good for the ACOA crowd
As far back as I can remember, the thing that I most looked forward to most as a child were the weekends I spent at my Dad’s house.
Until I was 12 that meant packing my bags and hopping in the car with my Mom and brother to make the 30 minute trek for a weekend filled with coloring books, The Little Mermaid, mac & cheese and cinnamon rolls. Except for the perpetual smell of cigarette smoke, there was nothing I didn’t love about spending time at my Dad’s house.
Why didn’t my Dad ever pick us up? Well, my Dad didn’t have a driver’s license until I was 12. You see, while the exact number of DUIs he had escapes me, there were enough to revoke his license for 10 years.
My Dad is an alcoholic.
He and my mother divorced when I was two. My Mom…
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