Sanders and Alcoholism

Sanders' essay on growing up with an alcoholic reminds me of my mother. Not that she's an alcoholic, neither of my parents drink at all, but from what little I know of her childhood, it seems she and Russel Sanders shared many of the same experiences. I've never been close to my mother's father. He was alcoholic and abusive to both my mother and my grandmother. When my grandmother died of breast cancer my mom was only 15. My grandfather drank more to cope and was left with only one real outlet for his aggression: my mother. My mom is a middle school teacher and is almost always soft spoken and smiling, unless the topic of her father is brought up, in which case she affects a much sterner personality, one which has no qualms with words like "bastard" or "motherfucker". There is clearly a sensitivity to the subject that she has never become comfortable with. I assumed, growing up, that her fierce rejection of any and all alcohol most likely stemmed from her relationship with her father, her experience as a witness to the primitive wickidness that alcohol releases in some people. Until reading Sanders' essay, I hadn't considered how my mother must feel about the popular portrayals of alcoholism in the media. Often, I've suggested "arty" films or novels to my mother only to have her express her strong distaste for them. Considering, now, how many of those films featured romanticized alcoholics and addicts, artists and neophilosophers struggling to cope with a harsh existence, I think I can see where she was coming from. Growing up with a man who's only recourse against a detested reality was to turn to booze has likely killed in her any notion of self-medication as a noble endeavor. Where I might see a character that represents my own dissatisfaction with society or the universe at large, she may see a grim reminder of the depths to which a person can fall. How struggling to keep from feeling the pain can heap the suffering onto those who share that life. My mother should have been able to rely on her father through the hard times, through the death of her mother at a young age. Instead, she found a hatred for trying to gloss over the pain, and I can empathize with that feeling. Sanders' essay struck me as being slightly self-indulgent despite, maybe even because of, his insistence that the form must be honest and personal. In the weeks since reading his essay, the section that I have thought of most is his rundown of the popular terms for alcohol and its clingers-on. Now, when I hear someone mention picking up some booze, I laugh at the childishness of the word. I can't help but see the cartoonish way in which our culture handles alcohol. I haven't decided yet how I feel about alcoholism, whether I believe it's a true disease or a weakness of will, but I know how I feel about its representation now. Amused and disgusted.