No, I’m not blaming this on my parents. If you think I’m blaming this on my parents, you’re badly mistaken. This is about my failings, not my parents’, stepfather included.
This is just the way I smile.
I got this crooked smile when I was four years old. I fell off a swing. A nerve got pinch and the left side of my face is paralyzed, you know, the left side is flaccid and the right side moves, just like everyone else’s, the right side that is. But the right side looks a mess when I smile or laugh or squint, but it’s only because the left side is flat, which creates an imbalance that distorts the picture. But what does this have to do with my drinking?
No. Why should I blame my parents for my face?
Are you saying I was trying to get back at my parents?
Yes, my father died when I was ten years old, and yes, alcohol was involved.
Yes, I suppose he was.
Well, yes, my stepfather died of alcoholism.
My mother in all respects was levelheaded, except when it came to husbands. She didn’t drink at all, and, according to what she told me on several occasions, hadn’t had a drink, not even a token sip of champagne during the holidays, since the time when she was twenty-one years old and blacked out after drinking a quantity of Scotch. My mother was against drinking, an anti-drinking person. She sometimes said that the only problems in our household were those related to booze.
Wait a minute, now. My parents, stepfather included, didn’t pour any alcohol into my mouth. I don’t know why you keep coming back to that.
Yeah, well, I know you’re just asking questions. I know that. And I know you’re trying to get to the root of the problem. But . . .
No, I don’t see any connection—a fall from a swing, which I can’t even remember, and the crooked face and the drinking?
Yes, I tried AA.
That’s right. I didn’t get past a few open meetings because I didn’t want to get involved. You know, commit to the program—have a friend and then a sponsor and the twelve-step deal. I don’t like programs. I don’t like groups. Besides, that book they read from is boring.
It’s just the way I am.
Genetic? You mean, like in my genes?
I haven’t looked at my genes. How am I supposed to know? Can people do that, look in a microscope or something and see genes? Can they like say, ‘Hey, that one there is an alcoholic gene.’
No, I’m not trying to be funny.
Yes, I . . . I want to tone it down. You know, I’m having problems. That’s why I’m here.
No steady girlfriend right now.
There’s this woman I see sometimes, or she sees me sometimes. Whichever way you want to look at, we see each other.
Well, I wouldn’t say—relationship. It’s more like . . . a convenience. Or an urge, you know, you know how that works.
Well, no. What I’m trying to say is that she calls me when she wants to see me. But sometimes we run into each other at this bar.
Yes, we drink together.
Well, since I drink almost every day it stands to reason that I always have sex when I’m drinking.
I don’t know when the last time was.
As far as I know, yeah, she’s like that, too.
Her name? Linda.
No, we’ve never talked about it.
She says she likes my smile.
I don’t know why.
Yeah, I liked my stepfather, most of the time.
Of course I liked my father. I was ten years old when he died, so I have that boy-father image. It’s a good image, but I don’t think about it too often.
Yes, I liked my mother. Why shouldn’t I have liked my mother? Don’t you like your mother?
I’m sorry. I didn’t mean . . . I’m sorry. I apologize.
I suppose because I’m bored. I go to work, as I told you, an auto parts warehouse, which, fortunately, provides health insurance. And-
No, I wasn’t trying to allude to the money thing. I was just . . .talking.
I go to this pub-like place. It’s got a British atmosphere, or maybe Irish. No, it’s not Irish. It’s British. They got a picture of the queen.
Yes, on my way home. And, yes, or rather no, I don’t drive. I do most everything on my bicycle. I don’t have a car.
No, I didn’t lose my license. I have a valid driver’s license. I just . . . don’t want to have a car. They’re a hassle. They’re expensive.
Well, yeah, I suppose you could say that. You know, I don’t think anyone wants to get a DUI.
Well, of course, I don’t want to be driving drunk and get in a wreck and kill somebody or something. Who would?
The bar/pub? No, I didn’t stop there before coming here. I came straight from work.
No, I don’t drink at work. I tried that once, you know, at lunch break. It didn’t work out.
Yes, sometimes Linda is there, at the bar/pub. Actually, that’s where we met.
Well, no, I don’t exactly go there to wait for her.
Sometimes I talk to other people.
Sometimes I read the newspaper or watch people play darts or look at the TV. They have soccer matches on.
Soccer? It’s boring.
Well most anything becomes interesting if I have a pint of good ale in my hand.
Yes.
Vodka or rum.
Linda too.
My mother? How in the world can you connect Linda up with my mother?
Okay, okay. I’m sorry.
Yes, I’m here for . . . guidance.
I don’t know if the men at the bar/pub are like my father. I hardly knew my father.
Perhaps they’re like my stepfather. I don’t know, they’re just men.
Some I suppose are white-collar, others blue-collar, others no-collar.
No, I didn’t mean that. There are men, and women, who work but they’re not what I’d call blue-collar. Like myself, I wouldn’t consider my job blue-collar.
No, Linda isn’t the only woman who comes to the bar.
Yes, after the bar I go home and I drink there.
My cat’s there, and sometimes Linda’s comes over.
Yes, I’d say drinking with my cat and the TV constitutes drinking alone.
My biggest problem? Hangovers.
Like most every day, and I think that’s part of the problem. You see, that first glass of beer takes that proverbial edge off. I can hardly wait to get to the pub because that first golden sip is there, waiting for me, and about halfway down my first pint of beer my hangover begins to ease up. You know, the headache and that uncomfortable feeling all over.
Yes, you’re right. It’s like a dog chasing its tail.
Well, ah . . . like what I was maybe thinking—Maybe you could give me something for the hangovers.
Okay, okay. I know. No, I wasn’t trying to do that. I was just . . . I don’t know. Hey, let’s just forget about that, okay? You think I got to stop drinking completely, huh? You think that’s the solution?
This is just the way I smile.
I got this crooked smile when I was four years old. I fell off a swing. A nerve got pinch and the left side of my face is paralyzed, you know, the left side is flaccid and the right side moves, just like everyone else’s, the right side that is. But the right side looks a mess when I smile or laugh or squint, but it’s only because the left side is flat, which creates an imbalance that distorts the picture. But what does this have to do with my drinking?
No. Why should I blame my parents for my face?
Are you saying I was trying to get back at my parents?
Yes, my father died when I was ten years old, and yes, alcohol was involved.
Yes, I suppose he was.
Well, yes, my stepfather died of alcoholism.
My mother in all respects was levelheaded, except when it came to husbands. She didn’t drink at all, and, according to what she told me on several occasions, hadn’t had a drink, not even a token sip of champagne during the holidays, since the time when she was twenty-one years old and blacked out after drinking a quantity of Scotch. My mother was against drinking, an anti-drinking person. She sometimes said that the only problems in our household were those related to booze.
Wait a minute, now. My parents, stepfather included, didn’t pour any alcohol into my mouth. I don’t know why you keep coming back to that.
Yeah, well, I know you’re just asking questions. I know that. And I know you’re trying to get to the root of the problem. But . . .
No, I don’t see any connection—a fall from a swing, which I can’t even remember, and the crooked face and the drinking?
Yes, I tried AA.
That’s right. I didn’t get past a few open meetings because I didn’t want to get involved. You know, commit to the program—have a friend and then a sponsor and the twelve-step deal. I don’t like programs. I don’t like groups. Besides, that book they read from is boring.
It’s just the way I am.
Genetic? You mean, like in my genes?
I haven’t looked at my genes. How am I supposed to know? Can people do that, look in a microscope or something and see genes? Can they like say, ‘Hey, that one there is an alcoholic gene.’
No, I’m not trying to be funny.
Yes, I . . . I want to tone it down. You know, I’m having problems. That’s why I’m here.
No steady girlfriend right now.
There’s this woman I see sometimes, or she sees me sometimes. Whichever way you want to look at, we see each other.
Well, I wouldn’t say—relationship. It’s more like . . . a convenience. Or an urge, you know, you know how that works.
Well, no. What I’m trying to say is that she calls me when she wants to see me. But sometimes we run into each other at this bar.
Yes, we drink together.
Well, since I drink almost every day it stands to reason that I always have sex when I’m drinking.
I don’t know when the last time was.
As far as I know, yeah, she’s like that, too.
Her name? Linda.
No, we’ve never talked about it.
She says she likes my smile.
I don’t know why.
Yeah, I liked my stepfather, most of the time.
Of course I liked my father. I was ten years old when he died, so I have that boy-father image. It’s a good image, but I don’t think about it too often.
Yes, I liked my mother. Why shouldn’t I have liked my mother? Don’t you like your mother?
I’m sorry. I didn’t mean . . . I’m sorry. I apologize.
I suppose because I’m bored. I go to work, as I told you, an auto parts warehouse, which, fortunately, provides health insurance. And-
No, I wasn’t trying to allude to the money thing. I was just . . .talking.
I go to this pub-like place. It’s got a British atmosphere, or maybe Irish. No, it’s not Irish. It’s British. They got a picture of the queen.
Yes, on my way home. And, yes, or rather no, I don’t drive. I do most everything on my bicycle. I don’t have a car.
No, I didn’t lose my license. I have a valid driver’s license. I just . . . don’t want to have a car. They’re a hassle. They’re expensive.
Well, yeah, I suppose you could say that. You know, I don’t think anyone wants to get a DUI.
Well, of course, I don’t want to be driving drunk and get in a wreck and kill somebody or something. Who would?
The bar/pub? No, I didn’t stop there before coming here. I came straight from work.
No, I don’t drink at work. I tried that once, you know, at lunch break. It didn’t work out.
Yes, sometimes Linda is there, at the bar/pub. Actually, that’s where we met.
Well, no, I don’t exactly go there to wait for her.
Sometimes I talk to other people.
Sometimes I read the newspaper or watch people play darts or look at the TV. They have soccer matches on.
Soccer? It’s boring.
Well most anything becomes interesting if I have a pint of good ale in my hand.
Yes.
Vodka or rum.
Linda too.
My mother? How in the world can you connect Linda up with my mother?
Okay, okay. I’m sorry.
Yes, I’m here for . . . guidance.
I don’t know if the men at the bar/pub are like my father. I hardly knew my father.
Perhaps they’re like my stepfather. I don’t know, they’re just men.
Some I suppose are white-collar, others blue-collar, others no-collar.
No, I didn’t mean that. There are men, and women, who work but they’re not what I’d call blue-collar. Like myself, I wouldn’t consider my job blue-collar.
No, Linda isn’t the only woman who comes to the bar.
Yes, after the bar I go home and I drink there.
My cat’s there, and sometimes Linda’s comes over.
Yes, I’d say drinking with my cat and the TV constitutes drinking alone.
My biggest problem? Hangovers.
Like most every day, and I think that’s part of the problem. You see, that first glass of beer takes that proverbial edge off. I can hardly wait to get to the pub because that first golden sip is there, waiting for me, and about halfway down my first pint of beer my hangover begins to ease up. You know, the headache and that uncomfortable feeling all over.
Yes, you’re right. It’s like a dog chasing its tail.
Well, ah . . . like what I was maybe thinking—Maybe you could give me something for the hangovers.
Okay, okay. I know. No, I wasn’t trying to do that. I was just . . . I don’t know. Hey, let’s just forget about that, okay? You think I got to stop drinking completely, huh? You think that’s the solution?
