When I was 18 years old, I could not fathom the possibility that my parents even did drugs, let alone comprehend the fact that my dad was overdosing on a cocktail of cocaine and Somas at my 18th birthday party. I had insisted that an inflatable bounce house be part of the shindig (much to my mother's dismay), and I stood in a stupefied trance as my father began foaming at the mouth and collapsed on the living room floor, while my friends bounced away in the front yard, completely oblivious to the dark events which were unfolding just inside the house. While watching him slide to the floor and slip into incoherence and unconsciousness, I remember vaguely thinking that I had asked my dad to promise not to embarrass me at my birthday party, and that he was failing miserably. A few party guests did happen to be inside the house to witness the beginning of the debacle, and (obviously much less oblivious and naive than I) quickly sprang to action. I observed, dumbfounded, as my then-boyfriend and my best guy friend caught him and gently lowered him to the floor as he began to collapse. Several friends gathered around and immediately began to attempt to revive him, or at least keep him somewhat conscious. Someone in the distance screamed, "Call 911!" Meanwhile, the kids bouncing out front became alerted to the fact that something was going down inside the house, and began to run in to see what all the fuss was about. My mom was frantic and crying, and groups of previously sheltered, innocent teens huddled together, horror and confusion written clearly on all their faces. I think I remained frozen in the same spot as all this took place before me -- it was only a matter of minutes, but it felt like a lifetime. As the paramedics, fire trucks, and ambulance came roaring down the street, lights blazing, the neighbors began to emerge from their houses to watch as my dad was wheeled down the sidewalk on a stretcher -- and all I kept thinking was that he had failed on his promise to me.
Some might consider a little hiccup such as that to be a bit of a 'downer' or 'buzz kill', to say the least. But when you are newly 18, young, have your whole life ahead of you and are surrounded by awesome friends, you can bounce back from anything -- and that night, so did I. After the ambulance tore away through the night (and I went into what must have been some state of shock, looking back), my friends took charge and got my birthday party back on track. Miraculously, it was as though that nightmare never happened, and it seemed that's all it really was -- just a nightmare. We had cake, sang happy birthday, and opened presents. We had toilet paper wars with the boys, sang, danced, stayed up all night, and laughed endlessly. In that moment and on that night, we were still kids, and we were carefree. Our hearts were still as light as air, as young hearts are before they are weighed down with the understanding and knowledge of the darkness of the world. It was as though God was granting me that one last night of childhood, of true freedom... of innocence. It was His gift to me on the eve of my 18th birthday, allowing me and my friends to somehow forget the events of earlier that night and savor the last day of my childhood. That night was both dark, yet beautiful. Bele Chere: Means, 'beautiful living' -- Look closely, and you'll find its meaning in life's darkest corners.
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