Katherine Loeck,Lincoln, Neb., junior, poses with her dad on Campanile Hill before the KU-Colorado football game.
A ticket to regret, accept and love. by Katherine Loeck
I waited in the concrete cell with my face pressed against the small slip of a window that looked into an empty hall. I prayed aloud for someone to get me out. I think that two women were in the room with me. One was passed out; the other asked me why I was there, why I was so young. It's hard for me to remember exactly what went on in that locked room. I pretended it wasn't real.
I don't remember leaving, only seeing my parents waiting out front. Nothing in the world could have been better than the smile on my dad's face. He hugged me, kissed my cheek and said,"I love you."My mom wouldn't speak to me.
Early that morning, I had seen the blue and red lights in my rear-view mirror.On Jan.15, 2005, while home in Lincoln, Neb., I was pulled over after turning the wrong way onto a one-way street.After realizing my mistake, I turned onto a side street and continued to make my way home. I later found out I wasn't even headed in the right direction.My friends had tried to stop me from driving before I left. They offered to take me home, to let me stay with them. I wouldn't listen.I thought I was fine.
I was fine enough to land myself in the back of a police car. Despite the uncomfortable plastic seat, I didn't want the silent ride to end.
The officer took me to the detoxification center — "detox"
or "the drunk tank." He told me to stand on one foot and count one-one-thousand, two-one-thousand, to 21 with my arms stretched out to the slides. I was convinced that I had passed the tests and that I would be let off the hook. What was someone like me doing in detox?
At the time I was an 18-year-old KU freshman with a 4.0 GPA. Wearing my jeans with the holes, a brown argyle cashmere sweater, a green silk flower in my blonde hair and my favorite gold earrings, I was out of place in the drunk tank. I sat on a cold metal folding chair for 30 minutes taking deep breaths in and out of my nose because I thought this would lower the concentration of alcohol in my blood (BAC). About an hour after being pulled over, my blood alcohol level was .169 — more than twice the legal limit.
The police charged me with driving under the influence, reckless driving and misrepresentation of age because the officer found my best fake ID in my glove box. I was sentenced to six months probation, and my license was suspended for 90 days.I had to complete 30 hours of community service, a Mothers Against Drunk Driving (MADD) seminar, outpatient rehabilitation classes, 10 Alcoholics Anonymous meetings and a defensive driving class. I still owe my parents about $1,500 for the costs that accompanied one bad decision, but my legal punishments were
nothing compared to the effects my behavior had on my family and college life.
My dad is an alcoholic. After several rounds of alcohol and drug rehabilitation, he has been sober for 22 years.Today he's a successful real estate agent and active in our community with A.A. and the detox center. When he came to pick me up that night, everyone knew who he was, everyone knew I was his daughter, and I was ashamed. In the front seat of my dad's car, I cried for the first time that night. My mom cried in the back seat. My parents were happy that I was not in a ditch, but my mom said she had seen this ticket coming.
The next morning in the family room, I stared at my feet, unable to look my younger brother or sister in the eye. My stomach ached and my head pounded as I told them what I had done. We cried softly together and my brother, who was then 12, asked me to stop drinking because he was afraid that I would die if I didn't. I was remorseful, disgusted, hung-over and pissed off that my mom would have to drive me to work later.
My DUI will be on my record until I'm 73, and it took me months to accept what I did. At first I felt guilty going to A.A.meetings with my dad because he is so respected in the community. I felt like people would label me as an alcoholic because I was the 18-year-old
daughter of an alcoholic and was already in trouble with the law. As we continued going to meetings together, it became a way for me to spend time with my dad. He would meet me there in his suit and tie with burgers for a lunch break. Holding hands and sipping coffee, we would listen. I heard stories of addictions and temptations, crazy nights and the devil, triumph and survival. Sometimes he would talk. He introduced me to his friends who hadn't seen me since I was a baby. Everyone knew why I was there, and they welcomed me. I came to understand that this group was made up of the most accepting people I would ever meet. After a while, I couldn't have been more proud to be Craig Loeck's daughter, and I was no longer ashamed of my experience.
Recelving — and deserving
— a DUI taught me about myself
and my family. My parents
supported me through the
whole process from the court
date to dealing with regret. They
constantly reminded me of two sayings from A.A.: "one day at a time," and "grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, courage to change the things I can and wisdom to know the difference."
After my family had begun to accept my mistake,my mom hung my ticket on the refrigerator as a joke.We noticed a couple months later that I had signed my last name wrong. That night,I had left the "e" out of Loeck.
Since that night, I haven't played the game power hour, and I haven't been in another police car. I still drink socially, but I know my limits. During my probation, I tied a MADD red ribbon to the antenna of my car. Though weathered and torn, it's still there. Every time I walk up to my car, it reminds me of that night and of the unconditional support I have from my family — and not to drink and drive.
Each year, 1,700 college students between the ages of 18 and 24 die from alcohol-related accidents, according to www.collegedrinkingprevention.gov.
THE NUMBERS
- Each year in Lawrence, someone is killed in a drunk driving accident; more often than that, someone is injured, says Dan Ward, sergeant of the Lawrence Police Department.
- As of Oct. 26, 481 DUIs have been issued this year, according to the Lawrence Municipal Court."These are very serious things that are life altering and life ending situations,"Ward says.
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