I remember in the seventies they use to have all these made for tv movies about alcoholism. I probably watched them all. It was almost always the man of the family and it usually ended up with a happy ending. That happy ending never happened in my family.
My father was a man's man. He was athletic-football sports star in high school in the fifties when it was huge in the Hopewell area. He was good looking, he had an engaging personality and was a lot of fun to be around. Other men looked up to him. I could see that especially on the golf course. About that in time.
I really don't know when my father started drinking but I'm sure it was real early. Eighteen was old enough for beer in his day. He was a Marine-had the Marine Corp emblem tatooed on his arm. He was a partier. He had plenty of charm because my mother fell in love with him and they were married.
At what point you stop becoming a social drinker to an alcoholic I don't know. But it happened to my dad. As a child growing up around it, you really aren't paying attention to details that say "Yeah, that was the turning point." I can say that once you are immersed in the bottle, it is pretty evident to everybody. To this day, I know that I have been impacted by his alcoholism, but I don't know how for sure. I do drink beer but do go days without any alcohol. I know that alcoholism is hereditary and it worries me for both my boys because you just don't know. My baby brother I believe is an alcoholic or has a drug dependency or both. I hate that he has this burden.
Anyway, growing up with my dad was great when I was less than ten. The problems associated with his drinking were not ruling his life. The sad thing is that the memories after ten are the ones that stick in my mind. It really is not fair to him that I don't remember more good ones. I use to hate and despise him for losing his family due to his alcoholism. Now, maybe I realize what a strong disease that it is and how it was more powerful than him. It's more powerful than my brother currently.
Well, the lovely moments that define alcoholism, my dad and me. My earliest memory that things were not exactly normal was the ride to school in the morning. My sister and I would hop in the car and my dad would drive us to school. Some mornings he would ask me to open the glove compartment and hand him the bottle inside. He'd take a swig from the bottle, put the cap back on and tell me to put it back. When I asked him what it was he would reply it was fire water. Some afternoons when he'd pick us up from school, he'd come inside, grab a bottle of bourbon and pour himself a shot. He'd throw a shot back and rinse his mouth with water. Then he'd head back to work.
Around ten my dad taught me to play golf. Golf and my dad were one. Every weekend growing up my dad would head off early in the morning to play golf both days. He'd be back late afternoon so that the evening would be family time. My dad teaching me golf meant I was entering his weekend world. My dad was a scratch golfer. He could hit the ball a mile. I always loved watching him play because he was so very good. He knew it too. The weekend crew that my dad played golf with was anywhere from twenty to thirty strong. He was the one who decided teams and the bets and settled all the wagering. He was a wheeler dealer. His nickname was "Cosmo" after the card shark in the Beetle Bailey comic strip. Learning to play at first I was not allowed to play on the weekends. I'd go just to ride along and watch him play. By fourteen, I was ready for some action. My dad fronted the money to me for the betting. I loved it. Being part of the group was great fun. I was the youngest one. Most of the men were in their late twenties at the youngest. The majority were in their forties as was my dad. After golf they would gather at the country club for their card games. The betting continued and so did the drinking. At some point, I believe my dad enjoyed me being there more for the ride home. It meant he could drink more and not worry about getting stopped.
Some of the weekends I didn't go with him because of other things that I did-work, my friends, etc. When he came home one Saturday, I remember my mom had cooked meatloaf-one of his favorites. He was drunk and started ranting about not wanting meatloaf and why didn't she ask him what he wanted. It kind of struck a raw nerve with my mother. She picked the pan of meatloaf up and threw it into the sink. It was a porcelain dish and it shattered. The blue and white shards and the brown meatloaf flew about the kitchen. She picked up a bar stool and threw it down a number of times. One of the legs got bent and anytime anybody sat in it after that, it kind of rocked back and forth a little. Every time I sat in it, I remembered this moment. He ended passing out in bed less than a half hour later.
One night he had my little brother with him and they were late coming back home. They were suppose to be back by seven and it was around eight thirty. No cell phones back then. When my brother and dad showed up at the house, my brother was so proud of himself. He replied that dad couldn't see so he was the eyes getting them back home. My dad was blind drunk driving my brother home.
Another night he was so drunk that he couldn't walk once he got in the door. My mother was shouting at him as he crawled from the front door back to his bedroom. I use to help him back to his bed in earlier years but I got tired of the repeated act of drunkeness.
One year I went on a golf trip to Nags Head with my dad. He got so drunk he couldn't even take care of me. I remember seeing him drive by in his golf cart yelling and slurring something I couldn't understand. When I finished my eighteen holes and got back to the club house, I was told that they had taken my dad back to his room but they'd take care of me. I remember eating at the large table they had for dinner and feeling the other golfers looking at me with pity. I felt very embarrassed not just for me but my dad as well.
I went off for college in the mid seventies and didn't have to deal with the daily occurrences. My brother and sister said it got worse. I feel very sorry for them because I can't imagine worse. My mother did all the right things, AA, trips to detox centers, prayer,etc. Their marriage ended in divorce after twenty six years. I felt my mother held on for too long.
My relationship started to fade with my dad after his divorce from my mother. Like I said before, I hated him for the pain and anguish that he inflicted on his family. Only now do I realize that he was probably inflicting more pain and anguish on himself. He remarried to a woman I never met. He divorced her. He died of a heart attack in the same home he was born in in the year 2000. He had been dating a heroin addict. We believe that she was with him when he died and then left. She took things of value.
I loved my dad. My heart aches. It is a regret. Never give up.
Keith
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