“There are always two choices, two paths to take. One is easy. And its only reward is that it’s easy.” ~ Unknown
“To be nobody but yourself in a world that’s doing its best to make you somebody else is to fight the hardest battle you are ever going to fight. Never stop fighting.” ~ e. e. cummings
“Experience is a hard teacher because she gives the test first, the lesson afterwards.” ~ Vernon Saunders Law
"A true leader has the confidence to stand alone, the courage to make tough decisions, and the compassion to listen to the needs of others. They do not set out to be a leader, but become one by the quality of their actions and the integrity of their intent." ~Anonymous
The Two Roads
There was a path deep in the woods.Once it forked—The bad, the good.
I chose to take the left-hand path,
I did not know. I had no map.
Now this road that I travel is dirty and battered.
It’s littered with dreams that are broken and tattered.
Paved with wrongdoings and dotted with hearts,
That were taken from people and just torn apart.
Pain and regret are common here.
Wherever you turn, they’re always near.
I want to cross to the other path,
And leave behind this painful wrath.
I thought I was forever doomed to walk.
And all the gates were tightly locked.
But as I continued, a footbridge I could see.
A Bridge of Hope called out to me.
Slowly I crossed to the path of good.
Finally I was on the path of which I thought I should.
Now hidden deep within the woods.
The one that forked; paths bad and good.
I once was wrong, but now I’m right.
And before me glows a guiding light.
Altered by a little step.
So close to falling in darkened depths.
But I was finally pulled to hope.
I found that footbridge, and learned to cope.
My simple mistake following the crowd.
Ignoring the heart that speaks so loud.
The choices you make can change your life.
One will bring happiness, the other brings strife.
Following the crowd, won’t lead you to right.
If you follow your heart, you’ll be guided by light.
There was a path, deep in the woods.
Once it forked—The bad, the good.
Heed my warning, because I know.
Follow your heart—You know where to go.
~ Whitney Welch
Minutes Like Hours
You walk into the store and stride down the aisle.You pick me up and try to look casual while
You carry me down to the checkout line.
Pull out your wallet, you will soon be mine.
Your friends are observing every move you make.
The clerk asks for ID—you show him a fake.
You quickly walk down to the front of the store.
Your friends are waiting for you as you step out the door.
You hop in the car and drive away from the shop.
Then you shut off the ignition, and pop off my top.
You take a few drinks and pass me around.
That’s when you decide to take a drive around town.
You turn on your car and put your foot on the clutch.
I’m sober, you think, I didn’t have very much.
You pull onto the road with me by your side,
Taking occasional sips as you enjoy the ride.
Then the brakes on the car in front of you squeal.
You try hard to stop, but lose control of the wheel.
You skid off the road, and you know you have crashed.
The dashboard is shattered, the windshield is smashed.
Minutes like hours, you plead and you pray,
I’ll never touch it again, just let me live one more day.
Your mind starts to go dark, it falls apart piece by piece.
And then you slip into blackness, the pain has finally ceased.
Before you entered that store, you should have thought twice,
For I am the substance that cost you your life.
~ Vidhya Chandrasekaran
Somebody Should Have Taught Him
I went to a birthday party but I remembered what you said.You told me not to drink at all, so I had a Sprite instead.
I felt proud of myself, the way you said I would,
That I didn’t choose to drink and drive, though some friends said I should.
I knew I made a healthy choice and your advice to me was right
As the party finally ended and the kids drove out of sight.
I got into my own car, sure to get home in one piece,
Never knowing what was coming, something I expected least.
Now I’m lying on the pavement. I can hear the policeman say,
“The kid that caused this wreck was drunk.” His voice seems far away.
My own blood is all around me, as I try hard not to cry.
I can hear the paramedic say, “This girl is going to die.”
I’m sure the guy had no idea, while he was flying high,
Because he chose to drink and drive that I would have to die.
So why do people do it, knowing that it ruins lives?
But now the pain is cutting me like a hundred stabbing knives.
Tell my sister not to be afraid, tell Daddy to be brave,
And when I go to heaven to put “Daddy’s Girl” on my grave.
Someone should have taught him that it’s wrong to drink and drive.
Maybe if his mom and dad had, I’d still be alive.
My breath is getting shorter, I’m getting really scared.
These are my final moments, and I’m so unprepared.
I wish that you could hold me, Mom, as I lie here and die.
I wish that I could say I love you and Good-bye.
~ Retold by Jane Watkins
Dead at 17
Agony claws my mind. I am a statistic. When I first got here, I felt very much alone. I was overwhelmed by grief and I expected to find sympathy. I found no sympathy. I saw only thousands of others whose bodies were as badly mangled as mine. I was given a number and placed in a category. The category was called “traffic fatalities.” The day I died was an ordinary school day. How I wish I had taken the bus! But I was too cool for the bus. I remember how I wheedled the car out of Mom. “Special favor,” I pleaded. “All the kids drive.” When the 2:50 bell rang, I threw my books in the locker. Freedom until tomorrow morning! I ran to the parking lot, excited at the thought of driving a car and being my own boss. It doesn’t matter how the accident happened, I was goofing off—going too fast, taking crazy chances. But I was enjoying my freedom and having fun. The last thing I remember was passing an old lady who seemed to be going awfully slow. I heard a crash and felt a terrific jolt. Glass and steel flew everywhere. My whole body seemed to be turning inside out. I heard myself scream. Suddenly, I awakened. It was very quiet. A police officer was standing over me. I saw a doctor. My body was mangled. I was saturated with blood. Pieces of jagged glass were sticking out all over. Strange that I couldn’t feel anything. Hey! Don’t pull that sheet over my head! I can’t be dead. I’m only 17. I’ve got a date tonight. I’m supposed to have a wonderful life ahead of me. I haven’t lived yet! I can’t be dead! Later I was placed in a drawer. My folks came to identify me. Why did they have to see me like this? Why did I have to look at Mom’s eyes when she faced the most terrible ordeal of her life? Dad suddenly looked very old. He told the man in charge, “Yes, he is our son.” The funeral was weird. I saw all my relatives and friends walk toward the casket. They looked at me with the
saddest eyes I’ve ever seen. Some of my buddies were crying. A few of the girls
touched my hand and sobbed as they walked by. Please—somebody—wake me up! Get
me out of here! I can’t bear to see Mom and Dad in such pain. My grandparents
are so weak from grief they can barely walk. My brother and sister are like
zombies. They move like robots. In a daze. Everybody. No one can believe this.
I can’t believe it, either. Please don’t bury me! I’m not dead! I have a lot of
living to do! I want to laugh and run again. I want to sing and dance. Please
don’t put me in the ground! I promise if you give me just one more chance, God,
I’ll be the most careful driver in the whole world. All I want is one more
chance. Please, God, I’m only 17.
~ John Berrio
The Final Act
Screeching tires, shattering glass, twisting metal, fiberglass.The scene is set, it all goes black, the curtain raised, the final act.
Sirens raging in the night, sounds of horror, gasps of fright.
Intense pain, the smell of blood, tearing eyes begin to flood.
They pull out the bodies one by one.
What’s going on? We were only having fun!
My friend is missing. What did I do?
Her belongings everywhere, in the road there lies her shoe.
A man is leaning over me and looks into my eyes,
“What were you thinking, son?
Did you really think that you could drink and drive?”
He pulls up the sheet, still looking at me,
“If you’d only called your mom or dad, you’d still be alive.”
I start to scream, I start to yell
But no one can hear me, no one can tell.
They put me in an ambulance, they take me away.
The doctor at the hospital exclaims, “DOA!”
My father’s in shock, my mother in tears,
She collapses in grief, overcome by the fear.
They take me to this house and place me in this box,
I keep asking what is happening, but I can’t make it stop.
Everyone is crying, my family is so sad.
I wish someone would answer me,
I’m starting to get mad.
My mother leans over and kisses me good-bye,
My father pulls her away, while she is screaming, “WHY?”
They lower my body into a dirt grave,
It feels so cold, I yell to be saved.
Then I see an angel, I begin to cry.
Can you tell me what is happening?
And she tells me that I died.
I can’t be dead, I’m still so young!
I want to do so many things like sing and dance and run.
What about college or graduation day?
What about a wedding? Please—I want to stay.
The angel looks upon me, and with a saddened voice,
“It didn’t have to end like this, you knew you had a choice.
I’m sorry, it’s too late now, time I can’t turn back.
Your life is finished—that, my son, is fact.”
Why did this happen? I didn’t want to die!
The angel embraces me and with her words she sighs,
“Son, this is the consequence you paid to drink and drive.
I wish you made a better choice, if you did you’d be alive.
It doesn’t matter if you beg me, or plead on bended knee,
There is nothing I can do, you have to come with me.”
Looking at my family, I say my last good-bye.
“I’m sorry I disappointed you, Dad.
Mommy, please don’t cry.
I didn’t mean to hurt you, or cause you any pain.
I’m sorry all you’re left with is a grave that bears my name.
I’m sorry all your dreams for me have all been ripped away,
The plans for my future now buried in a grave.
“It was a stupid thing to do,
I wish I could take it back.
But the curtain is being lowered now.
So ends my final act.”
~ Lisa Teller
Stories, quotes, poems, and information about SADD was obtained from www.sadd.com, Chicken Soup for the Teenage Soul, Chicken Soup for the Teenage Soul on Tough Stuff, and Chicken Soup for the Teenage Soul III. A big thanks to the students in the chapter, and to Ms. Cotugno for helping to make this site possible.