Never Too Late
Copyright© 2025 by DB86
Chapter 19: Ernie
One morning, I was called to the principal’s office. That was highly unusual, so on my way there, I started thinking about what Mr. Livingston wanted to talk to me about.
I was surprised to find Carrie was already there. There were two cups of tea and biscuits on the desk.
“Good morning, Ernie,” Mr. Livingston greeted me. “Come on in. Please, take a seat. You know your wife, of course.”
Carrie smiled at me. “Hello, love. I called you, but your phone must be off.”
“You know I turn it off during my classes,” I explained. I took a seat beside my wife, my brow furrowing in a silent question.
“I’ve heard nothing but wonderful things about you, Carrie,” Mr. Livingston.
“Really?”
“A few teachers came to me with a wonderful idea that I wanted to discuss with you and your husband.”
“Okay,” my wife said, in a noncommittal tone.
“Carrie, I understand you’re in recovery from alcoholism,” Mr. Livingston started, going straight to the point.
“Yes, I am,” Carrie replied, her voice steady. “Eight months, three weeks, and two days sober.”
“That’s an amazing accomplishment,” Mr. Livingston exclaimed. His eyes sparkled. “Congratulations. Would you mind if I ask you a few questions about it?”
Carrie hesitated for a second, and then nodded. “Go ahead.”
“What exactly constitutes alcoholism?” Mr. Livingston inquired.
“Well, from what I’ve learned in A.A., an alcoholic is someone who loses control over her drinking and can’t stop, no matter how hard she tries. When I was drinking, my brain simply refused to acknowledge the need to quit.”
Livingston nodded, his interest growing. “Is it difficult for you to stay sober?”
“It is. It was toughest at the beginning,” Carrie admitted. “But it’s gotten easier over time. I had my husband’s support every step of the way. I also attend the meetings and have a sponsor and a therapist. Having a support network helps.”
“What do you think about the role alcohol has in people’s lives? Especially for teens?”
“Alcohol is present everywhere I go. I mean, it seems there can’t be a party or a social gathering without alcohol. Getting wasted at an event, or when you get some bad news, is not even frowned upon. Being sober has made me acutely aware of how pervasive alcohol is in our society. It’s like I was part of the norm before, but now I’m an outsider.”
A wide grin spread across Mr. Livingston’s face. “The reason why I called you is because I’d love for you to share your experience with our students.”
My eyes opened wide. “Come again?”
Carrie’s demeanor shifted, and a look of discomfort crossed her features. “I’m not sure about that. I don’t see myself as a role model.”
The principal leaned forward, his tone earnest. “I beg to differ. Alcoholism among teens is on the rise. They use it to cope with stress and depression. Peer pressure is huge, and they believe it makes them cool. We need to show our boys and girls the reality, that alcohol is a dangerous substance that can worsen problems, not solve them.”
Carrie listened intently, her expression softening.
“They would hear what you have to say,” he pushed.
My wife looked at me, and I shrugged. It wasn’t my decision to make.
“If you think I can help, maybe I could do it...” Carrie’s voice trailed off. She looked at me again, as if seeking silent approval or perhaps a warning.
I nodded slowly, my mind racing. This wasn’t just about Carrie; it was about the potential to reach a group of young people at a critical juncture in their lives.
“I think you could,” I replied, my voice steady. “You have a powerful story to tell, Carrie. One that could make a real difference.”
A flicker of hope ignited in her eyes. “But what if I mess up?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper.
I reached out and squeezed her hand gently. “You won’t mess up,” I assured her. “You’ll be honest, you’ll be open, and you’ll be real. Teenagers respect that.”
Carrie took a deep breath, her shoulders relaxing slightly. “Okay,” she said finally, her voice firm. “I’ll do it.”
A sense of purpose washed over her as she stood up straighter. It was clear that a decision had been made, a path chosen. As I watched my wife, I felt a surge of pride and admiration. This was going to be tough, undoubtedly, but it was also going to be incredibly rewarding.
A week later, my wife stood in front of more than a thousand students in the Middletown High auditorium. Her hands were shaking, and she kept turning to me, looking for moral support. I gave her the thumbs up, smiled at her, and mouthed the words ‘you can do it’.
Every single teacher was there supporting my wife, including Mr. Livingston, who introduced her. I couldn’t have been prouder of my wife. There were moments when I thought we wouldn’t make it, but we did— and managed to turn the whole situation around.
Carrie had been preparing for this presentation for days, writing down ideas on cards and talking with her sponsor and her therapist.
She took a deep breath, her eyes scanning the sea of young faces before her. The auditorium was hushed, a collective anticipation hanging in the air. She cleared her throat, her voice a soft tremor at first.
“Good morning, everyone. My name is Carrie and I am an alcoholic working on my recovery,” she began, her voice gradually finding its strength. “Believe it or not, I was a teenager once, just like you.”
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