Haunted

I grew up needing attention. I was the son of an Army Sergeant and Japanese wife who boasted an MA in English to back up her broken interpretation of Americana.
They both worked.
And I’m the oldest of two. The first to be blamed. The first to learn responsibility. The first one my dad punched.
We moved all over the world until I was age twelve and the military dropped us in the middle of the desert.
Ft. Irwin.
National Training Center.
NTC.
I saw Tokyo. I floated along the Rhine River. I gasped at the White Cliffs of Dover. Marveled at the Mona Lisa. Was a troublemaker in Rome.

In Korea I watched a kid shit yellow in the village square.

Both my parents worked. The only time they really took time out was when either one of us got sick. Then they were parents. Blankets, food, reading, television, stories, jokes, laughter, and medicine.

I am sick. And I need attention.

I am thirty-eight years old and I have over one year of sobriety. My dad has near three. My mom never drank but, then, she never really understood either.
Thankfully, my brother escaped this tide as well.
God bless.