42 years of not being happy. Year one

1-12-65, Anchorage, Alaska, is where this story begins. Eighteen year old waitress mother from North Carolina, twenty-twoish year old printer father from Montana. I was their first and only child. Conceived almost immediately after the famous 1964 Alaska earthquake. My mom was a decent person, but troubled. My dad…well, a decent person I suppose. But, really I don’t know him well enough to be able to say. Me… I could be better, I could be worse. 
My father’s main problem was alcohol, throw in absenteeism and infidelity and his picture is complete. My mother told me that when he proposed he said “if it doesn’t work out we can get divorced.” That is not a good start. If I had a choice I would have preferred it to have ended there. I sometimes wonder if babies pick their parents. If so, why would I have picked these two people? Maybe, I thought I could make I difference in their lives. Maybe, it was dumb luck. Maybe, I needed them as parents to begin my misery.
We lived with my grandma and grandpa on my father’s side. It was the second marriage for both of them. They had three children each from previous marriages, but none together. My grandma was actually my father’s step-mother. So, really she wasn’t my grandma. But, she always treated me as such and I always saw her as such.
I am told that it was an unhappy house. Poor food, poor cleanliness and a lot of drinking. My mother tried to get along with her in-laws, but as in-laws do, they did not get along. I don’t really know much else about that time, except that the marriage, by my first birthday, was over. I imagine that I was not well taken care of. Empty belly, full diaper and empty heart. From my experience with my mother and my kids and sisters kids she is not affectionate in any way. She told me once that she does not like baby’s…they are not “interactive enough.” My father…a classic donor, was always at work at the bar or with another woman.
This is the end of year one.