Momma let me drive.

It was on new years eve. 1999 maybe or even 2000. I was 11 or 12 years old. It had become a family tradition to go to the liquor store and clean the shelves prior to any new year function at my house. And what would erupt into a neighborhood celebration before nightfall. The houses were packed for this particular weekend or whichever day it may be. Red point was a summer community. In the winters when I was a boy there was maybe 10 or 15 homes occupied in a 150 home neighborhood.

This event attracted everyone back. It was a night to act stupid without recourse. The entire neighborhood seemed to get drunk or high and it was a grand time.

I replay these events on this night because this was the turning point. I lost my grandmother, Gom as I called her in March of 1999. Prior to that I was raised in whole by my grandmother. Then she passed and the wolves had to step up. Which they didn’t, or could not. Were not capable. The beginning to my end was set into motion at this moment.

Through out the course of the evening my mom and dad would do the circuit. Stopping in with one neighbor to talk crap or drink and drug. Enjoying the festivities for some time before continuing the party onto another neighbors home.

It was about 7 or 8 on new years eve, dad needed booze. Everyone of age and most close to had been drinking now for several hours. The party started at my own house around noon and continued to 3 or 4 that next morning. They (mom and dad) deemed I was fit to drive. The local liquor store was only 4 or 5 miles. Only 2 turns, he can make it were the comments from dad to mom.

And we were off. Dad had a black ford f150. Ladder rack and loaded with work tools. Mom riding shotgun, myself at the helm. I could barely reach the pedals in that truck. Maybe 11, maybe 12 years old… but dad needed booze and couldn’t risk the DUI. And no one else would risk it either. So they did the only logical thing. Send the kid. And that they did. It would become a normal thing to be my moms designated driver. As the stress of being a mother, among other things crept up, she sank lower into the bottle. I was her crutch and her cover story.