Raising Mario Twice Christine Scharmer, iUniverse, Inc. Page 1 of 5

Multimedia

• 
  The Other Breakfast Club. Courtesy of the National Road Safety Foundation. Transcript of this video.
• The Other Breakfast Club
• 
  Meet Sabrina — a teen talking to other teens about her experience after brain injury. From Lash & Associates Publishing Training Inc. Used with permission. For more information on this entire video, go to www.lapublishing.com.  Transcript of this video.
• Personal Story: Teens Talking to Teens
• 
  Meet a handful of people with brain injury who give courage and tenacity new meaning. Transcript of this video.
• Living with a Traumatic Brain Injury

How Love Can Transform a Life After a Tragic Event

Chapter 2 - The Party: As Remembered by Mario’s Brother, Miguel

Fallen star, broken wish, mended heart and stolen kiss,
Tortured souls and restless nights,
Empty pockets and drunken fights,
My past is not who I am.
— Miguel Scharmer

My brother Mario had graduated from high school and the two of us were making plans. We shared similar interests and ran with the same crowds. We were partiers and very social. You could say we were known for being wild and crazy and would rev up the life of any social atmosphere with our presence. Together we were unstoppable. It was summer and our phones were always ringing with offers of things to do, along with invitations to barbecues, parties, and road trips. You name it and we were there doing it.

Mario was a very social person. He knew how to encourage good conversation and the women always gathered around him. I shared a similar personality, but needed to put in a little extra work to catch the girls. My looks alone usually didn’t seal the deal. But put the two of us together in the same vicinity and you might want to bring your video camera, ‘cause things were bound to get interesting.

Our plan was to move out, share an apartment, and go to Diablo Valley College together. But before this all happened, we wanted to enjoy a kick-ass summer. We had similar work schedules and a little money saved up. That would give us the time to enjoy every minute of the last part of our summer freedom.

The day started out as any other day. I’d wake up to the sound of a buzzing alarm clock. You see, I had a little routine of setting it to go off early and hitting the snooze button to silence it, but not shut it off. This put the alarm on delay for about five minutes and it would go off again later. I would let this happen about three our four times until I could finally make myself get out of bed.

Then came the morning rituals. This usually included walking half-awake to the bathroom to release a full bladder, followed by washing my face and brushing my teeth. These things taken care of, I’d hop onto the couch in the living room, flip the television on, and try to think of what I wanted to eat and if I was going to be too lazy to make it.

The phone rang and I got up to answer it. It was my buddy Brad. “What’s up?” Brad asked.

“Shit, I’m just lounging round the house,” I said.

“Come through to my house, I’m having a barbecue,” Brad said.

“Okay, I’ll be over there in a bit,” I replied.

Of course, Mario wanted to come too, but our parents had him painting the pool house. My parents had lent him $1500 to buy a truck and he worked off some of the money by doing jobs around the house. I got dressed and left for Brad’s.

When I arrived, Brad staggered over to my car and greeted me. He had an empty beer bong in his hand and wet spots all over his tee shirt from some of the beer.

“Hey dude, where’s Mario?” Brad asked.

“He had to stay home and paint. He might catch up with us later,” I replied.

Brad held up the beer bong and said, “You’re next. You have got to catch up.”

Back then I was crowned the “Beer Bong King” and I was the fastest drinker of all. So I accepted the challenge to catch up and headed into Brad’s back yard.

The back yard was filled with familiar faces. I greeted all of our friends and looked around to see two, thirty packs of beer and a couple bottles of vodka. My buddy Dan was on barbecue duty and was grilling it up. I got into the circle on the lawn where the action was going down and got into my beer bong position. I knelt down, put my hand on the release valve and with the other hand, held the tube for balance. I was ready to take down two and a half beers in about seven to nine seconds. I opened the valve and down it went. The cold, frosty beer shot down my throat and into my belly.

“Go, Go, Go, Go,” everyone yelled, cheering me on.

I finished and let the foam drip out. A loud belch released and it helped my stomach settle.

The beer bong kept rotating to the next willing participant throughout the day. By the time we finished all the drinking and eating, it had started to get dark. It had been such a kick-ass party; I thought that it would be great to keep it going.

So I yelled, “Let’s go to Ocean Beach and throw a bonfire party.”

Everyone was up for it, so I called Mario to see if he wanted to go. He had just finished dinner and was anxious to get out of the house and party. I went to the house, changed clothes, picked up Mario and stocked up on wood and stuff.

“Whoever wants to roll meet back at Brad’s house at 11:00 P.M.,” I said.

Mario’s truck was a 1973 Maroon colored Chevy with a camper shell. The back of the bed was carpeted. It was the “Love Shack” on wheels. We called it the “Shaggin’ Wagon,” ‘cause on many nights some guy was getting lucky back there with some pretty girl. The only bad thing about it was that it had no power steering and the brakes were not very good. It had been upgraded with a new stereo system and new speakers.

Most of the day we had been listening to R&B, Hip-Hop, or Metallica’s Black Album, when we wanted to get amped. That got our blood pumping. So for tonight’s music, it just depended on what mood we were in and who was riding DJ. Riding DJ, for those of you who don’t know, is the passenger in the car who is closest to the radio or CD controls. That way the driver can concentrate on the road and not the radio. Also, it was kind of a tradition.

When I arrived back at home the family dogs greeted me as soon as I entered. I played and roughed them up a little and headed to the fridge to see if there was anything good to drink or snack on. This is sort of a habit when I get home. Whether I’m hungry or thirsty doesn’t matter too much. I’m not sure why I do it. But nothing stood out. It’s usually the same old health and protein stuff, like soymilk, tofu, and all kinds of fat-free and organic items. Mom’s sort of a health nut. No red meats in the house either. The closest thing to red meat was chicken, turkey, or fish. If we had something like Martinelli’s apple cider, that was a jackpot.

From Raising Mario Twice: How Love Can Transform a Life After a Tragic Event by Christine Scharmer, iUniverse, Inc. © Christine Scharmer, 2009. Used with permission. http://raisingmariotwice.com.

 Comments

There are currently no comments for this article