Tozer - Sober stick figure: a memoir

2016 by Amber Tozer

Published by Running Press,

A Member of the Perseus Books Group

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Printed in China

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Some names and identifying details have been changed to protect the privacy of individuals.

Library of Congress Control Number: 2015958287

E-book ISBN 978-0-7624-5974-2

9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

Digit on the right indicates the number of this printing

Design by Joshua McDonnell

Edited by Jennifer Kasius

Typography: Brandon & Adobe Caslon

Front Cover Typography: Thinkstock: iralu

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This is a dark and funny story about alcoholism.

I hope it helps anyone who needs it.

For Grandma Babe

Table of Contents

Contents

The first time I ever tasted alcohol was at my grandma Babes house. I was seven years old. My uncle Woody let me take a swig of his beer, and I thought it tasted like sour pee. I knew what pee tasted like because I was a fucked-up kid. He also let me take a drag of his cigarette. Score! I felt like I was going to experience what men and loose women experienced in the movies, extreme coolness. As I took a big-ass toke off that cancer stick and my lungs filled with smoky chemicals it felt like my guts had just been set aflame. It felt horrible, like the most uncool thing I had ever done. I took another swig of beer then coughed so hard I almost threw up. Luckily, only long strings of saliva poured down my chin. My uncle smiled and said, See. Its bad. You shouldnt drink and smoke. Then he took another puff.

My family said that Uncle Woody was an alcoholic. They also said my dad and Grandpa Mac were alcoholics. I could feel it in my bones that it was a very bad thing because when they said the word alcoholic their tone slipped into sadness. I intuitively knew that it was bad, but at the same time drinking alcohol was just something everyone did. I felt like I was hearing, Alcohol is very bad, but everyone loves it and drinks it all of the time.

I probably thought this way because my parents owned a bar-restaurant called the Do Drop Inn, a local hot spot in my hometown of Pueblo, a midsize lower-middle-class city in the foothills of Colorado. Do Drop Inn, or better known as the Do Drop, served pizza, burgers, and booze, and like all classic dive joints, had a dart board and a pool table. Me, my older brother Adam, and younger sister Autumn, were always around men who sat on stools with their elbows on the bar drinking one drink after another. They seemed fine. In fact, they made drinking alcohol look like a great idea. They were always laughing and smiling and when their favorite song came on the juke box theyd get up and dance. I loved walking in there with my family. Those boozy boys would pick me and Autumn up and say, Hey, kiddos! then toss us in the air. There is nothing more fun than being tossed in the air by a drunk when youre a kid. In that moment you feel both carefree and full of life.

I was happy my parents owned the bar; it was one of the coolest places in town. Theres not much to do in Pueblo except breed and drink, so thats what everyone does. If youre not making babies, youre boozinsometimes people did these two things at the same time.

Moms pizza recipe was a smash hit, and Do Drop became the number-one pizza place in town. Business was good, but I could tell something was wrong at home. My dad turned out to be a very sad and angry and depressed man. I had to take care of Autumn when my mom was at work because he wouldnt come out of his bedroom. I dont know if he was drinking in there or not because he kept the door closed. He slipped into a very dark depression that lasted years, and no one ever talked about it. I hated the silence.

Mom ended up divorcing him. She said the last straw was when he started hitting me and Adam with a cutting board. When my mom said we were moving out, I pretended to be sad because thats how kids acted in after-school specials when their parents got a divorce, but I was thrilled. I could not wait to get away. I hated him. Of course Mom got custody of us, and the cool thing was, my dad didnt want the Do Drop. He said if Mom gave him a lot of money she could have it.

So, she worked full-time at the gas station my aunt Sabrina owned until she made enough money to buy him out. Here she was, a newly single mom with full-time custody of three kids, going through a divorce, and working as a cashier at a gas station. I wondered what she was thinking, because you never knew, she was just always working toward a solution without emotion. I felt okay with everything because she seemed okay. I loved that she worked at a gas station because sometimes Id go with her early in the morning before school and she would give me a day-old donut. Score.

My mom was a rock. She was a working warrior, doing whatever it took to maintain a stable life for us. I felt safe around her, but at the same time there was this hardness to her. Her style of lovin was very tough, and she had no tolerance for feelings. I guess you cant be a softy when you have kids to feed and a fucked-up ex-husband. If she sat around and focused on her feelings she would have gone nuts. I believe my mom intuitively knew what to focus on to make things better, but what she didnt know is that we arent all like that. I never, ever saw her feel sorry for herself, and thats how she wanted us to be.