From Rags to Riches

I don't recall ever seeing my mother, who was part Native American, ever without a drink in her hand. With her jet black hair and piercing blue eyes, she was a lively, crazy, wonderful woman who could organize anything, talk her way out of any situation, and make everyone around her laugh -but she was an alcoholic, a black-out drunk. My dad was the opposite: a quiet, sophisticated educator who had no idea what to do about his outgoing wife. There were many arguments and fight, but all behind closed doors. Although Dad was mild and kind most of the time, he had outbursts of violence, that seem to come out of nowhere, and I was frequently the target.