My Name Is John and I'm an Alcoholic

I was born eighty-six years ago in a tough neighborhood known as the Brick Bottom section of Somerville, Massachusetts. We were very poor. I had a wonderful mother, four little brothers, and a little sister. We were born one right after the other; we were just like steps. My mother would say to us, "Your father's a good man when he's not drinking." My father was a rugged, powerful drinker; he was really trouble. When he'd come home on one of his binges, I'd take my little brothers and my sister upstairs to the attic until everything quieted down. It used to take four or five cops to get him out of the house and he always went the hard way. They'd beat the life out of him and my mother used to jump in and say "You're hurting him." I could never figure that out.