Where it started.

My first memory is of my parents, chugging vodka in the Winn Dixie parking lot. I don't know how old I was, but I was still strapped into a car seat.

When I was younger, I swore I'd never be like my father. Just a bumbling, angry drunk. Falling into doorways at 6pm. The guidance counselors called me into the office to talk to me about my dad's disease. But, at 6 years old, a disease wasn't what my dad had. He wasn't in the hospital, he wasn't dying. He was a normal dad.

I started staying at friends' houses, realizing that not all dads stayed up half the night yelling, fighting imaginary men in their sleep, stumbling through the house, punching holes in the walls and leaving blood trails from busted lips.

He took too many pain pills with a swig too much vodka and flipped. The only thing I can remember is a lot of yelling, my grandma coming, my mom and dad fighting to keep me in the car/get me out, and finally, my dad leaping on top of the car. He punched it, broke his hand in 4 places. We stayed with my grandma for a week that time. I swore I'd never touch a bottle of vodka.

A little older, and I swore I'd never be like my mother. A crackhead, a whore. I would watch the car tail lights leave the driveway every night. I'd get up, go wake up my dad, who at this point had semi sobered up, and we start making calls. At the time, I didn't know where she was going, but I knew she shouldn't be.

Me and my dad would sit up, watching the history channel. The sound of fighter jets still reminds me of those nights. I remember not wanting her to come home, thinking things were good like they were. Who needs her anyway? I learned to cook because my mom was gone, and my dad was passed out. I perfected every kind of hamburger helper by the first grade.

She got a boyfriend. I didn't know it at the time, but maybe I did. Deep down. I just knew that this guy brought me video games. He always played with me when no one else would. He left her because she couldn't leave us. I have no doubt that if my father would have been stable, she would've left and never turned back. But she didn't.

I can't remember a lot from childhood, just a few flashbacks. But, I do remember my first drink. I was 11 maybe, sitting at the table with my mom's best friend's son. There was a bottle of citrus vodka on the table. He dared me to sip it. I had no desire to taste the poison, but I wanted to impress him. That was the first time I ever got drunk.