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I was just a child when I tasted alcohol for the first time. My dad, an alcoholic introduced me to alcohol. I can remember fixing him a drink when I was only five years old. While opening the top of the dark colored whiskey the strong smell of it burned my nose. When preparing his mixed drink I would pour the whiskey first, second place the solid chunks of ice in the glass, and last came the Tab. I started to make his drinks when he played cards. I can still remember the stench of cigarettes in the air at the trailer. My friend and I would be playing, when my dad would call for me to come fix his drink. I would taste them to make sure they were mixed right. I thought I was big stuff because I was helping, little did I know it could have been the beginning of a habit or an addiction for me. My dad and I didn’t have the greatest relationship. At the young age of nine my parents divorced over his alcoholism. Shortly after the divorce my dad remarried. My sisters and I visited dad every other weekend. This didn’t last long for my sisters because they were older and soon moved away to college. That left only my stepsister and me to put up with my dads’ alcoholic behaviors. I would be very bored and mad staying at dad’s, because he wasn’t very inattentive to my teenage needs. As I got into my teen years I started lying just to get out of the house on the weekends. I hated to go to my dad’s house. We would sit around and watch him drink his beer and sleep. This is not what a kid wants to do. By the time I was fifteen all of my friends had their driver’s license. I would lie and say someone wanted me to babysit. My friends and I would supposedly leave to go babysit but instead we would go party. One of my worst memories was the weekend when I was putting away the dishes and my stepmom hollered at me to get the wooden spoon out of the drawer. The spoon was large and wooden with gray tape wrapped around the spoon part. My step-mom used this spoon to stick in my dads’ mouth to keep him from swallowing his tongue. I would cry when she stuck the spoon into my dads’ mouth, it seemed as if it was hurting him not helping him.
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