Here’s a memory of how my Mom dealt with a suspected teenage drinking issue when I was 15 years old. It shows how sometimes the best lesson/punishment is more about the message than the punishment. Mom was smart, most of the time to discipline us she played on our emotions. And this type of “parenting” is only effective if the sole purpose in your young life is not to disappoint your Mom, and I didn’t. As for discipline, I don’t even remember the last time she gave me a whipping. However, Mom used (very effectively) her emotions and guilt as a way to teach lessons in a very effective manner. This was such the case in the story below.
In 1970 (it could have been 1971), I would have been about 15 years old…the guy I hung out with at that time (I’ll just call him Marty), we would go the bowling alley or skating rink occasionally on weekend nights. This one particular night, he and I were dropped off at the bowling alley as planned. Somehow and some time in the night we got split up and he ended up going to the river partying and drinking. I stayed in town, and when it was time to go home, I found another ride home (my curfew was 11pm). Being only 15 years old, I didn’t really think too much about my Marty making it home or how he would get home.
But apparently, Marty had went to the river and got drunk. Some other friends brought him home and literally dumped him on the doorstep of his house. Around midnight the Marty’s sister came running down to our house and said that something was wrong with her brother. Marty was semi-conscious and acting lethargic, slurring his words and acting funny. My Mom was always a take charge person, so she went down to his house to check on him. When she got to their house immediately she saw the shape he was in and knew right away he was drunk. I think Mom shook him a couple of times, maybe even slapped his face a time or two to get him to sober up. When she came back home, I just knew she’d give me the third degree about Marty because we were supposed to stay together, instead she said nothing and went to bed. I hoped that was the end of it.
The Next day we were going some place together in the car, she’s driving and I’m in the passenger seat. Mom starts out with, “You know I had to go down to my buddy’s house last night and he was drunk”. As soon as she began talking I turned my head and just stared out the passenger window so I wouldn’t have to face her. It was then that she sticks the “proverbial guilt dagger” into me by saying, “Wally, you know your Dad is an alcoholic and you know honey it would BREAK MY HEART if I knew you were doing something like that”. I never said a word as tears streamed down my face, and not little tears, but big ole GIANT TEARS. I continued to stare out the window, never saying a word and knowing that Mom knew she was getting the point across. That guilt trip by itself was worth a couple of months of clean teenage antics and not disappointing my Mom by drinking.
I Gotta Tell Ya 