Momma, Daddy, J.D., and Me
Alicia Jordan
Try as I do I simply cannot find a way to make the question, who has influenced greatly my personal development, light and humorous. The reason is my personal development has matured painfully, and though I am content with the person I am presently, is has taken many difficult incidents to mold me. The persons who have influenced my character the most through the last seventeen years are my father, my mother, and Jack Daniels. These three have definitely affected my life more radically than anyone outside of the immediate family could ever imagine. Perhaps this recount will at least partially explain it.
It was nearly dark when I finally got home from school. Dad had too many patients and consequently had been late picking up Laura and me that blistering cold Wednesday. I was eager to berate him when we got in the car, but I refrained since he looked exhausted with heavy brown eyes laden with frustration and irritation and that defeated grimace on his face that seemed to pervade his features perpetually of late. He seemed so lost, alone, and overwhelmed. I decided not to bother him. Instead, I just gave him a kiss and settled down into the warm bucket seat and enjoyed the sense of security which my father’s presence assured.
We got home to a half-cooked casserole- Mama was not the greatest cook-and to one sister, Amy. Mama had taken Andrea, my five-year-old hyperactive sister, to children’s church and presumably had cone to church choir as well. Dad threw out Mama’s half-baked culinary effort and began again. Through necessity he had learned to putter around the kitchen with some skill and dexterity. The spaghetti he baked for us that night proved that. It was just what I needed. We ate, cleaned up, and went to out respective rooms to attend to our duties. About nice o’clock a neighbor, Mrs. Carroll, brought Andrea home. “Lynne (mama) was nowhere to be found after church so I just went on and brought Andrea home myself,” said Mrs. Carroll-she understood our family. She asked no questions.
We all began to wonder what had happened to Mama. It was not like her to be this irresponsible-something must have happened. Dad called all the hospitals, the family, and some friends. No one had heard from her. He decided to search for her. In the meantime I went back to struggling with Algebra Two. “Mama knows how to take care of herself,” I kept thinking. Sure enough, about eleven thirty I heard her Suburban van sputtering up the hill. I turned off my light and went to sleep thinking that all was safe and sound. The next morning Dad told me Mama was still missing. I went to school that day a little worried, but well-after all “Mom does know how to take care of herself.”
Thursday was another bitterly cold day-what made it significantly different was the felling of bleakness and emptiness which not only invaded the outside atmosphere but also pervaded my entire outlook. I sensed the restlessness in the air, our house, and my whole existence. Little did I know it was the eve of my mourning.
I had to wait for Dad outside for forty-five minutes. When he finally picked me up about five thirty, I sensed something was wrong. He got out of the car and gave me a hug that almost crushed my frigid bones. All the while he mumbled, “She did the best that she could; she did the best that she could; she did the best that she could…”
“What’s wrong?” I demanded-“oh my God, I know, oh Jesus-no. It can’t be true! Oh Daddy.”
They had found her that morning. She held a pistol in the roof of her mouth with her right hand. With her left she gripped a bottle of Jack Daniels.
Mom’s alcoholism and suicide cause me to mature at an accelerated rate. As my grandmother put it I am, “Seventeen going on twenty-five.” I am the oldest of four siblings, and though my mother had many fine qualities and was not sick all of my life, her strong suits were not raising children, cooking, and housekeeping. All of these things she was persistently forced into doing because of her age, femininity, status, and location in the “old” South. When she became an alcoholic; partially in order to avoid those duties she detested, the jobs fell on Dad and me. Irresponsibility and childishness were not of the question. These things had to be done and there was simply no on one else to do them!
Despite many of out “friends” opinions, the situation was not completely distressful. Mom’s illness helped to bring my father and me closer to one another than I think I will ever be to anyone else as long as I live. His wisdom, generosity, tenderness, and refusal to capitulate despite insurmountable odds gave me the strength to fight for all I believed in and dreamed for. He was and still is the mentor after which I have modeled my aspirations.
Also though reflecting on my mother’s life, I feel as if I have become a better person. For instance, I understand more clearly now the importance of accepting one’s own faults and the needs to believe in oneself. Another of the characteristics which I developed prematurely is my independence. Mom was sick so much of the time that I often found myself fending all alone. I began arranging birthday parties for my sisters when I was fourteen, I learned how to grocery shop economically before I was thirteen, and I managed to organize and to cook dinners by the time I reached eleven. All of these skills I learned out of necessity have placed me “ahead of the game” now.
It might have seem as if I have just finished recounting a miniseries of an afternoon soap opera, but these events and people are largely responsible for the person I am. Jack Daniels allowed my mother to ruin her life, but it also indirectly molded my personality. Coupled with my father’s love, which she tried to express as well as she could, I have gained a type of courage and conviction in the path of many obstacles, but those difficulties provided much of my strength and vision.
from Essays That Worked: 50 Essays from Successful Applications to the Nation's Top Colleges edited by Boykin Curry