I attended a writer’s group recently to get feedback on the latest chapter in my book. There were so many people there that evening that discussion was limited. When I arrived home, my 13-year-old son shrugged off my disappointment and asked me to read the chapter to him instead. So I settled into a chair and read, “Down the Avenue,” a chapter about spending my allowance as a 9-year-old child.

As innocent as it seems, the experience was a metaphor for how choice and risk were handled by a child affected by alcoholism. Each week, the trip “down-the-avenue” culminated at Woolworth’s lunch counter, where I dreamed of someday ordering a banana split.

An umbrella with colourful balloons hanging from each rib was suspended above the counter. “Pop a balloon and pay 1 cent to 63 cents!” Imagine paying one cent for a banana split! But I never had more than 50 cents. And I shuddered at the thought of Woolworth’s calling my parents for more money. So I kept my wish to myself. Frankie sat at my feet, listening intently, as I read the final sentences of the chapter:

“I watched as others selected a balloon to pop and fantasised about the opportunity to proudly take my chance. But it never happened. Pink, blue, orange, and yellow balloons called out to me tauntingly. In time, the waitress came and jotted down my order. I mumbled, ‘A Coke please,’ and turned away from the umbrella.” — Beliefnet.com