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The first time I was drunk, I was 13. I came home and climbed up the 15 stairs to my bedroom but kept bumping into the other door. My mother opened it, and I remember seeing her face and then tumbling backward down the stairs until I landed in a heap at the bottom. I swore that next morning I would never drink again, not realizing how close I came to dying.
Fast-forward to a few years later. I had my two best girlfriends in the car with me, and all I can remember is one of my friends screaming, “White line, Jaime! White line!” Turns out I had gone over the white line and into a ditch, made a full 360-degree turn and kept driving erratically until we got home. I could hardly look my friends in the face, because I knew how close we had come to dying.
Fast-forward again to my 19th birthday party where I woke up naked in my bed and could only remember a glimpse of someone leaving my bedroom. Turns out my friends had put me to bed fully clothed, and while everyone was asleep, I was raped while unconscious. There are many more stories just like this, shared by thousands, and I write this piece in homage to the sad stories related to drinking. In particular, I write this in response to the tragic passing of Dylan Lyford.
I am not here to lament what drinking does or to tell anyone how to make decisions, because I would be telling you to do what I say and not as I did. All I hope is that all the sad stories related to alcohol resonate with readers so they can start to tell their own. I just went first. Whether you knew Dylan or not, I beg you to take a mature moment and share your stories. Not for laughs. Not to be the cool guy. Simply to admit aloud that America’s youth has a drinking problem. Add up all your stories, and it becomes ironically sobering.
Bad stuff happens to those who drink too much. And as you can see, you never know what’s going to happen until it happens. Alcohol was not forbidden in my house, but my European father detested stupid drunkenness. Alcohol, he said, is there to open our minds and let loose our tongues for philosophy. Alcohol is not meant to be chugged, bonged and drunk until we puke and pass out.
Why do we do it, then? My answer was probably the same as yours: Drinking is fun. I am now in my 30s, and I think my father wise. The fun I have is limited to the perfect buzz I get after a few that gets me philosophizing, telling jokes or laughing until I pee my pants. But, it’s fun. That is the extent, though, because I know what too much drinking does. Take a moment, talk with your friends and admit that drinking is OK. But the way in which many drink is not OK. It’s serious, and it needs to be talked about. Not by your elders, not by your teachers, but by you and your drinking buddies.
Jaime Larese is a graduate assistant in the Residence Life Department.
