A Taste for Recovery: A Personal Story of Survival and a Roadmap to Restoring Physical Health

By Shelley E McAlpine

A compelling story of survival and healing from the ravages of the disease of alcoholism. Beginning with great opportunities and professional success, it chronicles the author’s life and her decades-long battle with alcoholism that drove her into financial, physical, moral, and spiritual bankruptcy. It describes her journey back to health,

• Language: English
• Publisher: HP Lighthouse Company
• Release date: Nov 22, 2015
• ISBN: 9780996845878

Book preview

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a taste for recovery

A Personal Story of Survival

and a Roadmap to

Restoring Physical Health

by

Shelley E. McAlpine, MA, LAADC, ICADC

A Taste for Recovery:

A Personal Story of Survival and a Roadmap to Restoring Physical Health

Copyright © 2015 by Shelley E. McAlpine.

All rights reserved. This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without written permission of the author except for the inclusion of brief quotations in a review. For information contact

A Taste for Recovery, PO Box 320156, Los Gatos, CA 95032 or write to

[e-mail].

Published by: HP Lighthouse Company

Printed in the United States of America

Author services by Pedernales Publishing, LLC.

www.pedernalespublishing.com

ISBN: 978-0-9968458-9-2 Paperback Edition

978-0-9968458-8-5 Hardcover Edition

978-0-9968458-7-8 Digital Edition

978-0-9968458-6-1 Audio Edition

Library of Congress Control Number: 2015952833

http://www.atasteforrecovery.com/

Disclaimer

The purpose of this book is to provide educational information and to serve as a practical guide for improving one’s general well-being and promote sustained recovery from alcoholism.

This book is not intended to replace or supersede any prescribed treatment, medication, or advice of a trained physician or healthcare professional. Before you begin or alter any regimen of exercise, nutrition, diet, or medication, be sure to consult with your health care provider or physician.

New research is being conducted daily on many of the topics included in this book. In addition, there are many varying opinions regarding much of the information contained herein. Therefore, this book should not be considered the ultimate source of information on recovery from and healing of the disease of alcoholism.

The autobiographical portion of the book is based on the author’s own life experiences, impressions, opinions, and recollection of events. All of the names and biographical data of individuals and some of the details of specific situations in her life have been altered to protect the identities of persons involved unless express permission was granted by those persons prior to publication.

The author and publisher shall have no liability or responsibility to any person regarding loss or damage incurred or alleged to have incurred, directly or indirectly, by the information contained in this book.

Photo Credits

Elbert, taken by Justice Renaissance (www.blackpeace.com)

Looking forward to the rest of my sober and free life, picture of me taken by www.ciamariaphotography.com

Dedicated in memory to my mother, Betty Jane McAlpine, whose philosophy of life has become my own:

Turn life’s negatives into positives and your life will be filled with purpose and joy.

I find the great thing in this world is not so much where we stand, as in what direction we are moving.

—Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

Contents

My Name Is Shelley (Part 1)  1

My Early Years  1

Great Expectations: High School and College  11

Preface  19

Introduction  23

My Name is Shelley (Part 2)  25

My Professional Years  25

Dancing on the Tightrope  30

For a long time, I had known that something was

terribly wrong.   34

The Downward Spiral  38

What is Alcoholism?  43

Restoration of Physical Health as an Integral Part of

Recovery  49

Physical Damage Done to the Body by Alcohol  52

Types and Consequences of Alcohol Abuse  54

Alcohol Impairment and Poisoning   56

Alcohol Poisoning  57

Acute Alcohol Withdrawal  58

Cell Damage  59

Malnutrition  61

The Role of Nutrition in the Body  61

What Is Malnutrition?  62

Symptoms of Malnutrition  64

Hypoglycemia and the Sugar Connection  64

The Relationship of Hypoglycemia to Post Acute

Withdrawal  65

How Much Sugar Is Too Much?  67

Why Alcoholics Switch to Sugar  69

Sugar Hides in Different Names  72

Artificial Sweeteners  73

Is There a Healthy Sugar?  74

What Can You Do?  74

Candida Overgrowth  74

What is Candida Overgrowth?  74

Why is Candida Overgrowth So Dangerous For

Alcoholics?  76

The Central Nervous System and the Brain  77

The Brain’s Basic Structure and Function  77

Alcoholism as a Brain Disease  79

How Alcohol Damages the Structure and

Function of the Brain  80

Fetal Alcohol Syndrome  83

The Digestive System  84

The Liver  84

The Stomach  87

The Pancreas  88

The Kidneys  89

The Cardiovascular System  91

The Immune System  93

Cancer  96

The Respiratory System  98

The Musculoskeletal System  100

Bone  101

Muscles  102

The Integumentary System  103

The Reproductive System  105

Transmission of the Human Immunodeficiency

Virus (HIV)   106

Conclusion  107

My Name Is Shelley (Part 3)  108

Falling into the Abyss  108

When Alcohol Owned Me   122

Finding the Sister Program  131

The Road to Physical Healing  133

Nutritional Healing—the Right Stuff  135

Macronutrients  137

Protein   137

Carbohydrates   140

Fats   143

Micronutrients  145

Vitamins  147

The Anti-Oxidant Vitamins—C, E, and A  150

Fat-soluble Vitamins  150

Minerals  154

Macro minerals  154

Trace-minerals  158

Water as a Nutrient  158

Stress Management  160

Causes of Stress  161

Signs and Symptoms of Unhealthy Stress  162

Healthy vs. Unhealthy Ways to Manage Stress  163

Exercise  167

Exercise Helps to Alleviate Depression  171

Weight Management  175

Smoking Cessation  178

The Problem with Caffeine  182

My Name is Shelley (Part 4)  185

Entering the Sister Program in Oakland, California  185

Going to Church  188

Are we there yet?  189

My Baptism  191

Another DUI, Another Program, Back to Jail  197

Doing Time in the County Jail  201

Release!  204

Food, Glorious Food  208

Shopping, Storing, and Cooking Guidelines  209

Your Shopping List  211

What Nutritional Labels Tell Us  211

What Meat Labels Tell Us  212

Food Facts  212

Cholesterol  212

Foods and Liquids with Alcohol   213

Substitutes for Alcohol in Cooking  214

Suggested Non-Alcoholic Beverages  216

Things My Grandmother Told Me about Cooking

That I Forgot  216

Basic Cooking Methods  216

Measurement Equivalents  219

Fruits and Vegetables  220

About Garlic  224

Herbs and Spices (and a Note about Sprouts)  224

Nuts and Seeds  225

Legumes  226

Brown and Wild Rice, Pasta  227

Eggs and Cheese  228

Recipes for a Healthier Recovery  230

Salsas, Salad Dressings, Sauces, Marinades, and Dips  231

Salsas  231

Salad Dressings, Vegetable Dips, Marinades  233

Between-Meal Snacks  236

Breakfast  236

Omelets   237

Breakfast Cereals  238

Miscellaneous On-the-Go Breakfasts  239

Lunch  239

Green Salad Basics   239

Main Course Salads (for Lunch or Dinner)  240

Side Salads (Serve with Soup or Sandwiches)  243

Sandwiches  246

Soup (All Soup Recipes Serve 6-8)  250

Dinner  253

Starters   253

Entrees and Sides  257

Chicken  262

Miscellaneous Dishes  264

Sweet Endings  267

Dinner Menus for Special Occasions  268

Bill W’s birthday—November 26, 1895   268

A Happy and Sober Thanksgiving   270

A Merry (and Sober) Christmas  272

A Safe and Sober New Year’s Eve  274

Martin Luther King Day   275

A Sane and Sober Super Bowl Sunday  277

A Non-alcoholic Saint Patrick’s Day  278

A Joyful Easter  280

Cinco de Mayo  281

Memorial Day  283

Independence Day (Fourth of July)  283

Labor Day  284

Veterans Day  286

Halloween   288

My Name Is Shelley (Part 5)  290

The Long Road Home  290

Feeling Trapped Again  292

Our New Roommate  295

That Inexplicable, Powerful Obsession  297

One Last Straw  299

A Piece of the Puzzle  300

What Happened to Larry  301

Providence  304

My journey continues   305

Afterword  308

Acknowledgments  311

Bibliography  313

Periodicals   317

Websites  318

About the Author  322

Photographs

My parents at the opening symphony gala. xvii

Me (R) at age three, my big sister, Susie (L), age five, and our great-grandmother, GaGa. 2

Me (R) at age seven, Susie (L) at age nine. Mom and Dad wanted a professionally done photo of us in our Easter outfits. 4

I’m pulling the plug out of the Warrior’s spirit jug. A sign of things to come? 8

I forgot to take off my Warrior war paint for the Homecoming Queen Court’s car ride. 9

I’m a young, rising professional at a work-related banquet. 21

On my way to Phantom of the Opera on Broadway. Little did I know that I would pass out just minutes after the curtain went up. I’d been drinking all day. 27

Elbert and me relaxing after a long, uphill hike to Lake Pyramid near Sandpoint, Idaho. Exercise doesn’t always have to be in a gym. 162

Playing cards with my sisters in the Sister Program in the backyard in lower bottom, West Oakland. 182

Elbert 191

Looking forward to the rest of my sober and free life 302

Enjoying life—hiking on the hills of Kauai 303

Illustrations

The components of recovery 45

The Human Body 47

How Alcohol Is Metabolized in the Liver. (Drawn by Renita Miller) 48

The Human Brain 72

Progressive Impairment with the Rise in Blood Alcohol Content (Illustration by Renita Miller)50

Grandma’s Cooking—Yum! 212

Tables

B Vitamins and Their Corresponding Roles in the Growth, Development, and Functioning of the Body141

Substitutes for Alcohol208

Liquid Measurement Equivalents213

Dry Measurement Equivalents214

Recipes in Chapter 6

Artichoke squares  254

Au gratin potatoes  280

Baby bay shrimp appetizer  274

Baby new potatoes with parsley  273

Bacon-lettuce-tomato (BLT)  247

Baked fried chicken  276

Baked tortilla chips  231

Basic nachos  255

Basic tossed green salad  246

Bell pepper salsa (mild)  232

Ben’s marinade (for beef-kabobs or lamb)  235

Betty’s lamb shanks  257

Betty’s spinach casserole  258

Black bean soup  251

Black-eyed peas (not the authentic recipe)  277

Broiled salmon  261

Broiled swordfish  262

Butter leaf salad  270

Caesar salad  283

Cheddar cheese-curry dip  254

Cheese and mushroom omelet  237

Chef’s salad  240

Chicken Caesar salad (without the chicken, serve as a side salad)  243

Chicken curry  262

Chicken sausage and roasted red pepper sandwich  249

Chicken scaloppini with vegetables  263

Chipotle salsa (hot)  232

Chunky tomato salsa (medium)  232

Cold artichoke with dill sauce  265

Cornbread  277

Corned beef and cabbage  279

Cornish game hens with apple-rice stuffing and apricot glaze  275

Crab dip  255

Crabmeat tacos  264

Crab melt  249

Cucumber salsa (mild)  232

Curried deviled eggs  255

Dee-Dee’s stuffed pork chops  259

Egg salad sandwich  248

French dressing  234

Fresh fruit kabobs  266

Fresh fruit salad  244

Garlic-stuffed olives  256

Gazpacho  250

Glazed broiled lamb chops  257

Grape-Nuts  238

Green beans  272

Grilled chicken  285

Grilled chicken sausages (for 4-6 people)  285

Grilled jalapeño cheese sandwich  247

Ground turkey or sirloin omelet  238

Guacamole  233

Hot crab dip  253

Hot Grape-Nuts  238

Hot oatmeal  238

Irish potatoes  279

Italian Salad  243

Lee’s BBQ sauce  236

Leg of lamb  280

Lemon-yogurt sauce (for cooked vegetables)  235

Lite blue cheese (vegetable dip or salad dressing)  233

Maria’s flautas (makes 12 flautas)  282

Marinated mushrooms  256

Mashed potatoes and gravy  271

Mexican salad  241

Minestrone  252

Orange roughy with lemon pepper  261

Peas and julienned carrots  273

Pork tenderloin with roast vegetables  288

Potato-corn chowder  289

Potatoes and tomatoes au gratin  269

Prime rib  273

Quesadillas  266

Quick turkey chili  265

Rack of lamb (serves 4)  258

Raw vegetables and lite blue cheese or Thousand Island dip  253

Red leaf salad (see salad recipes)  272

Red leaf salad with mandarin oranges (See salad recipes.)  275

Red leaf salad with walnuts and mandarin oranges  245

Red potato salad  244

Red wine vinegar Italian dressing and marinade  234

Ribs (serves 4-5)  284

Roasted vegetables  275

Salade Niçoise  242

Seafood-pasta salad  242

Seafood salad  241

Shredded wheat  238

Shrimp cocktail  266

Shrimp salad in avocados  240

Shrimp salad sandwich  250

Shrimp salsa (medium)  232

Shrimp scampi with angel hair pasta  260

Skewered halibut with pineapple and red and green bell peppers  260

Spiced boiled lobsters  269

Spicy cheese dip  253

Spinach dip  254

Spinach salad  245

Spinach salad dressing  234

Spinach salad (see salad recipes)  277

Spinach salad with artichoke hearts  274

Spring garden vegetable soup  252

Steak Dijon  259

Steamed artichokes (for 4 people)  287

Steamed broccoli crowns  281

Steamed vegetable sides  257

Stuffed bell peppers  267

Stuffed chicken breasts with spinach and feta cheese  263

Stuffed mushrooms  256

Stuffed turkey  270

Super nachos  278

Swiss lentil soup  251

Tartar sauce (for fish)  236

Teriyaki  235

Thousand Island dressing (vegetable dip or for salad)  234

Tri-tip roast  286

Tuna melt  247

Tuna-stuffed tomatoes  242

Turkey sandwich  248

Twice-baked potatoes  287

Vegetarian sandwich  248

Veggie medley omelet  238

Waldorf salad  244

Yankee cole slaw  246

a taste for recovery

My Name Is Shelley (Part 1)

My name is Shelley. I have the disease of alcoholism. Thank God, my disease is in remission or, as we call it, recovery. I did not grow up with a career goal of becoming an alcoholic. This is how it unfolded before it became unraveled. Alcoholics Anonymous and other treatment programs ask you to recount your life story. Here’s mine. It’s a long story, and you’ll find it in interludes between the chapters of this book that explain how restoration of our physical health is an integral part of recovery.

My Early Years

I’ve heard nightmarish stories about people’s childhoods. I mean serious nightmares—physical battering, sexual abuse and molestation, and deplorable living conditions. That is not the story of my childhood. On the outside looking in, it appeared idyllic. I know now that I have a genetic marker for the disease of alcoholism. There are alcoholics and addicts on both sides of my Irish and Scottish family. The wealth in my family helped to hide the disease and enabled many family members to keep their disease alive and well.

My dad was a native Californian (from the Central Valley) whose parents were middle-class, hardworking folks. They had one daughter, and many years later along came a little boy. He was the apple of their eyes. He was good-looking, bright, charming, and highly entertaining. He was adored and spoiled. They stretched to give him the things they never had—a good education at the best schools, including Hastings Law School. He might have been an attorney or a stock broker, but World War II broke out and he enlisted in the Army Air Corps and became a captain. Stationed in North Africa, he flew bombers over the occupied portions of Europe. Many years after the war’s end, a British pilot who was a friend of one of my uncles said that my dad was the only true hero he had ever encountered. He recalled that most of the other pilots dropped their bombs just ahead of the targets to avoid enemy fire but that my dad not only completed all of his twenty-six missions, but flew every one of them directly over the target to drop his bombs. He was like that—determined, loyal, and full of fire. Those traits would be evident throughout his life.

My parents at the opening symphony gala.

My mom was also a native Californian (Southern California). She was beautiful and very intelligent, charming, and talented. She went to Hollywood High School, then on to UCLA. Attending a four-year university was not common in her day. After her graduation from college, her well-to-do parents arranged a marriage between her and a man from a very wealthy and influential family. She was never in love with this man, and soon after they married, she divorced him (over my grandparents’ strenuous objections). Shortly thereafter, Mom did the unthinkable. Rather than be a Rosy-the Riveter (not that that wasn’t a very noble thing to do), she joined the Navy and became an air traffic controller on the east coast. She was a woman of great intelligence, independence, and strength of character, traits that were evident throughout her life.

At war’s end, the celebrations were something to behold. My parents had returned from military stations and ended up in the ticker tape and confetti celebrations in San Francisco. More precisely, they both ended up in an upscale bar in the St. Francis Hotel on Union Square. As the story goes, Dad was three sheets to the wind and dancing on top of a table with a rose in his mouth. Mom was smitten at first sight. There were many whirlwind romances and instantaneous marriages during those days, and my parents added to the number. They wined, dined, and married within a few short months and settled in Dad’s home town in the Central Valley. It is an understatement at best to say that Moms’ parents were not pleased with this marriage. Dad was not from a wealthy, upper-class family. He was not dignified. But there you have it—they were in love (or, at least, in infatuation), married, and living in Fresno.

Almost immediately they gave birth to my sister, and twenty-two months later, I arrived, both of us members of the infamous baby-boom generation. That also made us pre-Salk vaccine babies. A handful of people we knew contracted polio in the years before the vaccine became available. My mother and her only brother were among those who became ill. That forever altered her life. And mine. She was a beautiful, physically active, thirty-year-old with an infant and a toddler when she was crippled by polio for the remainder of her life. While Dad got horrendous medical bills and household responsibilities, Mom was paralyzed and faced the difficult task of raising two young children. She rose to the occasion. In fact, she surpassed it. Turning a negative into a positive, she also became an accomplished artist, much in the vein of French Impressionism. She also became a gourmet cook, an intellectual, and gardener extraordinaire. She wore a brace (from her hip down to an attachment on her shoe) and often used Canadian crutches, but her disability never seemed to render her unattractive to men—she was beautiful, bright, and charming. And, if that weren’t enough, she also became an officer in Dad’s insurance corporation and worked as a partner in his business until she was well into her sixties. How she also found time to volunteer at Easter Seals, read stories to underprivileged kids at the County Library, and volunteer at the City’s Arts Center, I cannot even imagine.

Because our absolutely ordinary house had a big yard, we were the only family within miles to have a swimming pool. We were popular, especially during Fresno’s long, hot summers. My sister and I were also lucky to have two sets of grandparents who adored us. Dad’s parents lived in town and cared for us when Mom and Dad were occupied with work or other activities. No latch-key kids in our family! Granddad and Grandma were truly good people—strong Midwestern stock complete with a strong work ethic, a strong religion, and a no-frills but comfortable lifestyle. They owned a large two-story house within a block of the city’s state college. They occupied the downstairs and rented the four upstairs rooms to college boys because, according to Grandma, girls were too much trouble. They had strict rules—no smoking, drinking, or girls upstairs. In fact, Granddad and Grandma did not allow alcohol or tobacco in their home—ever. But my sister and I always thought that Granddad, a Spencer Tracy look-alike, was an alcoholic. As the story goes, at the time he met Grandma back in Missouri, he smoked, drank (a lot), and liked women (a lot). Grandma was a beautiful, God-fearing young woman who stole his heart. Although she loved him, she had deal-breaking conditions. Lose the tobacco, booze, and women, or lose me, she said. And oh, yes, pick up a Bible, too. He went for the deal and never looked back. In fact, he didn’t just embrace the Christian faith. He also practiced what he preached. While Grandma turned into a terrible gossip as soon as she stepped out of the church and also had a bit of a mean streak, Granddad was honest, kind, and always had a cheerio for passersby (particularly cute college girls—some things never change). In fact, Granddad was such a hard-working, honest, and uncomplaining soul his employer, Security Pacific National Bank in downtown Fresno, waived the mandatory retirement age for him. He continued to work for them until he was in his mid-eighties and suffered a massive coronary while dressing for church, a circumstance that I know guaranteed him a seat in Heaven.

Another reason my sister and I thought Granddad was an alcoholic was that both of his children (Dad and his older sister) were alcoholics. That could have been coincidental, but I understand now that, given the powerful genetic predisposition of the disease, it is probable that they both had a genetic marker for alcoholism. Some of our family’s holiday dinners might have been more colorful had Granddad and Grandma allowed alcohol at the table. At home, Dad always paced in circles around the dinner table, drinking a Coors beer and lecturing his captive audience on the world’s ills and his solutions for them. This never happened at Grandma’s table.

While life with my Scottish grandparents (Dad’s side of the family) was wholesome and calm, life with my Irish grandparents (Mom’s side) was anything but. From the first day of summer to the last possible day, we made the long daily trek south to Newport Beach. The drive seemed to last an eternity as we made our way through the San Joaquin Valley, over the Grapevine (usually with a stop at Tip’s Restaurant for dollar pancakes), and into the San Fernando Valley. As we approached Los Angeles itself, the excitement began to build. Like an enormous wave, it finally came to a complete crescendo when we saw…the Ugly Pink Place. Without fail, each and every year, my sister and I yelled, The Ugly Pink Place! It was the locals’ favorite ice cream parlor and it was painted a shocking shade of pink. It was also the beacon that signaled our arrival in beautiful, rich Newport Beach. Our haven within this heaven was Beacon Bay, a beautiful, private community of sixty-four wonderful homes for families whose kids became our best friends.

Me (R) at age three, my big sister, Susie (L), age five, and our great-grandmother, GaGa.

While it wasn’t gated, the land was owned exclusively by Mr. Beacon. When people purchased their homes, they signed a ninety-nine year lease for the land. This allowed Mr. Beacon to deny home ownership to anyone he deemed inappropriate for Beacon Bay’s standard of excellence. In other words, if you weren’t a WASP, you needn’t even bother looking in the direction of Beacon Bay.

During the summer of 1957, when I was eight years old, two life-changing events occurred. My Irish grandfather, whom we called Cap, was a hard-core alcoholic. He played by his own rules—he drank, he smoked, he ate what he pleased. He carried too much extra weight and resisted any type of exercise except lifting a highball glass to his lips. And he was exceptionally gifted with an amazing voice. He had even sung at the New York Met. He was also an unbelievable woodworker and carver, an intellectual, and an English history buff. In short, he was a renaissance man.

Cap’s self-destructive habits finally got the better of him, and in 1957 he suffered a massive stroke that nearly killed him. It left him totally paralyzed on his left side. It also left him angry and mean. His life for the next twenty or so years consisted of slowly hobbling from his chair in the living room to the bar area in the kitchen, fixing himself a drink, then hobbling even more slowly back to his chair so as not to spill a drop. This happened every morning—early. He’d sit in his chair all day, watching daytime TV and making his frequent treks to the bar and back.

Cap’s stroke wasn’t the only life changing event that summer. People used to say about my dad that Ben could sell shit to a dairy farmer. It was not surprising to anyone that Dad was the best salesman in his insurance brokerage firm. The folks on Mom’s side of the family, the bearers of wealth, had thought she married beneath her station. Dad was out to prove them wrong, and with his success came the material trappings, one of which was a big new house.

Then came the move from the cozy little house with the big pool to a large house with no pool. The house was a 1912 corner house with gables and an enormous park-like yard. It also had an Edgar Allen Poe-like past that gave me Edgar Allen Poe-type chills. The upstairs had been transformed from a huge attic space into three bedrooms, one bath, and tons of storage closets. My sister and I each had a bedroom with window seats. The third bedroom was our play room. It was a kid’s dream. It had an old-fashioned Franklin stove which served as an upstairs fireplace, large built-in desk, built-in corner bookshelves, a window seat, and sloping ceilings. And it had something the other bedrooms lacked—hideouts. One was a small closet in which we could hide out and tuck our valuables in its hidden shelves. When we first unpacked and shelved our books, we noticed a latch in the upper right corner of one of the lower shelves. We unhooked it, and the back of the shelf opened onto a narrow track. We slid the back to one side and it revealing a small room with a pull light. We were just the right size to crawl in between the shelves and into the secret room.

Me (R) at age seven, Susie (L) at age nine. Mom and Dad wanted a professionally done photo of us in our Easter outfits.

Age twelve was another pivotal point in my life’s journey. I started junior high school and loved it instantly. I was an outgoing, friendly kid and never wanted for company. In spite of the mouth full of braces I had by then, I was elected cheerleader.

Many recovering alcoholics recount their feelings of never quite fitting in or having friends. My experience was quite different. So, isn’t it curious that in the end, we all wind up feeling exactly the same way?

By junior high, I had experienced more privilege than most people do in their whole life. The summers of my early years were spent in Newport Beach. My family also stayed from time to time at the San Francisco Fairmont Hotel and we went to amusement parks and theaters. The summer years of my teens were spent at my relatives’ second home, a magnificent, rambling lake-front property in an exclusive Southern California mountain resort. There were always lots of house guests up at the lake for a weekend or a week of skiing, shopping, partying. What I remember best is how they would start their cocktail hour around 5 p.m. and continue drinking until late into the night. While I dutifully watched the little kids playing, I also watched the adults drinking and socializing. I remember how totally glamorous they all looked, dressed in their casually elegant outfits, snacking on beautiful hors d’oeuvres, chatting, laughing, and drinking. I ached to be an adult in that scene.

With all the perks of Dad’s business success also came a lot of internal conflicts. My sister was always the rebel and the scapegoat of the family, and I was the hero child. (I now know these are typical roles children assume in dysfunctional, alcoholic families.) The hero child becomes the pride of the family, its symbol of family stability, health, and success. The hero is a high achiever and a perfectionist. He is popular, cheerful, dutiful, and fulfills all expectations. Hero children can’t show negative emotion such as anger, disappointment, or fear, so they become separated from their feelings and their authentic selves. They also become confused and emotionally isolated, and they fear failure and disapproval. They become consummate people-pleasers whose sense of self-worth is defined by other people. Unlike my rebellious sister, I was the people-pleasing, never-say-no, dutiful daughter.

Our big house gave us more privacy that we’d had in the smaller house. When we first moved in, my parents claimed separate bedrooms at opposite ends of the house—each with its own entrance and exit. Because my sister and I spent our summers in Newport and were fully occupied with school activities during the school year, we hadn’t noticed how much our parents had drifted apart. In fact, they had become very different people. Dad continued to go out every night, though not for work anymore. He had become civically active and served on the City of Fresno Planning Commission, the Redevelopment Board, and was president of the Downtown Association (which was actually more of a gentlemen’s drinking club). He attended civic meetings, met friends at an upper-crust bar, and saw one of the women he had started seeing—or did all three in the same evening. While Dad became a man about town, Mom became more cerebral, introspective, and artistic. They were of two worlds apart. Consequently, they both engaged in extramarital affairs.

The reason I know about these affairs is my parents both involved me in their trysts. They bribed me. Dad always took me with him to Giants home games in San Francisco. We had a box over first base. We’d drive up to Candlestick for the game and, after the game, stay at the Mark Hopkins Hotel on Nob Hill for a night or two. Then Dad would treat me to a shopping spree on Union Square, always with an attractive woman who worked for him and came along to help me make fashionable decisions. My sister never came along because her defiant nature had steered her in the direction of the L.A. Dodgers, and I can’t remember Dad hating anything more than the Dodgers. To add insult to injury, my sister had the gall to hang a Dodger pennant on her bedroom wall. Dad hated the Dodgers so much (especially one of their pitchers, Don Drysdale) that when he and I were at Candlestick for a Giants-Dodgers game, he always got tanked up on Coors beer, stood up and yelled at the top of his lungs, Go home, Drysdale, you crybaby! I shrank with embarrassment and got as low in the seat as humanly possible.

My mom’s significant other (I’ll call him Rich) was good looking, charming, and also married. Like Dad, he was a veteran. Our families were friends. I liked Rich quite a lot, and like my mom and dad, he knew I could keep a secret. Also like Dad, he took me out to lunch and shopping. I was certainly getting a lot of great clothes.

At the time, it never occurred to me that sneaking around, lying, and keeping secrets were bothering me, but something was definitely coming unraveled.

My ninth-grade school year was terrific on the surface. It was the last year of junior high school and I was a Pep Girl—the biggest deal in junior high school. I had a great boyfriend and lots of girlfriends. I loved school and got excellent grades. I was a hall monitor—another honor in our school. One day when I was on hall duty, a voice came over the loud speaker and told us to report to our next class immediately. That had never happened before so I knew it was important. I headed for my class without delay, on the way, mentally