People sometimes ask: Why? Why stay? Why not leave? Just … go?

It’s quite simple. Keeping me alive when all I wanted to do was die must’ve been extremely hard and painful. I’m forever in her debt.

—ooOoo—

In 1981, I was ten years old, and I very much recall walking over the hill to the Orange Mall to watch ‘Arthur’ (1981). The movie had a profound influence on me. Arthur is my middle name, so there was that element of identification; and, quite frankly, Arthur was my hero. I admired him. I wanted to be like him. Drunk, rich, and not a fuck left to give. Not one.

Strange thinking about it now, ruminating over such things. Is it possible that I perhaps did not have a typical childhood? Hmm … Interesting. At that time, at 10-years old, I was already drinking on a regular basis. It consumed a lot of my time and energy. How does this happen? How does a 10-year old child get booze? Well, for me, I leaned into three sources.

Stealing pints from Alpha Beta and Ralphs. Truth be told. I was a master, a fucking ninja, at stealing bottles from grocery stores. Black Velvet and Canadian Club were my favorites. They were not only further down the aisle away from view, but I loved the taste, and of course the effect. I still get a warm fuzzy feeling thinking about opening one of those bottles.

Waking up after my parents left for work, cracking open an RC Cola from the fridge, pouring half of it out in the sink, and filling it up with various liquors from my parent’s cabinet. Makes me think of Beefeater Gin. I would often leave a little bit of it around the top of the can, so I could slurp up some straight gin to get me started on my walk to school.

I would insist a neighbor of ours steal from his parent’s liquor cabinet. His mother made him go to church, like a good Catholic boy, and I would agree to go with him, so long as he sorted us out with something to drink on the way to mass. Makes me laugh, thinking about how the adults were pleased with my interest in church, knowing the real reason for my going.

Good times – lol