Daddy Drank Too Much

My father drank a liter of vodka a day in the height of his battle with alcohol. Mom and I could do nothing to stop him. Not even the threat of losing his beautiful wife and adoring daughter was strong enough to help him quit abusing. After years of giving him second chances, we were forced to leave. I don’t really remember a time when he wasn’t drunk growing up. To this day, I can recognize it in the tone of his voice over the phone: deep melodramatic sighs, wistful thoughts, speaking only in whispers, stupid questions that lead to circular conversations. He always got so sad and dark when he drank, and he’d try to drag anyone what was around down with him. I remember him asking me questions at the tender age of five that were beyond my comprehension level and he’d rub in the fact that my responses were wrong. I’d feel so devastated that I couldn’t impress him. Kind of like a bully, really. He’d fight with mom into the wee hours of the morning about her past—about things that she couldn’t control, but he’d hold them against her anyhow. She was always sad, too.

I can’t say I blame her, for the credit card companies were continually calling to collect on the money he’d spent on booze. He lost his job. He stole from my fanny pack stash of cash, when I was all of 8 for beer money. He left me behind at the library to refill. Once I found some empty bottles hidden under my mattress, the least likely place we’d think to look, but we inevitably found them anyhow.

I remember always having that lump in your throat that you get when you’re trying not to cry when I was around him. He had a knack for making you feel so incompetent and weak after he’d had a few. I remember feeling inadequate and scared at the sight of him intoxicated. After we left, he realized that he’d made some bad decisions and for a time, he stopped drinking. I was so proud. Then, over time as life’s challenges became too much for him, he’d fall off the wagon. I’d get so angry. I’d threaten never to visit him again. This would usually work for a while in keeping him dry, but as addicts do, he still slips once in a while.

Now, I’m just disappointed. Disappointed that he can’t beat this, or won’t.

Needless to say, I choose not to drink. Though some argue that alcoholism is in the genes and out of your control, I maintain that the behavior is a choice. I’ve had plenty of lessons in my life and family history about why one should not abuse alcohol, and I chose not to. I choose to break the cycle of addiction in my lineage and move towards a healthier, happier lifestyle for myself and for my future kin. Though they’re not here yet, I want them to have a mother who will be around for important events and have the brain cells to remember them.

You also have the power to change your path. If alcoholism or addiction is in your family, you do not have to be a continuation of the pattern. Think about your life goals. Apply those goals to your behavior. You and your future deserve it.