I Thought My Arrest Was My Lowest Point - Until I Saw My Son’s Face
A few weeks ago, I went to a close friend's birthday party. It was held at a place that is far more of a bar than a restaurant. I’d already gone four weeks without a single drink, but still – my heart was pounding when I walked in. For starters, I’d be seeing people I haven’t seen or heard from since my arrest for OUI. Second, I can never recall going to such an event without having a single drink. On the way there, I was actually rehearsing what I’d say when offered a beer or the drink du jour. I also had some explanations to do about my overly public situation. As I neared the entrance, the feeling of embarrassment grew stronger and stronger, and all the anxiety that I’d spent the last month fighting off – it was back.
If you are like me, when all is quiet, such as when it's dark, and you are trying to fall asleep, and there’s no one to talk to – that’s when the angst is at its worst. Sometimes, it is a worry; other times, it is a fear. Then there are the hours of thinking about what to say or do when something happens or is said. Just projecting the moves – like in a game of chess. I’d mulled it over again and again, thinking about whether or not I should even go to the party. Then, would I reveal what's really going on, or do I hide it – just like I’ve been doing for years? And after all the time wasted thinking about it, I just went with my gut when the moment came.
After the greetings, handshakes, and hugs, here's how it went:
My Friend: You having a beer?
Me: Yeah. Non-Alcoholic though.
My Friend: I thought that’d be the play. How long you have to do that for?
Me: Forever. No play.
I swear these are better than their alcohol containing counterparts
That was around Day 28 without drinking. Today is Day 53. But who is counting? So much was happening at that moment. I broke a social norm – one that I’d abided by since I was a teenager. It wasn’t like, 'I’m not drinking tonight because I’m on antibiotics,' or 'I'm running a 5K tomorrow.' This was different. I wasn’t drinking because I wasn’t, ever again. The door was opened for me to float into the universe that my decision wasn’t one of getting more physically fit, Dry January, or some other temporary excuse. For me, this was a decision of life or death. It was time. The icing on the cake for this moment and the duration of the party – my son was with me to watch and listen as it all went down.
For those who don’t know, I am a full-time dad for my 13-year-old. The day after my arrest, I had to explain it to him, honestly. If you are a parent, think briefly about how you’d do this. No sugarcoating. Adults make mistakes, too, and is there a way that we can use our colossal screw-ups to show our kids what accountability is in real life? Or how about what resilience is in the context of a lifelong response to a calamity? Think about it…he saw me on the news. Then he read the articles. He watched a school committee member talking about the fact that I had a son on TV. When he saw that one, he felt it for sure. He wanted to know why he was being talked about. He had to deal with his friends saying things about the guy on the news talking about him, among other things.
I had to talk to him about the reporters that were in front of my house. One would think that it’d be hands-off with the children – but let’s be honest. If people click on it, this cannot be the case. They were knocking on my door, and a truck had been parked in front of my house for hours. They were waiting for one of us to come out. A rock dropped into the water, and the ripples seemed, and still seem, never-ending.
Walking into that birthday party, I felt like I was in a fishbowl, as if I had broken some unwritten contract, and the people around me would notice and judge me because of what happened. However, when the moment arrived, it was far less dramatic than I had built it up to be. The world didn’t end. The ones who truly cared about me didn’t care what was in my glass. When I told the truth, I got hugs – real ones.
It doesn’t take a rock-bottom moment to decide when enough is enough. Mine was obvious, public, and humiliating, but if you’re reading this and wondering if your drinking is too much, most likely you are. Don’t wait until you lose something – or everything to make a move in a better direction.
I know my son will notice my actions more than my words. He didn’t need a lecture from me about alcohol or responsibility; he needed to see how I handled a mistake that couldn’t be erased. He needs to see me own it, not hide from it. Whatever is going on, someone – a spouse, child, friend, or even a foe – is watching. I wanna remember and relish how I respond to this far more than the suffering that comes as a result.
I’ve learned that the most challenging days, although horrifying, aren’t the first days of this. The more brutal days will be the ones where nothing is happening. No parties, no reporters, no big moments – just me, laying in the quiet, facing myself.
Please share this with someone who’d benefit from reading it.