That’s What Alcohol Does — Pt 1
There were times when I wished my dad wasn’t my dad. Times when I had lost so much respect for him for choosing alcohol over me, that he didn’t feel like a father. Times when his health was so disabling that I resented having half his genes. Times when I pitied him for being so pathetic, and times I hated him for being so selfish. Times I was disappointed he couldn’t do things that other dads could. Times I cried on his behalf when people made fun of him.
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There were also times when I loved him and tried to help. So many times. There were times of hope when I thought he stopped drinking, and times of despair when I learned he hadn’t. Times of fighting and silence. Times of hiding and finding. Times of calling for help and never getting enough.
Then there was the time my mom told me, “He’s not your real dad.” A time at 25 years old when I learned that the man who raised me was not my biological father, after all. I remember when I told him I knew the truth, and he stared at me with vacant drunken eyes. I also remember the second time I told him I knew the truth, because he couldn’t remember the first time. That’s what alcohol does.
