When I think about my childhood, I vividly remember having to compete against the "brown bottle." Both my Mom and Dad were drinkers. There was always a party going on somewhere. In our small town of 800 people, it seemed as if drinking was all there was to do.
I can remember my mom and dad fighting, and sometimes it would be quite scary for a little kid to listen to. As I got older I got used to it. I used to wonder: "Why do they love this brown bottle so much when it brings so much misery? Why don't they love me? Is this all my fault? Maybe I'm not a good enough daughter?" (Thankfully it's be...
