My father rarely enters my thoughts. Last night, trying to sleep, he came to mind and another word seeped in, one I rarely use, hate. You, my readers will have to pardon that word coming from a usually upbeat writer but there it is and it was true.
My father was an alcoholic and despite all we know about genetic predisposition, it's a disease and so on, a child views the lifting of that glass as a choice.To buy that beer is a choice. Once the choice has been made, the people who live in the house , not by choice, are victims of whatever that liquor unleashes.
This is a long story : before my wedding,my father, to his credit, stopped drinking. After a few hospitalizations, alcohol induced hallucinations, a gurney with him on it wearing a straight jacket and other horrors he stopped and he was ready to be sober.My sister's children only knew him as kind, quiet Grandpa.
There was one common scene however that fills me with such anger that is impossible to contain.The four of us are watching T,V,; my sister and I must have been teenagers.He is in his chair in the usual state. Then it begins: he looks from one to the other around the room, from my mother, sister and I .We can feel his stare.He is hunting for that one, maybe the weakest that day, to pounce.We wait as he chooses and then it begins: a personal attack. "You are a lazy lout , how could you get a B in English "..and on it went until that victim could no longer stand it and left the room, lessened as a human , powerless to respond. Just Dad being Dad.
This is how it should have gone with sane parents. A gaze over, maybe pause the TV and saying words like this: "You are such a unique, gifted child.There is no one like you. I am proud that you belong to me.You do well in school, not everyone does, you come home on time, have many friends and activities. You sing around the house in that beautiful voice and you are loved beyond measure."
Pardon me while I say these words to myself and hope I said at least something like that to my kids.
3 comments:
I'm sure you said something like that to your kids along with more loving kind words and hugs. Bruises and hits heal. Bruises to the soul linger long beyond their actual occurrence. It is a lesson to those who endure. They either continue the abuse or it makes them stronger and more determined to overcome. I salute you for your choice to overcome. The choice you have made to be vulnerable with such personal experiences is another example of healing and strength. I pray someone will read this blog and be encouraged to make the same choice you did. You exude love and kindness. You are an example to us all. Thank you for sharing.
What a lovely comment,I thank you so much and wish I knew who you are.I think this piece caused quite a stir in a good way, for that I am grateful.Your kind words are gratifying.And I know it has all been grace.
I have felt the same way many, many times....I never knew my father ever quit drinking until 25 years after the last time I had saw my father, and had found out he died, alone, half-naked, living in a converted bread truck/camper, two weeks after Medicare had taken his oxygen away from him, and he probably suffocated to death from emphysema. it hurts, and those memories NEVER GO AWAY!!!
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