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Remembering the long ago years, I remember my role in our
alcoholic home. I was the protector. Mom was yelling, "Go
ahead you bastard, hit me". I ran into the kitchen from the
living room where us children sat in front of the tv set. I stood
between them as dad raised his arm to strike. He stopped.
Another night of anguish. The upset stomach. The knot
that held me.

I protected her again. It was always the same on Friday night
every two weeks, pay day. My mom was the enabler. Her
screams and yells of accusations. Just as I became the enabler
with my x husband. Than with my children. It was so clear to
me.

The counselor moved to the flip chart and struggled to turn
the page. She was short and the easel was high. It happened
several times and became a natural ice breaker between the
speaker and the group. We could all identify with her
vulnerability.

"Individuals within the family groups tend to assume roles in
order to cope", she added, gesturing to the chart identifying
five basic roles. "The roles build co-dependence and enable a
dysfunctional family to stay together. It is a coping
mechanism. A way of finding a place in alcoholic chaos that
relate to you or members of your family."

I was uncomfortable because I couldn't see Paul. I'm about 5'
tall and couldn't see past Gabrielle. How was he responding
to this" I wanted to be close to him. Gabrielle noticed my
attempts to see past her. She smiled and leaned forward. Paul
was attentively watching the presentation. He seemed to be in
deep thought. I relaxed and held Gabrielle's hand.

"The Hero", the counselor stated flatly. "The hero is a role
that someone in your family may have assumed. That doesn't
mean they were actually a hero. Nope. Usually people that
assume this role fall into trouble a lot. But they perceive
themselves as a hero. They may excel in certain things
like athletics to reinforce the perception. Do any of you
recognize this role in the family?"

The Hero, that was my brother Todd. He made a joke out of
everything and everything a joke. He also was the one that
was always in trouble and mom was always yelling at him.

In my home it was my son. He was playing with matches
when he was eight. He ran away from home at thirteen. He
ended up in jail at sixteen, seventeen, eighteen. The last time
he tried to take my car, he destroyed all the phones in the
house so I couldn't call the police. Gabrielle got up
when she heard me.

"Let him go." Both of them always thinking they can help someone
but cannot remove themselves from
desperate circumstances.

"My

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