October 26, 2018 -Some of my youngest memories involve my dad and his alcoholism. On one hand, I recall joyous trips to Disneyland and him allowing a 12-year-old me to steer our car up the street to our house, my short legs not yet able to reach the pedals. On the other hand, I vividly remember his drunken arguments with my mom and him retreating into the garage, where he would smoke and drink alone. To call my relationship with him volatile, especially once my parents divorced, is a gross understatement…
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