In a blackout, induced by Seagram’s 7, early morning barhopping and being 18 years old I confronted my mother about her recent lack of cooking interest. The story is that I had her on the floor in the kitchen mashing hamburger in her face screaming, “Hamburger Helper is not dinner for a family! No more Hamburger Helper!” Cruel and heartless I know. Being that I was in a blackout and my mom, a notorious patron of storytelling, the anecdote is suspect. What I do know is that my mom refused to utter a word to me for the following six months. As you may surmise this was not necessarily a punishment that I would suffer so much with. But I did suffer. My mom didn’t/wouldn’t talk to me. I attacked my mom physically. Whether it is true or not, what was I doing? What was I doing drinking like a gutter drunk at 18? I sure as fuck wasn’t making dinner for anybody so what was I complaining about anyway? What kind of son would treat a mother like that? This happened