My Alcoholic Father

I'd consider myself lucky, if I were to call my dad right now he would answer and be right there if I needed him. Today, I have a good, relationship with my father, and for that, I'm grateful. However, I have a very strained relationship with all the rest of my family.

It's hard to remember a lot of my childhood because I've blocked so much of it out. Some of my earliest memories, however, were of my parents screaming in each other's faces. Since I was so young, I never understood what they were constantly arguing about, and never thought much of it. I would take car-rides to the beer distributor with my dad, and then help him load cans of beer into the fridge when we got home. He would only ever drink his beers in the basement, where he would also smoke cigarettes and play Slayer loud as he pleased. I spent a lot of time in the basement too, dancing to whatever music was on. Sometime I would dance with his friends who would occasionally come over to drink, play drums, or a game of pool. I was a daddy's girl, and nothing was going to change that.

When I got a little older, I began to realize the severity of my father's addiction. It was late at night when there was a loud knock on the door; my mom rushed downstairs to confront the person knocking. As she went downstairs, my brothers called me into their room too. Looking out their window, we saw there was a police car with flashing lights outside. Only after a few minutes, my mom storms upstairs, furiously yelling that our father had been drinking and driving. This is something I don't think she would have said in front of us if she hadn't been so upset. My dad spent that night in jail.

It was maybe a year after that when my father was arrested again on a DUI charge. He spent a few days in jail, and then he was away for a while in rehab. I clearly remember the day we went to pick him up from the rehabilitation center. Not one word was said the whole way home. My dad was now on probation, and had meetings with his P.O. every week. I had once caught him hiding a half empty bottle of Jägermeister atop of the hutch in the dining room, obviously violating his probation. When he noticed me behind him, he put his finger up to his lips and crept away. I told my mom that night, and she ended up collecting a bottle of vodka and a few cans of beer as well. She apologized that I was being dragged into this mess.

I declared that hated my dad when I was ten years old. It was a summer night and my brother, Patrick, and I were up late watching Adult Swim. We heard crashing in the garage until eventually the door opened. My dad was trying to pull himself through the entryway, but he was so intoxicated he could barely stand on his own two feet. After a couple of minutes he was in the living room, slurring something about being hungry. My brother held up a plate of chicken nuggets he had just made, offering a few, but, without hesitation, my dad slapped the paper plate out of his hand, sending food flying everywhere. Visibly upset, Patrick stormed off, however, my dad caught hold of him, pushed him against the fridge and strangled him. When I began crying, Patrick was able to get out of his grasp and run for his room upstairs. My dad made no effort to go after him, but instead picked up a kitchen chair and proceeded to smash it against the ground, breaking it into tiny pieces. He then slowly stumbled his way towards the staircase, so I grabbed the phone and called the police. I cried to the dispatcher but she could barely understand my words through the heaving. She sent a car over as soon as she understood and told me to call my mom, and so I did.

My mom left work immediately, something I'm sure her boss was used to at that point. She didn't end up getting home until after the two policemen left. When the police arrived, I let them in and my brother came out of hiding. They asked my dad to stay in the other room as they talked to my brother and me. We told them everything. It still makes me sick to this day that they didn't believe us. They asked the same questions over and over, expecting different answers, I assume. There was no empathy for us, or the bruises on my brother's neck. They briefly talked to my dad outside, and finally decided that it wasn't worth their time. Maybe I'm not understanding correctly, but a father ragingly strangling his son is serious and should have consequences. When my mom got home that night, she said that we needed to leave for good; however, that didn't end up happening for three more years.

There are many more stories of my father's alcohol abuse, including his license being revoked for his third DUI, my brother and I hiding in the bushes all night while he was on a drunken rampage, and other equally shitty things. My parents finally separated when I was thirteen, Patrick fifteen, and my eldest brother, sixteen. My mom, Patrick, and I moved in with my grandparents, while my other brother stayed with my dad. I didn't have any communication with my father for over a year. No calls for Christmas or my birthday. I never once reached out to him myself because I was so angry with the situations I was put in. I became very depressed. I would lay upon a broken futon practically all day for the year I lived with my grandparents. I would begin self-harm again, cry everyday, attempt suicide, and eventually begin to miss my dad.

It wasn't until late that year that he called me. He asked if I wanted to go see Slayer with him up in Bethlehem the next week. I was so surprised by the offer, but I agreed. The night of the show, he came to pick me up from the new apartment that my mom had just began renting. I walked outside into the cold air and I see my dad standing next to his truck, the same truck he's had since I was a little girl. I remember tearing up and not being able to look at his face. Though he never apologized, there was an understanding that he was sorry for everything, and in a way, I think if he actually did apologize, I would start to hate him again. We started going to see concerts together, and still do to this day. We go to dinner every so often and share the latest concert experiences that we've had. I'm able to introduce him to my friends and he treats them all like family. He even ended up buying me my own truck, and I cannot be any more thankful for that.

As much as I am grateful for my relationship with my father, living with my mother has turned into a constant chaotic Hell. There's lots of tension between us; it's very draining to even have a conversation. I made it a point to sever any communication with my eldest brother, although he still lives at home, because he has done unforgivable things to me. Patrick, though, is doing well at college, and though we speak minimally when he is home, I don't feel any tension between us two. I'm moving away very soon, and I'm hoping the distance can heal the tension among my family.