Growing up with an alcoholic father was never easy.

One of my oldest memories was waking up in my bed with the sound of glass being smashed. I must have been about 5 or 6 years old and as I sat up in my bed, startled by the noise, I could hear my 10 or 11 year old sister shouting at the my father, “what about Angie?”

Obviously hearing my name got me out of bed and had me walking towards the chaos and sharp noises from the kitchen and lounge area.

My legs felt like lead as they carried me slowly across the floor. My heart was beating in my chest and my throat was constricted through the fear that was flooding my veins.
I came to a halt and saw all the glass that was shattered across the floors and walls. What had happened? Why was my sister crying and so upset with my father?
It didn’t take me long to put 2 and 2 together.  He was drunk again.  He came home late, my mother and sister argued with him.  He decided to lash out by smashing everything in sight.  This made him feel better.  Then I heard him crying on the phone with a friend, justifying himself and his actions. He didn’t like being called a “drunkard” – the truth hurts a lot!

On another occasion, Christmas this time, we went to my aunt and uncles flat for lunch.  They had invited an English couple to the luncheon as they were new in South Africa and didn’t have any family.  My father didn’t like them – perhaps he felt intimidated by actual decent people? Who knows?  From the time we entered my aunt’s home, you could feel the tension….I couldn’t have been more than 10 years old.  My mother spoke to my uncle in the kitchen and promptly told him that “next year, it’s our place” to which my uncle responded with a cheeky grin, only if he received a “golden invitation”.  This was just what my father was waiting for!  Ammunition!

Of course he now started telling my uncle off and what a crappy person he was for saying such a thing and insulting my mother.  He then turned his anger on “Mr and Mrs Booth” and told them what dirty pommy’s they were.  Swore everyone.  Disgruntled and disgraced my sister and I hung our heads low and followed our parents out the front door.  Happy Christmas everyone!
My mother’s younger sister came by our flat an hour or so later and dropped off some food for us. She took pity on my sister and I and I recall her saying to my mother, “It’s Christmas, they haven’t eaten anything yet”
By this time my mother and father were already tucking away in to their alcohol stash so clearly they were now the victims. They had been attacked and insulted!

A dinner at the local restaurant with my parents, sister and sister’s boyfriend.  My father had far too much to drink as per usual and his personality changed from jovial to demonic in less than 5 seconds.  One minute we were giggling at him skipping down the corridor to our flat, then he was screaming and shouting at my grandparents who lived next door, saying that they “were shit”  My sister was a teenager at the time so she must have been so embarrassed at this behaviour. I remember feeling so grateful that none of my friends were around to witness his behaviour.

A Friday night after going to movies with my boyfriend who they didn't approve of, coming home to my parent's flat in town.  My father standing with a gun in his hand as I said goodbye to my boyfriend.  Threatening to shoot him and telling me to get upstairs.  We were just saying goodbye. Once upstairs I had to sit in the lounge (my "bedroom") for about 4 hours listening to him rant and rave about what a whore I was and that I just wanted to "fuck" him.  I was 17, still a virgin with no intention of having pre-marital sex.  I hated my life and I hated living in that tiny flat with my parents.  I was forced to leave my sister's house where I had a bed in my own bedroom.  Now I slept on the floor in the lounge, not even a mattress.  The couches were not suitable for sleeping on.....well, put it this way the floor was more comfortable.
It was one of those nights where I thought, tonight I am going to be thrown out of the window and I am going to die.
My mother sat in the chair in the lounge, drink in hand, and barely said anything.

The weird thing is that I never remembered what my mother was doing during all the dramatic times when my father was flipping out and smashing furniture, screaming and shouting.  Surely if she was there, trying to protect my sister and I, or calling us to a bedroom or bathroom where we were safe and no longer witnesses of the behaviour, I would have remembered….but I can’t.  Clearly she didn’t even think about the safety of my sister and I.  And when I say safety, I mean physically and emotionally.  Only once, did I hear her say something to my father about his bad behaviour.  Maybe she was too scared to say something?
And I should probably forgive her if that was the case, but I can't.
Maybe there is something wrong with me?
Maybe I expected too much from her?
Maybe I expected her to be brave and caring and responsible.
She is the type of person that drives passed a road accident, and then tells my nieces to “look” - yup, true story!  What kind of a monster does that to small children?  Is she that stupid?  Is anyone that stupid?

Throughout my schooling years we moved at least 18 times that I can remember, one of those being from one province to another. I changed school 12 times by the time I started grade 8 in high school. When we had to move again, I refused to change schools, life was hard enough than to continue to make new friends each year. I travelled an hour on a bus every morning, leaving home at 06h15 to get to school on time.  The problem with travelling by bus meant that I couldn’t always compete in sporting events or extra mural activities.

On one occasion I had a netball match (an away game at another school) and we ran late.  By the time we arrived back at our school it was after 17h00 and I had missed the last but home.  I was stranded with nowhere to go.  I decided to walk to my sister’s house in the middle of winter and it was already dark when I left school.  I got to my sister's flat about 45 minutes later but she wasn’t home. My heart sunk. It was dark. Now what.  As I was plotting my next move, they arrived home, obviously shocked to see me at their doorstep this late at night.  I explained what happened. My sister telephoned my mother and her response was to just make me spend the night.  I had no clean clothes or underwear for school the next day. I did not have all my school books for the next day’s classes either. I had my period and no extra sanitary items for the following day.  My brother-in-law took pity and said that he would drive me home to my parent’s house (It was near the end of the month and petrol money was tight so I felt extremely guilty).  Of course, my mother reminded me over and over again how it was all my fault and I was such an inconvenience. Why didn’t I make sure that the netball match finished on time?  I must have dawdled and that is why I missed the last bus to town. Why couldn't I just have stayed at my sister's flat for the night? Why did everyone have to rearrange their lives to suit me.......
I wanted to ask her if she was worried because I wasn't home from school at 15h30 like normal but I decided to rather go cry in the bath tub.  I wonder what would have happened if I just disappeared that day.  Would anyone even care? How long before anyone noticed I was missing?  I was 15 years old.