I have been a mother since I was ten years old. I have played the role as a parent to my father for the past seven years of my life. Just like the other fifty percent of kids in America, my parents separated when I was in the fourth grade. I can not cognitively remember an entire day where my father was not belligerently intoxicated, and I cannot mentally count how many times I begged him not to drive in his usual mindless state. My belief for my entire childhood was that it was not uncommon to have an alcoholic father. I thought it was normal for parents to behave cruel to each other and get into physical fights. My father’s constant insolent behavior was something my mother, sister, and I became accustomed to.
Little did I know that my childhood