Like father...

Part 2 of the story of how my life changed.  You could call it From Beer to Eternity.  There could be 15-20 or so of these to make up the whole story.  

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I'm in my teens before I realize Dad is an alcoholic, drinks pretty much all day every day, and is the unhappiest man I'll ever know.

His inner anger breaks out almost daily at home in loud, yelling monologues that are aimed at no one but intended for everyone to hear.  We walk on tip-toes when it quiets down, hoping he'll go to sleep.  But he's never violent or physical in his anger.  Today it reminds me of that guy in the Bible who lived in the tombs shouting and hurting himself and no one dared come near. 

He is not a good example, but he IS an example of what not to be or do, and that can be very useful.  I make vows to 'never make my kids get up and change the channel for me' -- but my resolve doesn't carry over to the obvious biggest influence on our relationship, his drinking.

He drops me off at the skating rink to run in and get my brother to take him home, and says he'll be "right back" and my brother and I stand on the sidewalk waiting for an hour for him to pick us up.  When we get in the car, Dad's in a good mood and slurring his words.  This is a normal.

I graduate from high school and live at home for awhile and he comes home from work at lunch, drinking, and falls asleep on the couch.  I shake him, "Dad?  Don't you have to go back to work?..."  This is normal.

I'm packed and ready for our spring break trip to Florida to visit colleges, and the old Impala pulls in the driveway and just sits there.  I wait, then go outside -- the car is running and Dad's slumped over the wheel.  I know mom's not going to like it if Dad blows our trip, so I scoot him into the passenger seat, load the bags, and start driving south.  Two hours later in Kentucky, he slowly wakes up, chin on his chest, opening one eye at me, realizing what's happened.  "You're a good boy," he groggily says.

We're not close, but we have a nice surface relationship. 

All his life I long for something closer, something real in our relationship.  I think he does, too.  But, neither of us knows what it is or how to get it.  I think it was the same with him and his dad.  Today I have no bitterness toward him, and I wish he were alive, but have no clue how I would make things better for him.

Dad stops drinking three years before he dies.  The first year he and mom have a normal year of marriage, probably the first one in a long time, maybe the only one ever.  The second year mom dies.  The third year Dad becomes more and more self-centered, and then his life of drinking catches up with his health.  Dying, his last words to my sister in the hospital are, "I can't do this."  But he does.

Comments

[Melissa]

gary, thank you for sharing your story. it's definitely one of power and purpose, and i know will be an inspiration for any who hear. as another with a history of alcohol in my family, it definitely hits close to home.