For the past few weeks I’ve been thinking a lot about my dad. Almost as though I can’t get him out of my head. Sometimes I’ll be driving and suddenly I break down with this angry sort of sadness that I can’t help but feel all the way down into the pit of my stomach. Occasionally I’ll see someone with eyes just like his and my heart catches in my throat. I walk past someone in a store that smells just like him and I want to go stand next to them to soak in the smell because I know one day it may not be familiar at all.
I miss my dad not because he was a wonderful father or the most important person in my life. Most days he didn’t even come close. I don’t miss him because of what was. I miss him because of what wasn’t. For many years he was in and out of my life. When he wasn’t there, I was angry. When he came around he was this idolized figure high up on a pedestal. I wanted so badly to see him and love him the way other kids got to see and love their dads. I wanted his presence in my life to feel normal.
As a kid, you don’t understand the big picture. You know what’s in front of you, and even that isn’t always as clear as you think. I wasn’t able to differentiate the good from the bad when it came to my dad. At least not for a long, long time. Some of those realizations that had to happen left a pain and I wonder if it will ever ease or go away completely.
I have a lot of good memories with my dad. Or at least I used to. Those memories have been marred by knowledge. My dad was a Coca-Cola guy. Because of him I learned to strongly prefer it over Pepsi. When I was a kid we would sit side by side and drink our Cokes. Only, mine smelled like Coke and his smelled like rum. To this day the smell of rum takes me back to second grade when I lived with my dad in San Diego and I was happy. At the same time, it makes me feel queasy and angry. I remember my dad taking my brother and me to Joey’s Barbeque for dinner one time. Being that he didn’t have custody of us most of our lives, time with him was rare. We had a great time together and on our way home I was so excited to tell my aunt (and guardian) about the experience. We pulled up and my aunt came flying out of the house yelling at him. He had taken us without letting her know we were leaving. As soon as she looked at him her anger shifted. She was no longer mad that we were gone without her knowledge. She was now angry because he was drunk. I don’t know how many beers he had at Joey’s, but it was obviously a lot. Once she said it, I knew it was true. His speech was slurred and his temper flared when she confronted him. Our great time at dinner was no longer that. Deep in my little heart I began to question how my own dad, who’s supposed to love and protect me would drive drunk with my brother and I in the car. Did he need beer that badly? I remember seeing my dad for the first time in over two years. I sat down next to him and we drank Cokes and talked. We sat for a long time catching up and I listened to him crack hysterical jokes about the people walking by. This visit took place in the visiting yard of Chino Prison. The people he was joking about were the prison guards. Memory after memory; all stained just like this.
I’m sure if I thought hard enough, long enough, thoroughly enough, I could come up with a few memories that aren’t stained with alcohol. But that’s just it- I shouldn’t have to. I should think of my dad and be flooded with joyfulness over all the good times we’ve shared. I’m not. He’s been gone for four and a half years. Never once I have looked back on his life and smiled amidst the sadness of losing him. There is only remorse with the sadness. The thing is, he was a good dad. Really. Or at least he had it in him to be a good dad if only he had put down the alcohol.
My dad had a few philosophies he seemed to live by. Two of which I remember well; “You can’t get lost if you don’t care where you’re going.” As a kid I thought that was interestingly true. This coming from the guy who hitch-hiked across the country. And his other philosophy was, “Everyone’s gonna die of something. Might as well die of something you love.” Well, he sure picked his fate well, then. I think it was his ability to strongly cling to the second philosophy that fed his mediocrity with the first one. He really didn’t care where he was going most of the time. Or at least that’s how it seemed. And that’s just wrong. Kids should be able to look at their parents and see certainty, determination, conviction, passion, pride, etc. Even if their parents fail, those qualities should be there in a very obvious and consistent way. My dad rarely had any of those qualities. Deep, deep down, he probably did. I didn’t see them.
I struggled for a lot of years over how my dad could pick alcohol over me. He, like my mom, had done drugs for a long time. He kicked that though, and I was so proud of him. He was openly honest about his intention to never give up drinking. I had asked him why he kept drinking and his reply came, “I like my beer.” With a smirk. He wasn’t ashamed of it. Though, I think he should have been. I guess being a drunk makes you mostly blind to your drunkenness.
I always held onto hope that he would change and realize that he had great kids that he was missing out on. We were now adults beginning new chapters of our lives. Surely he would see what he had missed thus far and decide to do things differently. Coincidentally, this is also when I began to realize how extremely naive I can be.
The stark realization, or my admittance and acceptance of reality, came on June 27th, 2004. I hadn’t seen my dad in about two years. He was at my cousin’s wedding and I was so excited to see him and to have him meet my husband of 4 months. Prior to the start of the wedding we were all taking pictures and I remember him being so antsy and fidgety about everything. He kept saying he just ‘needed to get out of here.’ Such a disappointment to his little girl who had waited so long to see him outside of prison for the first time in years. He wasn’t interested in being with me or my family. Then the wedding happened and then the reception. Open bar. No sooner did we get through the door did he have a Jim Beam in both hands. It stayed that way the entire night. I distinctly remember sitting at a table with my husband and a few others that I didn’t know very well. I watched my dad sit at a table all alone with his drinks. While it killed me, I realized that’s exactly how he wanted it to be. Nobody else mattered more than Mr. Beam. Upon leaving I gave him a hug, told him I loved him and walked out the door wreaking of liquor. I left hurt and a little more grown up. That was the last time I saw my dad.
I realized as I stepped into my role as an adult, that I resented him a lot for his choices. Because he took so much liberty with selfish decisions in his life, I had no choice but to suffer the consequences. I praise God for the guidance and protection in my life in spite of my parents. My life is proof that God really does make all things good for those who love Him.
The more I struggled with my resentment, the more I felt the need for closure. Not that I intended to never speak to my dad again, but the need was there to bring it all to the light and call it what it was. He chose alcohol over me. Before I could accept that, I needed him to admit it.
Eight months after I saw him at the wedding he began calling me randomly to see how I was and catch up. The calls were always short, but I was nonetheless happy to hear from him and know that he was okay. After a few phone calls he asked me why I didn’t have him give me away at my wedding. I walked down the aisle alone and he wasn't able to be there. I told him “Dad, you gave me away a long time ago.” “What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked, defensively. “You chose your alcohol over me every time you had the chance. I’m trying to accept that.” First he argued with me for about five seconds. Finally he admitted that I was right. For my whole life and for every situation, he said he couldn’t remember a time that he didn’t drink when given the chance. What ensued from there was a very enlightening conversation. Well, it wasn’t enlightening then. But recently it has hit home a lot more for me.
He went on to explain that he didn’t mean to chose that way. He didn’t mean to become an alcoholic. He didn’t mean to hurt me. He didn’t mean to fight with my mom or abuse her. He didn’t mean to end up in prison. He didn’t mean to be angry. He didn’t mean to neglect us. He didn’t mean for anything to happen that has happened in his life. He didn’t say this as an excuse. Just pure fact.
The thing is, it started with a first drink. Then a few more. Over time, a few more. Drinking when he was out with friends. Budwieser during football games. Somewhere along the line, without him even noticing, it got just a little out of hand. He couldn’t go more than a couple weeks without going a drink. Then that span shrunk to a couple of days. That shrunk even more. He didn’t realize he had any sort of problem. To him, it was just a choice. He could put it down if he wanted to. But I don’t know that he ever tried. Everyone around him could see the risk and the issues that were arising. They talked to him about it, they bargained with him, they offered help and support. But he still didn’t have a problem. Or so he thought. His own stubbornness allowed the problem he didn’t know he had to grow and grow. It took a long, long time. However, it eventually ruined his family’s lives, and ended his years and years before he should have died.
This was all plainly obvious a long time ago. What gets me now is that it isn’t just MY dad in this scenario. It’s lots of dads and moms. My dad wasn’t alone in this struggle. I’m not the only one who has watched a parent spiral downward. This is a growing issue. The sad part, is that you don’t see it coming.
You may enjoy drinking. That’s fine. I’m not going to sit here and condemn people to hell for drinking. While I don’t drink, I shouldn’t say I never would on occasion. Although, I can almost assuredly say, I never will. It isn’t appealing to me because of what I’ve seen.
Understand a couple of things: First, when I say ‘drink’, I’m not talking about the occasional glass of wine with dinner. I’m talking about drinking and getting drunk. Secondly, I’m not judging people who drink. Please understand that. I’m judging PARENTS that drink.
So, to aforementioned parents:
Who do you think you are? Are you so high, mighty, and powerful that your judgement isn’t ill effected by alcohol? Somewhere along the lines you made the decision to have kids. And even if it was an ‘accident’, you made the decision to keep them. Or you failed to make the decision to give them up. Either way- proactive on your part. Do you think your kids would chose a partying alcoholic if given the option to chose otherwise? No. They wouldn’t. Do you really think your kids won’t notice you coming home so late? They won’t begin to smell it? They won’t be able to look at you and recognize your selfish irresponsibility? Sure, maybe they don’t understand it completely right now. But I promise you one thing- they’ll understand it easier than you can give it up. They’ll know you sooner than you will admit you have a problem. Maybe right now it’s not a problem. But you won’t know it when it is. My fear for you is that one day far from now, your kids will feel towards you the way I feel towards my dad. I love him and always will. But I didn't care to know him or be anything like him. Disappointment is a horrible thing. Especially when it's you doing all the disappointing.
Sure, it’s just a few fun nights out. Or it’s just a few ball games. If anyone, and I mean ANYONE has confronted you on this, you have more of a problem than you think. Especially if it was a spouse, a sibling, or heaven forbid, your child. If you can’t put it down for longer than a month or two, you have a problem. How dare you be so selfish.
I know, I know. You would never let it get that bad. You’ll keep it under control so it doesn’t affect your marriage, your children, and your relationships. Those are all important to you. You are in control and will remain that way. This isn’t very believable because it lacks possibility. Just ask my dad.
Honestly, are you that different?
