RON DAVIS -- Through My Eyes

I heard a snippet on the news last week about a young man who joined the

21-21 club. Apparently, the 21-21 club is the latest fad in which young

men and women celebrate their 21st birthday by drinking 21 drinks --

alcoholic drinks.

If true, this young man celebrated the transition to adulthood by

transitioning into the next life. According to the report I heard, his

blood alcohol level was more than 0.5% alcohol (.08 is the drunk driving

standard), and he died as a result of alcohol poisoning.

Most of us walk around thinking that that won’t happen to us or our kids

or grand kids. Well, think again.

When I was 15 or 16, I drove up to meet my cousin at his parent’s

under-construction cabin near Big Bear.

On this particular weekend, a friend of ours dropped by. I don’t remember

whether I snuck the booze out of my parent’s house or if someone else

brought it, but we were the proud owners of an almost full fifth of

bourbon.

At that point in my life, I didn’t know one could die of alcohol

poisoning -- neither did my cousin nor our friend. Oh, I had a vague

knowledge of alcoholics and how they eventually died from their abuse,

but I hadn’t heard of anyone dying from drinking too much on a single

night.

At 16, I thought that if you drank too much, you simply became silly and

then passed out. I was challenged to take three quick shots. Like an

idiot, I complied.

I downed the three shots in something bordering on 10 or 15 seconds.

Immediately following, and with all the patience of a 16-year-old boy, I

was asked if I felt anything. Of course I didn’t, because the alcohol had

barely made it to my stomach, let alone my bloodstream. I was immediately

challenged to belt back three more. The first three shots hadn’t helped

my intelligence, so I fired back three more.

The six shots still hadn’t reached my bloodstream. And, other than the

burning sensation in my throat, I still felt nothing. So, the challenges

continued.

By the time I was through, I had consumed 24 shots. I remember saying,

“24 shots, and that’s the bottle.”

To the amazement of all, I was still relatively sober, since most of the

alcohol remained in my stomach.

At 16, I was a small kid, and my guess is that had the alcohol been fully

absorbed, my blood alcohol level would’ve probably been somewhere around

a 0.6. I know now that at a 0.4 you can die as a result of ethanol

poisoning.

Within five minutes, I was falling down drunk. Funny at first, ridiculous

a few moments later, and on my way to an early grave. But, I got lucky. I

got sick. Real, real sick.

My stomach knew what I didn’t -- that much alcohol would kill me. It

saved me from my own stupidity.

We can tell our kids not to drink, and we can tell ‘em that too much

alcohol can kill, but that may go in one ear and out the other. Call your

kid in, or if you’re a teacher, go into your classroom and tell ‘em the

story about this stupid columnist. Kids don’t want to be stupid and seem

to get the message when you show them how stupid someone else was.

I don’t like being called stupid anymore than anyone else, but that’s

exactly what I was -- stupid. Don’t wait until they’re almost 21 to tell

‘em. Had someone told me this story at 13 or 14, I may not have done it.

If my cousin or my friend had heard the story, they may not have

permitted it.

Knowing that binge drinking could kill is probably a matter of common

sense, but common sense is often a rare commodity when you’re that age

and unnecessary ignorance can be found in abundance. And, unnecessary

ignorance can kill.

* RON DAVIS is a private attorney who lives in Huntington Beach. He can

be reached by e-mail at o7 [email protected] .