It all started out as a very normal day, in my opinion. My dad left to work very early before anyone else woke up. I then preceded to wake up and get ready for school, and then my mother would wake up with a bitter attitude, as usual.

At the time, I was in the first grade at a private elementary school which was conveniently located less than 10 steps from my house. I was used to managing my self by than. Since the day I was born, my mom was a hard alcoholic. My dad was the one always caring for me and teaching me things until he had to work full-time to secure enough money to support our family. A normal day typically followed with me coming home to see my mother on the couch in a drunken stupor. I would stay my room until my dad arrived back from work. To this day, I still remember how I would fill my time with various different things and try to stay busy so I would not have to confront my mother with anything.

However, this specific day that seemed to start out normal soon took a turn for the worst.

It was a hot day in the middle of August, which was somewhat normal for the state of California. I sat down at the kitchen table, and my eyes focused to the box of cereal my dad had put out for me before he left for work. I was famished because I skipped dinner the night before. This was partially because my father did not arrive home until very late, and I did not have the courage to ask my mother to make me food. I quickly seized the box of cereal and poured it into the bowl up to the rim. It was only then that I realized we were out of milk, again. I didn't care and quickly engulfed the food, putting the bowl in the sink. Luckily enough, I made it just in time to make my exit through the front door onto school to avoid the string of profanities my mother exclaimed when she woke due to her previous late night drinking binge.

As I shut the door behind me, the hot morning air surrounded me like a body of water. I would always take my time to walk to school because I was usually the first one to class due to my rashness to get out of the house and the closeness of the school in relation to my house. My favorite part of my entire day was the feeling I was got whenever I would walk through the doors’ of my first grade teacher’s classroom. Her name was Mrs. Olsen, and I could not help but to always get feelings of peace and security when she was nearby. Sometimes, she would come sit next to me until the other students arrived, and we would talk about all sorts of things. My favorite topic at the time that would always arise in our conversations was about how much I loved the beach. The other students eventually arrived and class continued as normal. Before I knew it, school was over, and it was time to make my way back home and await the arrival of my dad.

The walks on my way back to my house following the completion of my school day were always the absolute worst part of my entire day. Walking down the sidewalk of my own neighborhood, I would feel like such a loner and stranger. I would see other kids playing in their yards with their mothers keeping a close eye on them from the porch, while I, on the other hand, had an empty porch to come home too. On that particular day in the middle of August, I remember stopping halfway through my journey back home. I stopped and watched one of my fellow classmates run up with enthusiasm to greet their mother with a warm embrace and an “I love you!”

On this day something inside of me came to the sad realization that I will never be able to have that. I tore my eyes away from the ordeal and continued walking. I walked up the steps to the front door and opened it expecting to hear and see the same thing. It was only until I took off my shoes and set my backpack down that I noticed the pin-drop silence. A minute passed, maybe five, but there was no sound in the house. This was the first occasion of my life where I was actually physically alone with no one in the house. I always felt emotionally alone when I would wait for the hours to pass as my dad worked through the day, but the certainty of actually being completely alone struck a new chord in me. The emptiness I felt inside of me most of the time seemed to now physically surround me like the morning heat earlier in the day. I think I made it to the couch before my legs gave in, and I fell to the floor in an exasperated manner and began to cry. When someone asks you what your favorite memory is, most people reply with an average of the same thing. It usually has something to do with happiness and joy.

Mine only brings feelings of resentment and the sadness.

With the new freedom from the lack of my mother’s presence, I decided to make myself something to eat. I walked over to the kitchen counter, grabbed the loaf of bread, peanut butter and made myself a peanut butter sandwich. I don't completely recall the exact time, but as soon as I took a bite, my dad walked in the door. He rushed in and seemed to take in the surroundings of our small house before he made his way over to me. They say that your strongest sensory detail is your sense of vision. I completely agree. I will always remember the look on my dad's face when he told me what mom had been doing.

He knelt down to my size and gave me a hug, backed away a little and then said, “Your mom is not okay right now. I am going to put things back to normal, do not worry everything is going to be okay. I love you, and I am sorry Cindy.”

I was only in the first grade, and although I had been through a lot, it was still hard to read the riddle in what my dad said to me. An hour went by. That hour was filled with many screaming calls from my mom to my dad. The reason why my dad came home early on that day was because he had received a call from one of my mother's friends, saying that my mom had been at the bars drinking all day and left with their car. No one knew exactly where she was but only that she was drunk and on somewhat of a rampage. My dad called over a very close family friend of ours. His name was Larry, and he was there for my dad ever since the day I was born. I think my dad called him over for reassurance and support of the decision he had in mind. Obviously the two of them knew what was going to happen or at least thought so.

About half an hour after Larry arrived at our house, we all heard a car braking hard in the driveway outside. My dad yells for Larry to take me and stand behind the kitchen counter. My dad however positions himself in the front entryway. I remember hearing the door slam open and the shuffle of my dad's feet as he took in the sight of my drunken mother. I cannot vividly go into detail upon what happened next. Part of the reason is because some section of the brain shuts down at extreme emotional distraught which causes lack of memory, and the other part is because it hurts to remember. The end result ended with Larry leaving his place with me behind the kitchen counter to help my dad with my mother's aggressive demeanor. I think at that point my dad had experienced enough of my mother's crazy outbursts to the point that he told her he wanted a divorce. That was the breaking point for my mom.

The last detail that occurred in this specific event in the middle of an August night involved the police arriving at our house, ready to take my mother away in handcuffs.

This event that occurred so early on in my life taught me that life is made up of some happy moments and some sad ones. No one can have a life that has only happy moments, and neither is it possible for you to have only grief in your life.

Just like the two sides of a coin, life also gives us two sentiments — happiness and sorrow. It is how much are we able to find happiness and how quickly we get over the sorrow that decides how we live the moments in our life.