A.J. and I decided to play a game which was not unlike most of the reckless games that teenagers play. This was a game that the crazy kids play when they’re drinking shots that will inevitably make them sick.
And yes. We did get sick.
I suppose the game of quarters was the initial idea, but no one had any quarters.
So, instead, A.J. and I sat at our friend Pete’s kitchen table while his parents were out of town. We played a guessing game that went something like, “I’m thinking of a number between one and ten, guess!”
A.J. picked seven
I laughed out loud, “WRONG!” and A.J. had to drink.
This was the game and the game was unwinnable.
Neither if us could win because no matter what the number was, the response was the same.
“Wrong!” and “Now drink!”
We began the game and drank faster than we could handle.
Such is life for two young and longhaired burnouts who dared the edge too much.
All was fine for a while.
All was fine until we stood up.
I didn’t feel the effects of the booze while I was sitting at the table.
I felt after taking the shots of whiskey, which came from a stolen bottle of Seagram’s Seven that I swiped from the liquor cabinet in Pete’s house.
And so it went on, shot for shot, game for game.
The afternoon took shape as more people started showing up at Pete’s house.
I cannot say I remember much after I stood up.
I cannot say that I enjoyed what took place after.
I cannot say much of anything. . .
This was a common thing in the summer of my youth. This was one of my wild mid-summer moments in our suburban safeties. We were all too young and too daring, too risky and too stupid to understand the consequences of our actions.
I would love to say that all of this was regrettable. I was far from innocent and far from clean and at the same time; I was young and starry-eyed and looking to feel something more than just average.
However days like the one at Pete’s and drinking games like the one I played with A.J. came with unfortunate consequences. I remember the terrible fits of puking in toilets. Or worse, I am pretty sure I puked on some girl’s leg that afternoon. But memories can often differ from accuracy.
I had nothing to lose. I had no real hopes or lofty ambitions or aspiration. I had no vision or desire, aside from wanting to have the time of my life, which we did
. . .for a while.
I was never much of what anyone would consider a ladies man. I never knew when a girl liked me and it serves to admit that aside from my needs from a physical aspect; I never had the slightest clue how to treat a young lady.
I have had moments in my young life, which were poignant and memorable.
I have memories that were enough to hold in my chest pocket as a time I needed to remember.
For example, I had a fight with my group of friends and I was somewhat “kicked out” and friendless for a while
There was a girl who experienced the same thing. She trusted the wrong boys and she shared too much with them from a physical perspective.
She gave too much of herself and the news traveled around the school like a bullet down the hallway.
Everyone knew what she did, which was a lot.
Everyone knew that she entertained a few different boys in every perspective one could imagine.
She was a nice girl.
I guess . . .
She and I never spoke much.
Just once.
She and I both shared our contempt for the world and the people in it.
And to be clear, we both understood the same thing.
The sway and the power of the crowd is a hard fact to contend with when you’re young just a kid.
The worst are the rumor mills and the gossip factories and I say this knowing full and well that I am grateful and thankful that I grew up before social media and viral videos.
I’m glad I never had to deal with this because there was no such thing as the internet back then.
Push-button phones were still knew and yes, I had a rotary phone in my house.
I assume the sight of a rotary phone would make today’s kids look curious, almost like a dog when they tilt their head in confusion of a toy that makes no sense to them.
I spent hours in record stores.
This is another thing of the past.
We grew up with music and yes, music was everything back then, which is upsetting to me because today’s music is awful and fails in comparison to what I grew up with.
One night . . .
I sat on the rooftop of my Long Island home on a street called Merrick Avenue.
I drank from a flask until dawn.
I smoked a pack of Marlboro Reds.
I smoked from a little pipe to maintain an even buzz.
I looked upwards at the stars and wondered what my life is going to be like in the year 2000.
Would I still be alive?
Will there be flying cars?
Will technology take over?
Will I still have the same friends?
Will I die a virgin?
Will I ever be comfortable in my own skin?
I learned the answer to these questions.
And here I am, alive and well (somehow) in the year 2026
back then –
I was out of my head.
I was out of my mind.
I was out of my comfort zone too because there were so many things I wanted to see and do.
There were so many times I thought about the greatness behind the decision to change the direction in my life and walk away.
Did I ever tell you about the first night I did cocaine?
It was unexpected.
I was about 14 or so.
Someone heard about an older kid from the neighborhood coming back from a trip to East New York, Brooklyn.
They had a few extra bags and someone I knew bought one of them.
I was high but not much. I took mescaline but the mescaline had yet to turn on and take its effect.
I was nervous but not much.
I was unsure what it was about this powder that turned people into lunatics and lose their life to a poison, such as this.
There was only a little bit to go around.
And I only had one line.
Just one line, which I snorted like the rest of the kids in the group.
I pretended to act like the people I saw on television who snorted a line.
I tried to play this off like I had been there and done this before.
The quality was terrible and the high was weak, at best. But the mixture of psychedelics and weed and now the suggestion of a poor demonstration of cocaine was in my system.
The speed was quick and the feeling was slightly anxious, slightly lofty and slightly numb.
I liked what I felt.
I liked the danger.
I had no idea about the doors this would open.
But rest assured, I found out
Decades later:
I remember being asked by a teacher in one of my presentation called, “Not even once,” about the drugs I chose.
I was asked to detail them and talk more about the experiments I tried.
I told them no.
Do I think the suggestion “Not even once” is a deterrent enough to have kids “just say no!” and walk away, unscathed?
No.
I think drugs and the experimentation that comes with wanting to feel good is an urge that comes with a strong influence.
I explained to the teacher, “If I talk about the drugs I used and the feelings I had, even when the risk was worse than the reward, then this would be what the kids hear.”
I explained, “I do not want to glorify or glamorize what went on in my life.”
I told the teacher, “I don’t talk about symptoms. I would rather talk about the problem.”
I would rather talk about the thing behind the thing . . .
We already have a society that is symptom-based. Therefore, treat the symptom and the problem still exists.
Treat the problem and the symptoms go away.
Do you want the truth?
I wanted to be good at something.
I wanted to be cool.
I wanted to be mysterious and have charisma.
I wanted to be wanted and included and I wanted to be funny.
I wanted to be sexy and desired and somehow replicate the James Dean approach.
I wanted to be the one who everybody invited.
I wanted popularity.
Of course.
But I wanted more.
I wanted to be above popularity.
I wanted to be the one who got to dictate the culture or say who was cool and who was beautiful.
I wanted to be the trend setter.
I wanted to be ”that guy” who could be whomever he chose and anybody and everybody would always love me.
But I was not that guy.
I was never comfortable.
I was never desired or wanted or included enough to experience the feeling of being happy with my circle of friends.
I gave in.
I gave myself away.
I lent myself to the things, which I condemn, in order to find myself in a better social status.
We waste much of our time and energy on ideas that cause us to think poorly about ourselves.
Had I been comfortable with who I was, I would have had no problems denying the peer pressure.
Had I been comfortable with who I am, my frist girlfriend would have been a girl named Christine.
I liked her.
She liked me.
But I was a coward.
I remember that summer when A.J. and I drank most of the bottle and threw up all over the place in Pete’s house
This was the summer before the demons turned darker and the euphoria became more costly.
Of course, if I could go back to the person I was, I would tell the younger version of myself, “Don’t listen.”
I’d say, “Don’t be a follower!”
I would tell myself, “You don’t need them.”
I’d say “there are plenty of others who you’d rather be around!”
But I’d also understand the fears of missing out or the fears of being left out or being uninvited or not invited at all.
Growing up is not so different now
I mean, the music is different and so are the fashions and the technology is unbelievable.
But at the core, life is always going to be life and in the end, love will always be love, tolerance is tolerance and acceptance is far better when our acceptance comes from within.
God, I was so starved
for attention
for affection
for the feeling that I belonged.
It’s amazing how we compromise ourselves, just to fit in.
I remember thinking that eventually people grow up and the popularity game goes away.
Nope. . .
School is the learning grounds for social preparation.
Same as there are cliques and social pressures in school, I see this in the adult world all the time.
Everyone wants to be included.
Everyone wants to be accepted.
But not everyone fits
And not every situation is fitting.
Find where you fit
and make that place yours.
without apology!
I know I’m much older now
But hey, at least I’m learning
Better late than never
Right?
The Written Addiction 