I was just on the Alcoholism/Addiction forum and a newbie post jogged some ancient memories. Here they are…
I come from a long line of alcoholics. My dad, his brothers, his dad, his uncles…all have been afflicted with alcoholism.
My grandfather - my dad’s dad- died on my first birthday due to alcoholism. This fact has been attached to me ever since.
Dad drank all the time. My sister and I especially hoped that he would drink all of the time because he was not a kind sober man. Dad was a happy drunk, though, for the most part.
I could tell when dad was drinking, even if he wasn’t yet slurring his words. I could hear the change in his voice, I could smell it on his breath, in his pores, I could see it in his eyes and in his easy manner. I could feel it in the air.
And I knew, even from a young age, that it was what dad drank that caused this change in him, and that the change in him was desirable from my point of view.
But dad wasn’t always a happy drunk. He was unpredictible. His temper could be triggered by things that were acceptable the day before. Dad was a puzzle that couldn’t be solved. Dad made and changed the rules using a logic that didn’t make any sense.
But dad’s drinking didn’t affect his job. He kept a successful career and provided for his family. He never got a DWI. He didn’t suffer external consequences as a result of his drinking. That doesn’t really matter, though. He was and is still an alcoholic.
Alcoholism destroyed his marriage. Mom and dad divorced when I was 15.
Dad’s drinking taught me a few things. First and foremost, drinking is a cure for a bad mood. Drinking beer makes you more apt to laugh. Drinking is what you do after work. Drinking is only for dad’s. I broke that rule.
Dad would point at one of us kids and order us to get him a beer. I would open it and take a sip or two. I hated the taste, but wondered what it was about it that held such strange power over such a powerful man. Dad didn’t mind when we took sips. He chuckled at us.
I had my first drink when I was 12. I went through periods of sobriety and drinking for the next 30 years until I found myself unable to stop my bottle or 2 of wine a night and into rehab.
My journey is just beginning. My dad’s is near the end. He now has cirrhosis of the liver. If he drinks, he dies.
