Fighting the War on Drugs

Cross-posted at Some Notes on Living

It seems like everyone has a story like this, or knows someone who knows someone who has a story like this. It isn’t meant as anything more than a post on how the War on Drugs affected someone I know. And how mandatory sentencing, without respect for the individual circumstances of each case, has damaged one life.

I have a young friend who – depending on your politics – is either a victim of the War on Drugs or a poster child for the effectiveness of the War on Drugs. I’ve changed her name to preserve her privacy.

First, some background:

I met Anna as a thirteen-year-old girl when she began hanging out with my son and his other friends at our home. Anna was – and is – one of those kids who is worldly in all the wrong ways, and yet remains somewhat naive in others.

She lived with her mother and abusive step-father and three much-younger brothers. Often, she would “sneak” into our home, in order to have a safe place to sleep either because her mother and/or step-father had kicked her out of the house for some infraction of the rules or because she was afraid of being hurt. Once her step-father threw a television set at her, causing a gash that required 10 stitches. Another time, enraged over some minor rule-breaking, he carted all her possessions to the landfill, leaving her with a mattress and one blanket. Her mother once threw her out of the car, forcing her to walk eight miles – in the dark – to my home.

My son tried explaining that she was welcome any time because – as I told him – we didn’t want to have to worry about her being out on the streets. This is a small town, but there are still dangers. I tried letting her know that she could always come to us, any time, but – in my opinion – I don’t think she was ready to believe an adult cared.

Her family has had a history of drug use and alcoholism as long as I’ve known them, and she grew up thinking drugs, alcohol, and abuse were just a normal part of everyone’s life. She once asked my son why I didn’t have any alcohol in the house. His answer (that I don’t drink) was such a surprise to her. She honestly couldn’t imagine any adult going about their daily life without using some form of mind-altering chemical – legal or illegal.

Over the years, she and my son became especially close, and dated on and off, and she began talking to me. At first it was just little things, and then the bigger questions that broke my heart. How did I make the kids behave without using a belt? Did I really like my sister, and why did my family always hug and say ‘love you’ whenever we separated – whether for an hour or a day?

It was literally beyond her comprehension: A family that cared about each other, didn’t use violence or intimidation, who treated her as a respected, intelligent, responsible member of the clan.

We included her in our family events, from birthdays to Christmas celebrations to the “just because” picnics. She babysat for my niece and nephew, played the big sister role to my daughter, and became another grandchild to my mom.

So what happened?