There were a lot of things going well in high school. In the spring, recruiters from as far away as Texas has come to watch me play softball, and I was likely going to college on an athletic scholarship. Academically, Dartmouth was trying to recruit me, after a paper I’d written made its way into the hands of a professor there – “Mid-nineteenth century Russian philosophy as reflected by the works of Dostoyevsky, Tolstoy and Turgenev.” I was an All-State musician, and I was inducted into the National Honor Society.

Those achievements were reflected in this picture.

Meanwhile, the case against my uncle was coming to a head, his plea deal having just been rejected by the judge. He was front-page news on a near-daily basis. The paperboy delivered our newspaper to our doorstep each morning, and before school I’d read the latest coverage, driven by a need to prepare for what my classmates would be questioning me about today.

I was drinking very heavily – in fact, I would lose the athletic scholarship opportunities because my health would nosedive. I was miserable and had attempted suicide 4 times in the last year; 2 more attempts were to come in a matter of months. I had been served with my first restraining order, and the judge had told me to go to AA. I didn’t. Rage and self-loathing were my constant companions.

I still smiled. And look at that preppy collar! Looking good. Can you imagine what senior pictures would look like if they captured the whole story?

On the other hand, maybe the picture captures a story that is harder for me to tell. The joy doesn’t fit into the story as I’ve chosen to claim it.

I spend a lot of time remembering the pain and misery of my youth, but there were many reasons to celebrate as well. In my 17-year-old face I see the hope for a future yet to come.

Yet I know that if I’d placed a bet on what my future would be, I would have short-changed myself. I have so many gifts in my life – sobriety, a healthy marriage, kids and grandkids, a home of my own. I had a career I’m proud of, even if I am medically retired.

Short version – my gratitude list is longer than my grief list. And it might have been back then, too.