Narrative Essay On Alcoholism In My Family

Until about the age of thirteen, I was unaware of what alcoholism really was. For example, whenever I would picture an alcoholic in my mind, I always imagined an unstable person who yelled loudly and threw empty glass bottles at their family members whenever they were out of booze. Never in my entire life would I picture an alcoholic in my family, especially an abusive one. However, my viewpoint on alcoholism in my family completely changed when I was in the eighth grade. Health class is where it all began. My classmates and I filed into the large classroom and took our seats in the uncomfortable plastic desks that all had chewed gum stuck underneath them. Mr. Dalton-our young, sweaty, and balding teacher-let us know that we would be learning

You're supposed to drive her to school in the morning!" I ignored my mom's scolding and just thought my dad might've drank more than she wanted him to, but back then, I still didn't see him as an alcoholic. Oh man, I thought while sitting in my pre-algebra class. He really has always been a big drunk, hasn't he? How could I not have realized this before? Am I dumb or something? My pre-algebra teacher, Ms. McCommons, was flouncing and hollering around the dimly-lit classroom as she always did when teaching us math; she was really enthusiastic about the subject. However, her animated gestures failed to get my attention as thoughts of my dad were flooding my mind instead. Thankfully, this was my last class, so afterwards I could just head home, relax, and forget about all I had realized that day. That wasn't the case. When I had gotten home around 3 p.m., I had tried to begin on my 15 math problems I had been assigned. I ended up procrastinating for two hours, until my dad had come home, and began his nightly routine. My eyes widened as I started to see his unhealthy habits unwind in front of me, this time with a whole new perspective and heightened remembrance of all his behaviors that happened before. Oh

I had just begun my sophomore year in high school, and I was at my house doing homework, which was a daily occurrence. Suddenly, the power went out. I had to wait until my parents had come home to find out what happened; apparently, the entire north side of Kewanee had no power whatsoever, and there would be none until the next day. Working with what we had, my parents and I lit some apple-scented candles that made the house glow orange with their flames. At this point, my dad had begun his nightly routine, but since the power went out, I guess that triggered something in his brain to drink several more beers than usual. He began getting louder, and was beginning to visibly stumble around. Since we couldn't cook any food with our oven that night, my brother and I decided to go get some fast food, and of course, my dad wanted to tag along.