We just wanted some ice cream cones. My family had been to this particular store on our last vacation and we were all looking forward to returning. There are very few foods and even fewer beverages of which I can honestly call myself a connoisseur, but ice cream is the exception to this rule. And this place serves great ice cream. It was around two o’clock in the afternoon on the Saturday of Memorial Day weekend and the first holiday of the summer was in full swing. I had expected that this would lead to heavy traffic, a bit of loud chaos, and some rather interesting people and sites to observe while in the touristy town, but I was soon to realize just how naïve and underestimated my thinking was.
We had pitched our tent that very morning in an idyllic setting on the ocean shore about twenty miles from the town. We had watched the wild horses gallop around the campsite as the sun rose over the Atlantic and the cool, brisk breezes began to overtake the sands and fields of grass around us. Most of the day had been spent taking in the sites, reading on the beach, and watching the kids at first struggle and then master the art of launching a kite into the strong ocean winds. By early afternoon, it felt like ice cream time to all of us, so we left our beach chairs in the sand and headed into civilization.
My apprehension about this decision began to grow when we turned onto the main “strip” in town and witnessed what seemed to be a constant stream of young people rambling in all directions and at the oddest times through the moving traffic. I had expected the place to be active, but this looked more like the frenzied movement near a hornet’s nest or the forced, confused evacuation before a hurricane, or maybe the best description would be the scene from a zombie apocalypse movie, where the behaviors of so many people seemed strange, dangerous, and highly unpredictable. The “brain virus” in this case, however, was one with a very simple cure. These people simply needed to get the alcohol out of their systems – because the toxic effects had taken over.
Too late now, I thought. Sober Dad does not want to deprive the kids of their ice cream, or to jump too quickly and make irrational assumptions about how many of these fine folks may have chosen alcoholic beverages for their breakfast and lunch today. It could just be that my “sober spidey sense” was tingling so badly because of the countless advertisements and enticements involving drinking that were around us in the town. So on we drove to the ice cream store. The store was north of the town center, so getting there was like following the stubborn, instinctive drive of a salmon, pushing ourselves against the ridiculously strong current of people and traffic coming towards us. In the prophetic words of that great philosopher Nemo, we needed to just keep swimming. The further we drove away from the center of the hive, the more stalled and confused zombies we saw around us. As I have mentioned, the crowd appeared to be youthful, with what I hope was an average age hovering just above the legal age to consume alcohol. Since most colleges just ended for the semester, this would stand to reason. But these kids sure did look young. Or maybe Sober Dad is just getting older. The young confused drunken zombies seemed to have resigned that they could not or would not continue the southern trudge towards fresh feeding grounds. They stood, leaning against light poles, or standing in the minimal shade of motel landscaping. Some could not stand any longer and sat on the hot, dirty sidewalk or in the openings of the many stores and restaurants lining the street. Most of them were shining red with sunburns, wearing minimal clothing, and carrying nothing that identified a destination “i.e. beach towels, chairs, purses, etc..” The temperature was well into the eighties by now, and I began to wonder what role dehydration would play for many of these dis-eased vacationers.
At long last we reached our destination, and I was relieved to see that there was no line at the serving window. There were, in fact, hardly any customers at all, which was surprising for this popular place. We parked the car and walked up to order. And that was when we had our first face to face encounter with some drunken zombies. Luckily my kids were too excited and focused on the menu items to notice the loud, slurred speech of the two young men as they approached us from behind, but as the vigilant Sober Dad, I knew at once I was not going to enjoy the next part of the story that was unfolding now.
As I convey their conversation, try to imagine the words being shouted at top volume by people who have just left a rock concert where the music was so loud it temporarily deafened the crowd for the day. Now mix that volume with two people who had a dental appointment and are now unable to properly pronounce any words because they are under the effects of Novocain. Now imagine these two people are zombies and that their language and mannerisms are both fascinating and horribly frightening. Do you have the image yet? O.K. here is the exact conversation as I remember it:
That was bull****, man! That girl is a fu***** bi****!
Yeah man! All you did was ask for her fu***** towel!
What the f***? Why are we getting ice cream? That’ s fu***** gay.
No, it’s good, man. It will help to get our body temperatures down and sh** for the walk downtown.
At this point, I instinctively turned around to give the lads my best “disapproving Sober Dad look.” In similar situations involving “potty-mouthitis” I have calmly, respectfully, asked young people who seem to miss the fact that their choice of words is not “family friendly” if they would mind watching their language around my children. Normally this pleasant reminder along with my best “I’m not really asking, I’m telling” tone is enough to illicit an apology and a reprieve in the vulgarities for at least as long as we are near these fine youths with their limited vocabularies. When I am gone, I fully expect that they return to their four letter conversations, along with some choice words about the old as***** with grey hair, but that’s just fine with me. It took me many years to learn that what people say about me when I’m not there is really none of my business, and my biggest hope is that my own kids learn something about respect, being polite, and when to speak up from these encounters.
But I knew as soon as I looked into the faces of these two boys that my words would make no impact, and may in fact turn up the volume, intensity, and vulgar content of their rhetoric. They were highly intoxicated, with pupils fully dilated as their natural body wiring tried desperately to send some trace of a comprehensible message about the environment around them to their soggy brain pathways. Even without my 16 years as an addictions counselor I could easily see that most systems had already malfunctioned and that further intoxication “notice the word toxic in there” would lead to a complete shutdown. Their brains had been hijacked by the drug and the zombiefication was nearly complete. Now was not the time for a meaningful chat with these lads. They swayed back and forth in their flip flops, cargo shorts, and oversized Hawaiian button up shirts. Unlike many of the male zombies we had seen, these two were attempting to cover up rather than accentuate their fleshy parts, which was a wise choice since both had already formed the puffy, bloated bodies that I see on many of our nation’s youth these days. Too much Facebook, Twitter, and time spent staring at a Steve Job invention and not enough time lifting things, running, walking, and living their lives in real time. But that’s another topic about which Sober Dad has much to say. My point here is to express accurately to you that these two were in an overall bad way. At this point I made the calculated decision not to attempt an educational intervention about how to behave ones’ self around children and polite company at the ice cream store. I opted instead to take a “harm reduction” approach and get my tribe away from the offensive, unpredictable irritants as soon as was possible.
Luckily for me, the waitress had served up my kid’s cones quickly, maybe sensing that it would be best to move things along here. I asked them both to go sit in the car with their mother, who had opted to watch everything unfold from the safety of the passenger seat. I had heard the click of our car locks go down when I got out to approach the ice cream store with the kids, and was reminded again of just what a smart lady I married. She loves a good circus complete with human oddities and death defying tricks as much as the next person, but she knows when to get out of the front row if the lion suddenly strolls out of his cage and begins sniffing the nearby clowns. She would remain locked in the car, and was undoubtedly clutching the can of Grizzly Bear spray she insisted we buy before visiting Yellowstone National Park.
As I was waiting for my order to come up, a second waitress went to the unoccupied order window and asked if she could help the tottering zombie fellas. They had been murmuring, grunting, and cussing this whole time, as I imagine the undead are ought to do when waiting for ice cream, but I did my best to tune out and accept this situation that was well beyond my changing. I picked up my ice cream, thanked the waitress, and stuffed some dollars in the tip jar. As I headed to the safety of our car, knowing that soon enough my family would be sitting back on our island paradise, watching the waves roll in and taking in the simple natural highs that are in everything and everywhere around us, I heard the last rantings of the zombie boys:
Why the f*** do we have to go to that window? Isn’t that a handicapped window?
No, dude, she’s just opening up another window for use sh******!
I’m not a sh******, you are, as*****! What the f***! I’m not handicapped!
Cut the s***, man!
Back in the car, my bride had actually been enjoying watching the stream of undead “walkers” go by, and had seen many fine examples of how alcohol causes people to act very stupidly and dangerously – especially near such a busy roadway. She also enjoyed taking inventory of the female zombies and how they attempted to maintain a degree of attractiveness despite the fact that they were stumbling around on ridiculously uncomfortable footwear, hair tossed Wookie style in the wind, with bright red patches all over their bodies on places they apparently missed with the suntan lotion. Many stood in lines waiting for the over packed city buses to stop, at which point they would scratch and claw at each other to squeeze on the bus and stand in the stench of stale beer and body odor until they went somewhere – anywhere – nowhere really. My bride and I were glad to see the buses so full and being used, however – we agreed that it was a real testament to the responsible drinking practices that our country’s alcohol advertisors promote so vehemently. I wonder how the alcohol industry might explain why arrests were up this year in the town by 10%, and that the local police force received 2,041 calls between Friday morning and Monday night, the majority of these incidents directly related to the use (or would the alcohol industry call it responsible abuse?) of alcohol and other drugs.
The entire experience actually provided a “teachable moment” for our kids, and we had what I hope was a truthful, authentic, and most importantly honest conversation with our children about what they were seeing around us and the part that drinking alcohol had in this scene. My wife and I have done our best to educate our children about their own biological predisposition to addiction, and we also have tried to give them information that is true and accurate and not meant merely to scare them away. The scary parts of drinking spoke for themselves today, and I was grateful that our kids saw these things and that they felt comfortable to ask questions like “So just because Dad doesn’t drink, does that mean I never should?” These straightforward queries deserve candid, open responses, even though every part of me simply wants to scream “YES! YES! The use of any mood altering substance will immediately turn you into a zombie, and you will stay that way for life!!” But I did not answer that way. I talked about my own journey and how many years I spent believing that alcohol and other drugs were needed – a necessity for having fun, and being social, and getting through the weekends. Eventually I became convinced that I needed alcohol to get through life. And how I finally discovered that this thinking was all a lie, and that for me the greatest joys and “highs” I could have involved doing things with our family. Can they drink safely? Well, honestly I just don’t know. But I encouraged them to be vigilant, to know the risks, and most of all to enjoy this wonderful life as it is, with all it has to offer. . I let them know they are loved, and not just by me, or my wife, or our family and friends, but by a Higher Power that wants only the best for them, and that has made them this way – exactly as they are with no outside chemicals needed to enjoy their lives and that they are here for a reason, a purpose, and a calling that I believe will reveal itself in time.
Too deep? Probably. But there was a time of silence in the car after our discussion which I choose to believe involved some contemplation about these matters for my kids. My beautiful kids that are unbelievable blessings and gifts in my life and who I love with all my heart. And I share these words and this story with you because the most disturbing thing about our ice cream with the young zombies, the thing that stuck with me and bothered me and made me have to write about it was that I wondered how many of the young people we saw hadn’t even considered not drinking alcohol over this holiday weekend? How many of them had parents and guardians that had made it a priority to have conversations about the dangers of drinking and other drug use? How many parents may have said one thing about these matters but done another? How many of these drunken kids learned from a young age that fun MUST include alcohol by watching their parents and other grown ups abuse it regularly as they grew up? Is it any wonder that these kids are modeling this learned behavior now? Can you guess the two main factors that ignite use into abuse and then into addiction? Biology and environment is the correct answer. And I wondered how many of the walking dead around us had both factors – the perfect storms just now beginning to gather around them as they rowed deeper away from the safe harbors in their lives.
The thought of these things makes me, the Sober Dad, the addictions counselor, the man who has decided to promote how awesome life can be without ingesting chemicals very sad and overwhelmed. Because I know all too well that the belief that drinking alcohol guarantees a good time is a lie – a dangerous, often life altering, tragic lie. The deadliest storm. And on this occasion I was able to see that if I allow myself to ponder on how rampant the lie is, or if I continually place myself in situations where young people are testing these lies and taking serious risks with their futures, their lives, and the precious, priceless, temporary gifts we are given in this world it could very easily break my heart completely. So all I ask of you, especially those of you with kids, is to consider – to honestly consider – the role that alcohol plays in your lives and the modeling you are doing for your children this summer. Our time with our kids is so brief and fleeting. Have you been honest and frank with them about these matters? Have you been honest with yourself? It’s not too late. The zombie apocalypse is not complete, but the danger certainly is real.
The quiet in our car was broken only when someone shouted “Look! There’s a horse,” as we passed through the gateway to the campsite. And for the first time I noticed a large engraved sign near the entrance. It read:
ALCOHOLIC BEVERAGES PROHIBITED.
To our right, near the beach, a few kites fluttered in the breeze and I could smell campfire smoke mixed with the salty sea breeze as I rolled down the car window. We pulled over to watch the horses graze off in a field. As we sat watching, another family rode by on bicycles, their kids about the same age ours had been when we first came to this place.
“Wow, mom and dad, look, there’s some more horses! This is the best place ever! I never want to leave!” chirped the youngest girl, weaving back and forth on the bike path as the ribbons from her small bicycle handlebars blew in the wind.
“Amen to that” I thought, as we started up the engine and headed back to our campsite.
This is a great article! I have never even taken a sip of alcohol in front of my kids, and probably never will. I understand my own family history, and know they are at a huge risk to suffer with some form of addition. I will definitely let my kids read this so that your teaching moment will also be one for us! Thanks Cous! <3 P.S. My little ones also think that beautiful pony island is the best place on earth as well!!
And the band was? (I’m guessing Kenny McChesney)