Sometimes there are events so monumental they’re perfectly preserved as a snapshot, never forgotten. 5 readers share the moments forever

Wake Up and Smell the Coffee

MY teenage years were tumultuous, as they are for many teens. I had an amazing group of friends who were great role models, and I was involved in many different programs in the community. But things were very hard at home. There was a lot of conflict and tension.

Like I said, I was a good girl, with good friends. But knee deep in the chaos of home, I reverted to another persona. Maybe it was my way of dealing with the conflict without actually facing it, maybe I felt I was getting back at my parents. Whatever it was, when things were tense at home, I’d hang out with my other chevreh, and that was when I really got myself into trouble.

Through this, I had a very close relationship with my high school principal and his wife, and they guided me through a lot. They knew about some of what I was dealing with and tried to be patient with my teenage antics. But when they’d try to talk sense to me, I’d listen with only half an ear and many eye rolls.

Until Purim night of 11th grade. My house was upside down, and there was a lot of fighting. I’d attended the school chagigah, but when it was over, I knew I wasn’t going home. I also knew that no one would even notice. Instead, I went with the gang to another girl’s house. Her parents were completely checked out. We were in the basement, a group of guys were there, and alcohol was passed around freely.

Then my cell phone rang. Mrs. Cohen*, my principal’s wife, was calling. One of the girls at the party, who was completely intoxicated, grabbed the phone and answered with a greeting that I can’t repeat. I froze and did the only thing I could think of — I threw my phone across the room.

I finally regained my composure somewhat, and as I went to get my phone, still shaking, it rang again. It was Mrs. Cohen. I answered and slipped out the back. Everyone was too far gone to notice. “Are you okay?” she asked.

I couldn’t talk. “Can you come get me?” I asked.

“Sure,” she said. “Where are you?”

I couldn’t tell her where I was, but she agreed to pick me up at a nearby intersection. Soon enough, she drove up in her white Pontiac, in a robe. It was two a.m.

We sat there on the lamplit street in silence for what felt like eternity. Finally, she said two words that changed everything: “You stink.” (I did.)

That was it. My facade crumbled. “I can’t do this anymore,” I told her. “This isn’t the life I want.”

I can’t say the change happened overnight, but slowly I began to distance myself from my buddies and learned to handle my situation better. With Hashem’s help and a lot of guidance, I found the path I wanted to be on.

Today I am a mechaneches in an out-of-town school. Many of our girls are blessed to have a sense of direction from the get-go, but there are many others who are taking a more scenic route. We put so much into these incredible neshamos; we see them and what they have within them. Still, at times it can be discouraging to see them struggling.

At those moments, I look back at my own journey and draw strength, remembering that Hashem has a plan. I know He will send each of my girls the right shaliach to guide them.

My students’ names, both past and present, are next to my leichter and on my lips every day, and I daven that they will see how one defining moment can impact their lives in such a beautiful way.

*name has been changed