally moved out. She was done with my dad’s bullshit. I should have been upset, but for once it was actually peaceful since the arguments stopped. My father was often out on dates with one of his girlfriends and I had the liberty to throw parties whenever I wanted.
I just scraped by in passing school. The girls I dated typically helped me with school work, which was probably why I was able to pass in the first place. No matter how much I ate, I was still stick-skinny. All the drinking and coke usage were having a physical and mental effect on me. Nosebleeds started happening at school and my teachers started to show concern.
My social studies teacher once pulled me out in the hallway in the middle of class and warned, “Sean, I know what you are doing. You need to stop or it’s going to end badly for you.”
Brushing him off and denying my brooding addiction, I thought to myself, “What does this guy know?”
I felt like I didn’t even deserve to attend my own graduation. Plus, who would come and watch me walk across the stage? I went to the graduation but couldn't get myself to go in, so I stayed and watched on closed circuit television in the hall with the parents who showed up late. I stayed long enough to hear my own name called and then left.
There were a lot of graduation parties to get wild at that summer. On the way home from a party in Plymouth, my friends and I got lost driving through a state forest. I was drunk, shirtless and shoeless when a state cop saw me swerving and pulled me over. He said, “Stay in the vehicle.” Not understanding, I jumped out and walked up to him. I asked for directions out of there. He replied, “Yeah, sure buddy. Right after a sobriety test.” After I agreed, he said, “Tilt your head back and touch your nose ten times.” So I leaned my head back and rapidly touched my nose. I accomplished the task successfully thanks to the lines of coke I had done before I left the party. I passed with flying colors.
The officer laughed, cleared his throat, pointed down the road and said, “When you see the split in the road, take a right and the highway is a quarter of a mile down.” I saluted the officer and said, “Thank you, sir!” and he laughed again and looked away.
When I got back in the car, one of my friends said, “I can’t believe you didn’t get arrested, Sean!”
I dodged a bullet on that one.
Drinking was a good way to keep my mind off my childhood trauma but it started to become more of a necessity.