Alcoholism remains a horrible disease that causes broken families and broken lives in every culture. Secrets are kept by every family, but alcohol is the worst drug because it is the most socially acceptable drug.

The house was filled with the debris of life, smelling of cigarettes and whisky and a dog. I played violin in an orchestra and played baseball every chance I got. Reading was the escape that kept my life important. Drunken nights of mother were the norm and I knew to keep my head down even in daylight.

Mom would drag me out of bed by my hair and proceed to slap me around and beat me to a pulp while telling me I was worthless and why I would never amount to anything. A 1/5 of Whiskey per night was the norm.

One night, the rage finally tipped my hand and I knocked my mother out cold and went to bed. Fear of consequences was the last thing on his mind.

The next morning, I got up and went out to see if my mother was still out cold in the living room, or if she was dead. Damn! She was not there and must have got up and gone to bed. She got up later that morning, didn’t say anything all day, and never hit me again. If I had known it was going to work I would have hit her when I was much younger. I would become somebody no matter what!