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The Lessons from Jack
by Burton Buller
I’ve never understood the fascination with underage drinking. The pressure was certainly there when I was growing up, as it is in all generations here in North America. There were always those youth who somehow feel that consuming alcohol in vast quantities is a badge of courage. To me it always seemed so utterly silly. Even stupid.
It may have stemmed from my early exposure to a classmate’s alcoholic father. Jack was a happy drunk. He never had a serious accident. He always drove his old Cadillac on the back roads, and when he spotted an oncoming car, he stopped to let it pass. He knew he was impaired.
Jack was the son of a preacher. He was gifted far more than anyone should rightfully be. Excelling at baseball, he could have had a future in the pros. He played piano and guitar until he lost several fingers operating dangerous equipment while impaired. But he was best known locally for his incredible understanding of automobiles. For awhile he worked the race car circuit as an engine builder. He was good. Really good. But when the pressure was on, Jack wasn’t.
When my father became exasperated with the car dealer’s inability to solve a vexing auto malfunction, he looked up Jack. And Jack always solved it.
He was a walking encyclopedia of auto detail. I once offered to replace the timing gear on my father’s old Chevy pickup truck. Normally it meant tearing the engine all apart because the new timing gear had to be forcibly pressed onto the cam shaft, which meant it needed to be removed from the motor. I went to see Jack about the problem. He offered a simple solution whereby the engine did not need to be opened. By removing a couple of covers and strategically placing a crow bar against a cam lobe, I was able to drive the new gear onto the shaft. It was an old trick he learned racing cars.
I was in awe of Jack.
But I also saw the way Jack neglected his family. The way his wife had to support the whole brood without his help. Mostly, I saw how he had failed to live up to even the minutest part of his potential. Although I considered myself his friend and him my mentor, the devastating role that alcohol played in his life always remained with me. And when the peer pressure was on to get drunk, I always found a way out. I had determined that I was NOT going to end up like Jack.
As I’ve worked on topics of substance abuse, I’ve come to realize that I don’t have the gene that contributes to so many addictions. Alcohol does not make me happy.
Further, I wasn’t about to get into a state of inebriation where I gave up control over my actions. It just made no sense to do so. I had other plans for my life. Those plans did not include getting sidetracked with a love for alcohol. Or engaging in something that would limit my future options.
Understanding how alcohol affects different brains has made me less condemning of those who find alcohol to be a tonic for their hurts. I’m sure I’d feel somewhat differently if alcohol had affected my disposition the way it affected Jack’s.
Jack did not live to be an old man. He died early, his alcoholism a contributing factor.
To this day, I credit Jack with my never being all that interested in what alcohol could do for me.
I’d seen what it did for Jack.
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