'Understanding The Fall'

I decided to do something a little different this week. Share a side of myself with you that I haven't yet.

I wrote a book about 10 years ago about what it was like to grow up with an alcoholic parent. When I was a kid, there were no books around that explained to me why my mom acted so different at night after she drank. I wish there had been. It might have helped me to understand things a bit more. Hell, it might have helped me understand things, period.

The name of my book is, Understanding The Fall, and after I wrote it I donated it to recovery houses as well as performed readings of it in juvenile halls across Southern California.

I remember one time going into a hard-core lock-down room—a room filled with gang bangers, drug dealers, murderers, sex offenders. Here I was in my long braids and 501's hoping to get a room of 16- and 17-year-old hormone-raging, locked up, pissed off guys quiet enough to listen to my little story.

It started out as you can imagine—a lot of rowdy, inappropriate behavior and evil eye staring. But, regardless, I put on my glasses, opened my book and started to read.

By the last page of my book, the last word, I looked up and no longer saw a room of scary criminals... instead it was a room of boys. Silent, some with tears, others simply looking at me softly.

I asked, "How many of you come from alcoholic or drug-addicted homes?"

Every single one of them raised his hand.

I was thinking, here I have a column every Monday—why not for this week only use it for a different purpose—a way in which, possibly, I can be of service.

There are five parts to my book. Every day this week I will post another part.  Maybe you know someone you can share it with. 

Understanding The Fall—Part 1

My name is Sally

I'm almost ten

I live in a house

Just up the glen.

I have a sister

Her name is Jane

She's 4 years older

She calls me "pain."

We live with mom

We have no dad

We have 2 dogs

Mo and Lad.

I go to school

I like to dream

I wish for joy

And mint ice cream.

I have a friend

We share it all

Except one secret

I call, "The Fall."

The Fall appears

After dark

When dinner's called

And the dogs don't bark.

The Fall is mean

With ugly face

The Fall is sloppy

It has no grace.

It slurs its words

It can't see straight

It zaps my love

It makes me hate.

I cannot eat

When The Fall is out

My tummy hurts

I start to shout.

Slamming doors

Sitting still

The Fall's my mom

When she drinks her fill.

The smell is strong

It swims in ice

The color, brown

She drinks it twice.

I hold my dolls

And start to dream

I wish for joy

And mint ice cream.

Jane sleeps out

I sleep in

Eyes wide open

And quivering chin.

The Fall's still up

I hear the sound

Of opening bottles

Another round.

Outside my door

I hear her stand

Trying to balance

With drink in hand.

She turns away

Her shadow leaves

And down the stairs

She sways and weaves.

And then, KABOOM!

I hear her land

I rush to her

And take her hand.

I help The Fall

Get into bed

She's fast asleep

I fear she's dead.

I wait to hear her

Breathe and snore

My mom's alive

I close the door.

And that's the secret

I cannot tell

My mom's The Fall

I know her well.

And when daylight comes

And the sun does rise

The Fall is gone

And mom bakes pies.

She hugs me tight

She makes my lunch

I'm off to school

Like the rest of the bunch.

And I wonder why

It must be

The ugly Fall

Must live with me.

And what I've done

To make her sad

To make her drink

The stuff that's bad.

I ride the bus

In day I dream

I wish for joy

And mint ice cream...

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