I got caught drinking in 8th grade.
A group of six students gathered in the back of the classroom in the enclosed "reading corner". Taking advantage of a substitute teacher, one boy produced a fl ask of "kamikaze" and proceeded to pass it around. I watched as each of my peers indulged in the forbidden spirits. I had little interest in drinking "kamikaze" but at 13 years old, I didn’t have the intestinal fortitude to be the first to turn it down.
Tentatively, I put the fl ask to my lips and let the liquor seep into my mouth. All I remember is that my esophagus burned and it didn’t taste like Hi-C grape juice-my beverage of choice in junior high.
The next morning, Mr. Petrella, the regular teacher, was back and somehow he knew.
One by one he called us up to the judgment seat next to his oversized desk. When my turn arrived, he said: "Of all the people, I’m most disappointed in you, David." Ouch. "And we are going to have to call your parents."
Great. Not only had I shattered my relationship with my teacher, but now I was going to have to explain the "kamikaze" to my Mom and Dad.
When I came home, I told my older sister: "Carol, I got caught drinking in school."
"You did what?" she replied.
"Yeah, I know and now they are going to call Mommy and Daddy. I’m dead," I explained in hysterics.
Carol responded: "Don’t worry, let me tell them."
"NO, no way. Don’t say anything. I’ll tell them." Just then my Father returned home from work.
Carol let loose, "Daddy, David has something to tell you."
My Father walked over to me and stood 10 feet tall as I tried to shrink into the fi bers of our shaggy carpet. "What happened, David?" he asked.
I hemmed and hawed, looking everywhere but into his eyes.
"What happened?" he insisted. Once again I beat around the bush, describing the back reading room and the other students who were sitting there with me.
"What happened?" he insisted. I finally looked up and cringed. "I got caught drinking in school today."
At that moment I expected my Father to separate my head from my body. Or maybe he would say something that would hurt worse such as "you’re such a disappointment. Why can’t you be like your sisters?"
Shockingly though, my Father instead asked me if I had learned my lesson. I assured him that I had. He probed me to see if I would ever do such a stupid thing again. I swore I never would. Just then the phone rang. He picked it up.
"Yes, yes, this is Mr. O’Brien," he answered with parental authority. I knew immediately it was the school making good on their threat to call. "Yes, we have spoken about it and he will be sternly reprimanded. Punished severely." He hung up the phone.
"Punished severely," I said sheepishly. "Dad, I thought we were good?"
He answered with tenderness in his voice: "I just told them that because that is what they wanted to hear. But listen...don’t tell your Mother."
Many bad decisions later, after years away from God and the church, I found myself on a retreat where a speaker described a father who forgave a prodigal son. I thought to myself, I believe God is like that. After all, my own Dad forgave me. He showed me mercy and kindness when I rightfully deserved to be thrashed. If my Dad can forgive me, maybe God will take me back.
Hours later I went to confession for the first time in years, unloading a myriad of sins that were far more destructive than a sip of booze in a back room. And just as I had hoped, the Lord welcomed me back, accepting me in all my stupidity, confusion and moral cowardice. Just like my Dad. He loved me when I didn’t deserve it. He showed me that I was more important to Him than my sin. He proved to me that He would always take me back if I trusted in His mercy.
Since then, I’ve never stopped trusting in God’s Divine Mercy. Nor did I ever drink in school again. And no, I didn’t tell my Mother.
About David O’Brien
David O’Brien is the Associate Director of Religious Education for Lay Ministry for the Archdiocese of Mobile. His column, Everyday Faith, appears regularly in the archdiocesan newspaper, the Catholic Week. Email David at dobrien@mobilearchdiocese.org.
A group of six students gathered in the back of the classroom in the enclosed "reading corner". Taking advantage of a substitute teacher, one boy produced a fl ask of "kamikaze" and proceeded to pass it around. I watched as each of my peers indulged in the forbidden spirits. I had little interest in drinking "kamikaze" but at 13 years old, I didn’t have the intestinal fortitude to be the first to turn it down.
Tentatively, I put the fl ask to my lips and let the liquor seep into my mouth. All I remember is that my esophagus burned and it didn’t taste like Hi-C grape juice-my beverage of choice in junior high.
The next morning, Mr. Petrella, the regular teacher, was back and somehow he knew.
One by one he called us up to the judgment seat next to his oversized desk. When my turn arrived, he said: "Of all the people, I’m most disappointed in you, David." Ouch. "And we are going to have to call your parents."
Great. Not only had I shattered my relationship with my teacher, but now I was going to have to explain the "kamikaze" to my Mom and Dad.
When I came home, I told my older sister: "Carol, I got caught drinking in school."
"You did what?" she replied.
"Yeah, I know and now they are going to call Mommy and Daddy. I’m dead," I explained in hysterics.
Carol responded: "Don’t worry, let me tell them."
"NO, no way. Don’t say anything. I’ll tell them." Just then my Father returned home from work.
Carol let loose, "Daddy, David has something to tell you."
My Father walked over to me and stood 10 feet tall as I tried to shrink into the fi bers of our shaggy carpet. "What happened, David?" he asked.
I hemmed and hawed, looking everywhere but into his eyes.
"What happened?" he insisted. Once again I beat around the bush, describing the back reading room and the other students who were sitting there with me.
"What happened?" he insisted. I finally looked up and cringed. "I got caught drinking in school today."
At that moment I expected my Father to separate my head from my body. Or maybe he would say something that would hurt worse such as "you’re such a disappointment. Why can’t you be like your sisters?"
Shockingly though, my Father instead asked me if I had learned my lesson. I assured him that I had. He probed me to see if I would ever do such a stupid thing again. I swore I never would. Just then the phone rang. He picked it up.
"Yes, yes, this is Mr. O’Brien," he answered with parental authority. I knew immediately it was the school making good on their threat to call. "Yes, we have spoken about it and he will be sternly reprimanded. Punished severely." He hung up the phone.
"Punished severely," I said sheepishly. "Dad, I thought we were good?"
He answered with tenderness in his voice: "I just told them that because that is what they wanted to hear. But listen...don’t tell your Mother."
Many bad decisions later, after years away from God and the church, I found myself on a retreat where a speaker described a father who forgave a prodigal son. I thought to myself, I believe God is like that. After all, my own Dad forgave me. He showed me mercy and kindness when I rightfully deserved to be thrashed. If my Dad can forgive me, maybe God will take me back.
Hours later I went to confession for the first time in years, unloading a myriad of sins that were far more destructive than a sip of booze in a back room. And just as I had hoped, the Lord welcomed me back, accepting me in all my stupidity, confusion and moral cowardice. Just like my Dad. He loved me when I didn’t deserve it. He showed me that I was more important to Him than my sin. He proved to me that He would always take me back if I trusted in His mercy.
Since then, I’ve never stopped trusting in God’s Divine Mercy. Nor did I ever drink in school again. And no, I didn’t tell my Mother.
About David O’Brien
David O’Brien is the Associate Director of Religious Education for Lay Ministry for the Archdiocese of Mobile. His column, Everyday Faith, appears regularly in the archdiocesan newspaper, the Catholic Week. Email David at dobrien@mobilearchdiocese.org.
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