Ameeras Story*

When I was a junior in high school, I was taking an SAT course. I went outside when the class ended because my father was picking me up. There were lots of cars around, and when I saw the car I went over and tried to open the door. It was locked, so I motioned for him to open it. He kept pressing the automatic door lock but it wasnt unlocking; after a long minute, I realize that something was wrong-he was drunk. Even though I knew he had been drinking, I got into the car anyway when he finally got the door open. I could smell the alcohol on his breath and I knew I should get out because it wasnt safe to ride with him, but I was only 16 and I didnt know what else to do. This was my father, the person Im supposed to be able to trust. The next twenty minutes were the worst of my life. I was in the car with an intoxicated driver and, even worse, that driver was my father. I remember everything-how many street lights we went through, the minivans that went by, and the Simple Simon we passed. He wasnt driving straight; he would go slow and then fast. I was praying that there wouldnt be a cop behind us. I kept thinking that if I only had my learners permit then I could have driven. I was hoping that we wouldnt get into an accident and hurt someone with a family, like a grandmother or a new-born baby. At the same time, I was so angry that I hoped that if we did get into an accident that he would die and not me. I knew he could never deal with hurting me or someone else; hes the nicest guy who just has a drinking problem. He doesnt know when to stop or how bad it is for him.

When I was a little girl, I remember that my father drank and it was something we couldnt say out loud. He usually drank at home while he was watching TV after work. My parents would be having a normal conversation and all of the sudden it would turn into yelling. I would close my ears or put the pillow over my head so that I couldnt hear it. I would pray, Let there not be any noise for the next hour and then Ill go to sleep and I wont hear it. As long as I dont hear it, its okay. My father had stopped drinking when I was 11 or 12 because he was in an alcohol-related car accident. Those years when he wasnt drinking were great because I felt so secure-I didnt have to deal with this problem that I didnt know how to handle. That night in the car my feeling of security died; I was thinking about that earlier accident while he was driving. I knew that if he was in another accident that he might go to jail and that was probably the scariest thought. My friends would all know that my father was in jail for driving drunk, and my dad would have to face legal repercussions as well as deal with hurting someone.

When we finally got home, I fell down at my moms feet and started crying. She promised that she would drive from now on, but I got my permit the next week anyway. That night made me think about ways to get back control if someone put me in a situation where I was losing it. I got involved with SADD and became active in preventing drunk driving. Whenever I saw someone get into a car drunk or with someone who was drunk, I would take the responsibility for stopping them.

I was afraid to get in the car with my father and I stopped relying on him in that way. I grew up a lot because I realized that the man who was supposed to protect me the most had almost hurt me the most. In a way, he did hurt me the most because that car ride changed me. I was confused about who I was. In high school, kids are worried about their prom date or getting grounded, but I had faced much more serious issues. It felt like I was in a different world and that no one could relate to me. I was angry that I had to deal with these things while everyone else seemed to be having this awesome time. I have dealt with it, though; I believe that my father is not going to stop drinking unless something major happens and I believe that his death will be related to his drinking in one way or another. Every day I expect to get a phone call telling me that something has happened to him, but every day I am grateful to have my father for one more day. For one more day, I love him and he loves me.

No one would guess that I think about this all of the time. Im an easy-going and cheerful person, so people think that I dont have any problems and wish they were like me. When I see other people walking down the street, I know that lots of them have other situations and other problems, and that makes me feel less alone. If someone were to ask me who I am, I would talk about my major or what I believe, but at the same time I would think to myself, Im the daughter of an alcoholic.

Last Modified 12/22/2005