Alcohol and Motherly Parenting

As a small child, I was raised in an alcoholic home. My father worked long hours every day of the week. It was my sister and me, for the most part, at home. My mother was a very broken person. Her grandmother raised her due to her birth mother dying eleven hours after my mother was born from pneumonia. She died in 1957. "Nana" did her best raising my mother. Nana spoiled her to no end because she felt horrible for her being without her mother. So, my mother was given anything she wanted, went wherever she wanted, and never had a curfew. She was a wild child because she had so much freedom. I will share stories of her later in the series.

We grew up in New York, on Lake Ontario. We lived in many places, but the one house we grew up in the longest was the worst. While dad was working all day and most of the night, I was left with my sister and mother after school. I never wanted to come home after school. We were poor, kind of. Dad would hide away his money so mom couldn't buy alcohol. Dad worked at General Motors and was making excellent money. My mother had a horrible drinking problem since I could remember. She could drink cases a day, plus a bottle of liquor and wine in just one day. She would be belligerent, violent, emotionally abusive, and physically abusive. Her verbal abuse was the worst, as it made me feel like I shouldn't exist. I will go into more detail in more series.

At age ten, I was in court talking to a lawyer. I clearly remember to this day at age 35. As I said, my father drank too, but he loved us, girls. My sister that lived with us is my half-sister. Her father was murdered when she was two, and my father raised her upon marrying our mother. I have another half-sister who has a different mother, but she didn't live with us or grow up with us as she is older and was already living somewhere else.

I was in court for the divorce of my parents due to my mother's drinking. My father wasn't a saint either besides working late hours to avoid mother. He was physically abusive to women. That was my father's downfall with his marriages. He had already been twice before my mother, and my mother married once before marrying my father (to my sister's dad that was murdered). Dad was physically abusive to his wives prior as well.

One night after court, I heard my parents arguing as usual. The argument had gotten so bad, and my mother called the police. My father was taken away in handcuffs. As I stood at the door watching the law load him in the car, he whispered, "well, be OK." I knew the fight was due to my mother losing custody of me. At the time, my sister was old enough to move out independently, as she had already moved out about two weeks before the court.

Two days later, my father and an officer came to the house, packed my things, and left with my father to another place he had rented. He was out of jail the same night, and the next morning he found a home to rent before he came to get me. My mother showed little concern with me leaving. She never even hugged me, kissed me, or said goodbye. All I can remember her saying was, "Fuck you, John!". This comment was obviously to my father, but this would be the start of the end.

Series Two- Living Without Her (Coming Soon)