Who's That Girl?!

When I was 13, my family moved to Redding, where I began a rebellious life as a trouble-making, wild and crazy, sassy, marijuana/cigarette smoking, alcohol-crazed, irresponsible, teenager. Fortunately, all forms of smoking ceased after just a couple of months and I managed to graduate eighth grade. Forget any honors.

 Along with my teenage friends, I obtained my driver’s license at age 16 until my mother caught me racing down a major avenue. When she pulled into our driveway right behind me I was shocked! Where in the world did she come from? She suspended my license until I was 17.

Throughout my teens, I snuck out the bedroom window in the middle of the night, while my trusting parents slept. My curfew was 10:00 p.m., which I honored; then I took off after my parents went to bed. The party was still going on and I could not stand missing a moment of the excitement. When I came home from a party vomiting from excessive alcohol, (again) I lied (again) telling my mother I ate too much birthday cake with my friends. The fact my friends and I poured Cinnamon Schnapps onto a bowl of Rice Crispies, for our ignorant consumption, may have prompted my barfing.

Planning beer keggers in the woods, complete with a live band, was another favorite activity; attending them even better. With my 10:00 p.m., curfew, I left strict instructions for someone to have the empty kegs returned to the rightful liquor store (after all, I had a deposit coming back). Racing home, jumping into bed before my mother could smell my breath, I made it (again).

As luck would have it, the next morning my mother went to the front porch for the newspaper and discovered the remains of my evening fun. At 6:00 a.m., I awoke to her pounding on my locked bedroom door. With my long, wavy hair falling all over my face, I stumbled, hung over, to see what could possibly be so urgent. Dragging me by a pajama sleeve to the front door, she pointed to the four empty beer kegs demanding, “What’s this all about?” I shrugged my shoulders, mumbling, “I dunno.” In my mind I wondered, “How’d this get screwed up?”

My mother tossed me into the station wagon; she in her bathrobe and me in my pajamas. With, what felt like green socks covering my teeth and my still tousled hair, she drove with determination to Bob’s Booze and Spirits. Into the liquor store we walked (after it opened two hours later).

Standing behind my mother, she demanded of the startled store owner, “Do you know my daughter? Have you seen her before?!” I was shaking my head, waving my arms, mouthing, “No!” She never learned someone I approached in the parking lot the day prior purchased the kegs. My mother kept the hard-earned deposit, which I collected from the high school attendees. The ride home was quiet. Learning I was grounded (again) for the next 30 days made the ride even quieter.

Back in the mid-70s, we loved going to the drive-in movie theater. There were the usual five “Movie Stars”, Donna, Katy, Barbi, Susan and me. It was Barbi’s birthday; a celebration was in order. First stop: liquor store. Donned in my Levi’s 501’s, tightest t-shirt and bare feet, I boldly walked into the store, proudly walking out with a gallon jug of Boone’s Farm. The Movie Stars cheered and then we headed to the drive-in movie theatre. Before the entrance gate to the drive-in, Barbi pulled over. With everyone in the trunk, except the driving birthday girl, in we went. The alcohol-induced outings never seemed to end. It seemed I could live this life forever.

1976

At age 33, I experienced an epiphany. I drank myself into a terrifying stupor, complete with angels flying about my head. My tea-totaling mother was present on this July 4th “family outing.” Once again she saw my complexion a hazy shade of green. I lied, telling her I caught the flu. (Yes, in the middle of summer). “My GOD” I thought, “Will I ever grow up?” Unable to reach Alcoholics Anonymous the following Monday morning, I vowed to stop. At long last, my chaotic life came to a screeching halt; the drinking, partying and carousing. I wanted to marry and become a mother. My life the 33 years prior seemed at times a frightful blur. Who’s that girl?

Today, I don’t know the girl before. I enjoy an occasional glass of Cabernet, celebration cocktails with my few chosen friends and a sip of coffee in the morning. Replacing that girl with a headstrong, healthy woman, I maintain a dedicated schedule for Spencer, my son, my rescued farm animals and me.

Without surrendering, I wish to be on good terms with all persons. I speak my truth quietly and clearly, listening to others for they too have their story. I avoid loud and aggressive persons as they bother my spirit. In short, I stay clear of anyone reminding me of that girl. I have changed “careers” more times, than Carter has pills. I have experienced more “true loves” than Elizabeth Taylor. Still, I continue searching these two arenas, in an effort to teach myself – passing my knowledge on to Spencer. I wouldn’t trade my life experiences for all the tea in China.

Fortunately, in her final days, I was given the opportunity to apologize to my mother. With desperation, I told her every foolish thing I did as a teenager. With shame, I explained I did not know what made me such a hell-bent girl. With unwavering understanding, my wise mother said, “Debbie, that’s who you were, not who you are today. Remain focused on who you are today.”