Saturday, August 6, 2011


For some odd reason, I've been thinking about my formative years lately. One thing that's popped in my head recently is something that happened around '86. Back then, my dad's alcoholism was really bad. He was drinking about four cases of Meister Brau a week (in the kitchen by himself). Somehow, my mom dragged him and my two younger sisters to a therapist. I didn't go because of my cross country / track commitments. After the one and only shrink session, my mom relayed what happened in there. Apparently, the doctor put a cube on the desk, which represented the future, and asked my dad what he saw in there, and my dad said, "Nothing." Nowadays, I can relate.