by Rebecca Carroll

Created on: April 30, 2008   Last Updated: October 31, 2008

There are different kinds of drunk driving victims. Some have lost loved ones due to the criminal actions of strangers. Others have had their lives changed forever because of their own disregard for the law. Some are hurt or even killed by those who are supposed to love and protect them. I didn't lose a loved one, nor did a drunk-driver physically injure me, but I will never forget the night my life was "changed" by the actions of an intoxicated driver.

It was June 23, 1972. My family had spent the evening at my great-aunt and uncle's 50th wedding anniversary. As is the tradition in most big, Italian families, food and alcohol were served in abundance. My cousins and I ran back and forth beneath a large grape arbor, stealing cookies from the banquet table. We escaped beneath the twinkling lights, nibbling the edges of our cookies while the adults tossed back glasses of wine and "bootlegged" whiskey.

It was a magical night for me. I was on the cusp of my teenage years. The next day was my thirteenth birthday. I enjoyed the teasing and birthday wishes family members threw my way and like any self-respecting adolescent girl, I shyly thanked them.

As the celebration wound down, partygoers staggered to their cars, calling out goodbyes as they left. Car doors thumped softly, followed by revving motors. Finally, the night fell silent. My mom herded us toward the car. I heard her calling my dad, insisting that it was time to go. She sounded impatient, but I didn't know why. We crossed the damp lawn and climbed into the car, still waiting for my dad to leave the party.

When my dad finally climbed behind the wheel, I hardly noticed his unsteadiness. All I wanted was to lay my head on my pillow and wake up the next morning as a teenager. I rested against the rear side-window and tried to doze as the streetlights flicked past in the dark.

After a while, I began to realize that something wasn't right. My mom sounded anxious. She was telling my dad that there was a stoplight ahead. He didn't seem to hear her and the car kept speeding along. Right before we got to the light, we screeched to a stop. My siblings and I lurched forward. For the first time, I realized that my dad was drunk. Fortunately, my siblings were still asleep. In the dark corner of the backseat, I gripped the edge of the car seat.

We sat in silence for what seemed like a long time. The light changed, but we didn't move.

"The light's green," I heard my mom say, "You can go now."

The car pulled forward and soon

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