"If you have knowledge, let others light their candles in it."

                                                                                                       -Margaret Fuller

I grew up in an Italian American household. There was a different kind of attitude about alcohol in our home. Even when I was little, if we were having wine at dinner, then I was allowed to have a small glass. Because of this, I grew up with an appreciation for wine and also the feeling that it was no big deal.

As an adult, I continued to enjoy an occasional glass of wine with dinner.

During the year of my separation and the birth of my fifth child, having a glass of wine every night to unwind and relax began to be a routine. I never got drunk, just comfortably relaxed. We had recently moved. I was still working on cleaning out our former residence. I felt like I had a two ton weight on my back. The evening glass of wine really helped me to relax.

Then one afternoon, because of a chance meeting, my perspective totally shifted.

We had stopped at a playground. There was a group of boys playing. After watching for a few minutes, I realized that one boy was being treated as an outcast. The other boys were being mean to him, pretending to be friendly and then tripping him and laughing as he fell. Unable to hold my tongue, I admonished the boys and told them to stop it.

The young boy began to play with my children. His hair was kind of shaggy; he kept brushing it out of his eyes. His clothing had clearly seen better days. But what really stuck with me were his shoes. They were old and worn, the style like the sneakers we used to wear when I was in grade school in the mid 1970’s.

He said his name was David.

As he played with my children, he continued to talk to me. He told me that he lived with his mother; that she didn’t spend much time with him. The next thing he said was spoken so softly I almost missed it. He said that that she was usually drunk and didn’t pay much attention to him. I didn’t really know what to say, so I just sort of murmured. A few more minutes went by and then the teachers were calling all the children to go inside. David and I shook hands. That was the last time I saw him.

Later that evening, the raw honesty of what he had said to me hit me. As though someone had flipped a switch, my desire and taste for alcohol vanished. Someone did flip a switch- God. He often works miracles through people. One sentence uttered by a young boy changed my perspective. This was more than two years ago. To this day, I still have no desire to drink.