I agreed to volunteer at the veterans’ hospital in Yountville with Goliath’s pitcher, Ryan Tilton.
When he walked over to my in the outfield my heart nearly pounded out of my chest.
“I’ve cleared our Yountville date with management,” Ryan said. “Would this Monday work for you? We don’t have a game that night sowe can take our time and get to know each other a little.”
“Sure, Monday’s fine,” I said.
Yes, that would be so fine, Mr. Tilton.
“There’s a form for you in Jose’s office. Be sure to sign it before Monday,” he said smiling. “Where should I pick you up?”
“My house I guess?” Then I thought better of it. “Or I could meet you at your place, or the ballpark, or wherever you want. You don’t need togo out of your way; I can take the streetcar here . . . whatever.”
“I’ll pick you up at your house around 9:30. What’s your cell number?”
He entered it into his phone as I told him, and then said, “I’ll call you Monday morning for your address.”
Good thing we’re leaving on a weekday, my dad will be at work, and I won’t have to worry about his condition.
I suddenly reflected on the term we’d used for years—his “condition.” Instead of saying out loud, even admitting to myself, “whether or not he’s drunk,” we used softer terms like this. It was another kind of hiding place.
1. WHAT WORDS DID YOU USE TO COVER UP THE WORD “ALCOHOLIC’?
2. HOW DID YOU HIDE IN THE LIES OF WHAT AN ALCOHOLIC PARENT WAS LIKE?
3. HOW OLD WERE YOU WHEN YOU STOPPED INVITING FRIENDS OVER TO PLAY AT YOUR HOUSE?
MAY
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