ANOTHER ONE LEAVES THE NEST

I’ll never forget move-in day my first year of college at the University of Virginia. It was Saturday, August 28, 1999.

The night before, one of my friends’ parents rented the Winchester Country Club and hosted a going away party for students and parents alike. The party had approximately 125 guests; the capacity of the venue. There were multiple chef stations, a professional Motown band from Virginia Beach, and an open bar.

The thing about the open bar was, kids were served too. I was only a social drinker in high school, as I am today, but that night was different. My friends, who were much more experienced drinkers than I, were enjoying Maker’s Mark bourbon. I had beer and wine in high school, but never graduated to the big leagues. Since I was leaving for college at 6:00am the next morning, SUV loaded tight, I proceeded to get loaded myself. I mixed the first glass of Maker’s with Coke and thought, “hmmm… not bad.” The second glass of Maker’s was also mixed. By the third glass however, it was straight bourbon. This was over the course of about 90 minutes. I was going out of town in style.

I would not recommend any 17-year old trying liquor for the first time to follow my lead. The sweetness of the whiskey and cola, mixed with my virgin palette and 155 pound frame was a bad combination. I was so amped that I took the stage, along with a friend, and sang Clarence Carter’s “Strokin'” with the all-black band. You could imagine my mother’s Baptist ears when she saw her only child on stage, in front of many of her friends, belting out “I’m strokin’ to the east, I’m strokin’ to the west, I’m strokin’ to the woman that I love best!” Stucky would be proud.

My parents saw I had enough and we made a soon departure. I was laughing hysterically in the backseat to everything and anything, as I was three sheets to the wind at this point. We drove to my grandparents’ home across town so I could say goodbye to them before making the two-hour drive to Charlottesville in the morning. Soon after we arrived, the laughter stopped. I quickly excused myself to their bathroom and proceeded to violently vomit in their bathtub. I was so sick that my dad had to CARRY me to the car. My parents lied to my grandparents and said I must have gotten a bout of food poisoning, but I’m sure my grandfather knew better.

We got home at midnight and I barely slept. Six hours later, my parents put their still-loaded son in their loaded Ford Explorer and left for school. We didn’t make it 20 miles down Interstate 81 before we had to pull over. I had a terrible case of dry heaving. I was still drunk, dehydrated, and absolutely miserable. We made it another hour before we had to pull over again. It was along Interstate 64 at a state-designated scenic view of the valley below. To this day, every time we pass on the way to a football game, it’s laughingly referred to as “Scenic Puke.”

We finally arrived at my dormitory and I met my roommate for the first time. He’s black. And sitting in my room with his wife and three small children. Oh wait. That’s his sister, brother-in-law, and kids. Then I meet his mother, brother, sister-in-law, and finally him. There I am, still very much wasted, in my new 16×12 room, with Steve Martin’s family from “The Jerk.” They’re all watching me lay on the bed feeling like sweet death. The room wasn’t air conditioned, it’s already nearly 90°, and my parents are moving me in. I’m sure a few of them muttered “white people” under their breath while slowly shaking their heads. As a side note, the year went well, we roomed together again the following year, and are still good friends to this day. But I digress.

My parents got a hotel and stayed the first night because they were concerned about my health. The next morning, after breakfast at the dining hall, my “cool” factor near zero, they’re about to depart, but notice something is wrong with my eye. We went to Student Health and I was seen by Dr. Payne, what a name. She informed me the strain from my violent puking ruptured a large blood vessel in my eye. Within a day, the ugly red blotch gravitated to the center of my sclera and I looked like a ball player hit by a fastball. The doctor recommended I wear sunglasses for the first week if vanity was a concern. Two floors of females lived above me so vanity was definitely a concern. I went around grounds (they call campus “grounds” at Mr. Jefferson’s University) looking like Stevie Wonder.

I learned a hard lesson and didn’t get drunk throughout my four years of undergraduate studies. It wouldn’t be until grad school, after breaking up with my steady girlfriend, that I made that mistake again, but that’s a story for another day.

A+ Stucky. I’m having Sunday breakfast with my folks and we just shared a good laugh while reading your story aloud at the table.

Speaking of which, I vaguely remember a conversation a few years ago where you said you’re from Newark. Is that correct? My parents are from Newark and would be relatively close in age. They lived in an Italian neighborhood Down Neck. Weequahic High (1966) for my dad and East Side High (1967) for my mom.