A TEENAGER’S LEGACY OF PAIN

14. November 2008 by admin.

Looking back, I’m not sure being a teenager nowadays is any more distressing than when I was their age. Sure, we all have problems when we’re teenagers, but some way or another we work our way through and out of those years into adulthood and responsibility.

I remember being sixteen and feeling like I was overwhelmed with problems. I remember my last fight with my girlfriend when we broke up. I remember my dad leaving after putting my poor mother, brothers, sisters, and myself through hell with drinking. I remember feeling awkward with acne and not knowing why I didn’t fit with the “IN CROWD,” but knowing I was definitely different. I remember dreading to go to school each day to face the humiliation of being called a nerd or a geek by my peers.

I found, at first, my comfort in marijuana and beer on weekends. Then, I realized weekends weren’t enough. I began getting high every day before school and at lunch to help me get through the day.

I remember being high and making plans to finish school, then going on to college to study law. They said I had the ability to become anything or anybody that I chose.

I remember the rest of high school as a blur. There were the junior and senior proms and the biggest day of all: graduation. I remember looking at my mother in the audience on a hot June day, beads of perspiration on her face mixed with tears. I was filled with pride that day as I watched my family in the audience wait in anticipation for the big moment to share with me.

Last night, I was reflecting on those tough times when I was sixteen and ready to quit school. I kept telling myself “hang in there, all you have are two years to graduation.” Then it’s off to college to get a law degree and start a new life.

Last night, I couldn’t sleep as I awaited morning and graduation day. I was up at the crack of dawn, washing my old; beat up Chevy because as soon as graduation was over, I was headed to the beach.

Now, looking at my family, I realize all the hard times and hard work was worth it. It’s a beautiful day for a graduation. The birds are chirping. Summer is in the air and cameras are clicking, as each student is announced and walks up on stage to applause and yells of friends and family.

As they announce my name, I feel a sense of pride I have never experienced as I watch my mother stand up and applaud through years of tears and futility. She was only 40 years old, but looked at that moment to be about 60 as the years had taken their toll. All the years of turmoil I had felt seemed to dissipate at that moment.

I remember walking towards the stage to receive my diploma, but something felt strange. I was moving in slow motion as everyone in the auditorium was applauding. I passed Grandma who was sobbing uncontrollably. My brothers and sisters lowered their eyes as I passed which bewildered me and touched my heart.

As I climbed the stairs to the stage to receive my diploma, I felt a cold breeze pass by me that chilled me to the bone. It was my mother who was being hugged now by the principal as he handed her my diploma. I left school and life one month previous to graduation.

As I reflect, I realize all that I have given up and all that I will never experience. All the football games and Christmas’. The changing of the seasons and the styles. The long walks and talks with girlfriends I’ll never know. The family barbecues and the relationships that will never happen.

Most of all, I will never know graduation and law school as a reality. I wonder about what kind of a husband and father I would have been. I long to hold my own child and comfort him in a way I never knew, to tell him everything will be alright when he’s a teenager struggling with life.

I have left a legacy of pain in lieu of prosperity to posterity. If I had just talked to someone, anyone, I may not be here dreaming of those things that could’ve been, would’ve been, or should’ve been.

I cannot come back through that door from despair to bliss. I can only hope my message helps one teenager ask for help from “one caring adult,” because my time has gone, but yours has just begun.

Remember, “Crisis is temporary, suicide is FOREVER!”

Michael F. Cronin, II, ACBSW
Program Director
Colorado Boys Ranch Foundation
P. O. Box 681
La Junta, CO 81050

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