The Bar Was My Home, a Liquor Glass My Best Friend

I grew up in a middle-class family as the eldest of three children and the only boy. Both my parents were fairly heavy drinkers, as were most of my relatives. All family events had at least some sort of alcohol and usually some fighting to go with it. Drinking was the thing to do. At the age of fourteen, I was curious about alcohol and the effects it might have upon me. I had my first drink: some wine. At the age of fifteen, my family moved to Scotland while my father was working in the Middle East. I made quick friends who would rather hang out at a pub than anywhere else. I got my first exposure to the Scottish version of bar hopping, known as pub crawling. My schooling was failing as well as my attitude about anything and everything. My father was gone and my mother stayed drunk while working for the church as a volunteer. I had no male role model I could turn to for help. I stayed away from the house as long as I could each day, dreading the never-ending battle with my mother's drunkenness and my own guilt.