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to his words, he never touched another drink the rest of his life or smoked again nor would he ever be in the presents of anyone that did. But my mother was unable to live up to his standards.

Bonnie made the climb over our neighbor 6" chain link fence on her way to empty the days beer cans that lingered in our house. A deal was made with my mother and the neighbor allowing her to dump the remains of her drinking in exchange for cash they always needed.

I dried the wash dishes then put them away, Bonnie and I took turns vacuuming each day. Laundry needed to be put away and now since the house was clean mother needed to be woke up to start dinner and once again be a normal happy family..

The sheer panic I always felt when walking home from school not knowing what was to be expected became second nature to me and my sisters. We together assumed the responsibility not knowing when this all came about. Was it were an unconscious action on our part not wanting any trouble with my father seeing my mother drunk or if at some point we were told to do my mothers work..

It was never clear to me till this day, nor did I know that our family was so different then the others around us. It was never talked about, however I can still recall at least two occasions when my father found beer cans and this lead to a brutal fight with my mother who was turned over the kitchen sink where my father bitterly screaming at her. She was crying while he proceeded to pop open the cans and pour them one after another over her head.. Those were the times I wished he were dead and wrote "I hate my father" on my pillow case cover with ink.

But despite the risk of it all, my mother still found a way to hide her beers by keeping them in my top dresser underwear's drawer slipping one of my t-shirts over the popped top or a sock to cover it and keep it hidden from my father, where she would occasional take sips throughout the night with my father kept unaware or wondering why she keeps going in our room and closing the door throughout the night, every night!
I hated the smell of beer, most of all going to school and smelling it while in class and worrying if others around me could smell it as well. Most of my childhood memories were mixed with this as a constant routine.

This went on for years until she grew sick and continually complained of back aches and then we started noticing her stomaching growing as if she were pregnant. It wasn't until I was 15 and my older sister Candy who was already divorced

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