A TOAST TO HOLIDAY SAFETY

WRITER: JAMES COMBS

“Remember, be home by midnight and don’t drink and drive.”

Those were the words my mom uttered as we piled into the Ford Bronco II and sped out of the driveway.

“Don’t worry,” I replied back with my head hanging out the passenger window. “We’re not going to drink so you have nothing to worry about.”

My nose must’ve grown a few inches. I knew damn well we were going to drink. For 18-year-old boys, a balanced diet consists of a cold beer in each hand. But I didn’t anticipate any unforeseen catastrophic events happening that would give my parents any reason to worry. Wow, did that ever turn out to be wrong.

The year was 1994. I had just graduated high school and was set to embark on a fun-fi lled, beerguzzling, pot-smoking night with three high school buddies. Boys will be boys, right? There’s no harm in high-risk behaviors because at that age you’re invincible.

Our first and most important stop was at a convenience store in Mount Dora. I grabbed three 12 packs of Busch Light and nervously sat them on the counter. I avoided eye contact, hoping the clerk failed to realize I was only 18. He rang up the beer and gave me my change. Bingo! Everyone always said I look older than I am. That night, it worked beautifully to my advantage.

From there, our destination was “The Pit,” a large, open area in the Ocala National Forest where people in their teens and early 20s gathered to listen to country music, socialize, and drink beer… although not necessarily in that order. The ride up there was a blast. We talked about girls, jammed out to

Clint Black, and destroyed plenty of brain cells.

We could’ve used those brain cells later that night. Somehow, drunkenly navigating the dirt roads of the Ocala National Forest in the pitch dark proved more difficult than we ever imagined. A wrong turn here and a wrong turn there ultimately led us to the City of Ocala. It was 11 p.m. Our little expedition had gone horribly awry.

“OK, find Highway 441 and drive back to Lake County,” I told the driver. “We have an hour to make our curfew.

We should be able to make it.”

That’s the last thing I remember.

The next thing I remember is lying in a bed at Munroe Regional Medical Center with my parents hovered over me.

“Are you OK?” my mom asked, tears running down her cheek.

“How did I get here?” I replied.

Here’s the answer. We ran a red light and slammed into the car of a middleaged woman who had the misfortune of sharing the road with us that night. I won’t go into too much detail, but I will say that the driver of our vehicle ultimately spent 30 days in jail, and the woman whom we hit filed a lawsuit. The Ford Bronco II we rode in was totaled. Fortunately, my buddies and I escaped serious injury.

To this day, I feel guilty about putting my parents through so much agony. They drove from Tavares to Ocala in the middle of the night knowing we had been in an accident but not knowing what condition we were in until they arrived.

NAME: Rudolph

OFFENSE: Sleighing under the influence

I’m sharing this shameful life event to say this. More people are arrested for DUIs during the holiday season than any other time of year, and police also set up more DUI checkpoints. Please remember that this month when you attend multiple Christmas parties where alcohol is readily available.

Driving drunk is simply not worth the risk. It can cost you thousands of dollars, your driving privileges, your job, and maybe your life. You can also lose your freedom, as a prominent Lake County attorney learned in 2011 when he was sentenced to 10 years in prison for DUI manslaughter.

Having a designated driver or choosing not to drink is the best way to avoid these sobering realities.