My name is Herkemer Heindlick. Go ahead and giggle I’m used to it. It must happen twenty times a day. People smirk or giggle about my name. Some people say, are you Black? That’s a funny name for a Black person. Mostly the people saying this are white. This drives me batty (another of granny’s sayings) my classmates think white people are the smartest people on earth.

I always remember to tell myself that having the name Herkemer is the least of my worries. Some adults believe that kids don’t have much to worry about. That life for kids is a bowl of cherries,(which I enjoy) but If my teachers who happen to be adults knew what I worried about; I wonder if they would think life is a bowl of cherries for me.

Dear reader, you must be saying spit it out kid. I know that writing about your problems is supposed to help, so I’m about to do it. My grandmother would say my car has stalled. I’m trying to jump start it. Here is the big Worry. I am worried about my momma and the amount of liquor she drinks. My parents are divorced (another worry). Momma has always drank copious (my new word) amounts of wine. I like the air that cools my mouth when I say it. She always drank lots of alcohol, but when papa left she really revved up her drinking. I don’t want to officially declare momma an alcoholic, but I have collected some evidence to help me make an educated decision. The books I read and the people I ask (I made sure to tell them that my questions were for science class), tell me about the signs to look for. Sign one: Drinks everyday Sign two: Drinks a bottle or two at one sitting, Sign three: Some days the person is unable get out of bed. Sign four: Angry and sad at the same time.

These are my momma’s behaviors that I read about, but she has other behaviors that bother me. Momma sometimes is unable to take me to school. She pretends that I am having an unscheduled fun day off. When I have this day off, momma usually sleeps most of the day. The other problem is momma’s yelling. She is a colossal yeller. Mostly she yells at me, but not my little sister. I feel sorry for my sister because it seems that she doesn’t have a momma, only a tired drunk person on the couch.

My teachers tell me that my speech and writing are like an adult’s. There are times that I need to be an adult at home because of momma’s illness. One of the books that I read said that being an alcoholic is an illness. I am eleven years old and very short, but sometimes I feel like a mighty oak tree because of my responsibilities.

Next week is our week with papa. I have a great time at papa’s house. We cook, play games, go to the park and have interesting conversations. We are active at dads unlike at momma’s where we stay inside and play with our electronics. While at dads, I worry about momma. Will she drink too much? Who will take care of her? I love mamma but I want to live with my papa because living with mamma is too hard sometimes. I get stomachaches from worrying-about my mother. When I go to college I plan to study how to become a social worker. I wish my whole family could go to see a therapist. My friend Duckie’s family goes to a therapist. He says it is fine and they get along much better now.

Maybe I can convince my momma to go to a therapist. I could ask my papa to talk to mama about going to therapy, but she hates him and wouldn’t listen to anything he says. I will continue to think about how I could convince momma to get help for herself. I am really worried and sometimes I feel all alone.