Christine Alton
Growing up with an alcoholic father didn’t exactly bring about the easiest childhood.
The best way to describe being 8 years old and taking care of my 3-year-old brother is like walking on eggshells around my dad.
One day it could be peaches and the next, disaster, with a slap to the face and a night in my room. (My mom was either at work or going to night school, anything to stay away from home.)
I must say up front that I love my dad to death and I am so proud of him for being sober for almost five years. But, I didn’t always feel that way.
The worst time of my life was from eighth to ninth grade. Not only did I have to deal with maturing and starting a new era of life, I had to come home and pick and choose each word carefully as to not set him off in a drunken rage.
When I was small, I remember being very afraid of my dad. But as I grew up, I grew tough and was fed up. One day, when I was about 14, at the very end of his alcoholic days, we got into a fight over my brother’s homework.
Michael wasn’t the best in school and it was my job to make sure all of his school work was complete, not to mention my own. My dad and my brother started arguing about his bad grade and my dad took it a step too far. He literally threw my brother into the front door. He landed on the porch and then limped into the house.
I lost it.
For the first time, I stood up to my father. Various cussing and yelling exchanged and somehow he cornered me in between my dresser and my bed. He slapped me so hard that I fell to the floor.
I pushed my dad hard enough for him to fall back and flip over the bed. He was furious and got right in my face but left my room before retaliating–he knew he would regret it.
I left to cool off and returned to find him drinking in the living room. I didn’t talk to my father for almost a week.
A few months later he left for The Betty Ford Center, a rehabilitation facility, and now lives in San Diego.
As a sober person, he is my real dad.
He is the person with the dry, hilarious sense of humor I vaguely remember as a kid, that I inherited myself. He is a hard worker and has sponsored more that 20 people while active in Alcoholics Anonymous. He has a huge heart and I know deep down that those bits of rage were not really him– they were the alcohol.
As far back as I can remember, he was sitting in the garage watching T.V. and drinking Coors Light while my little brother and I did homework in the dining room.
I can also remember playing baseball in the front yard and getting on the back of his dirt bike in Gorman.
Looking back, I can see him popping the top of the beer can while driving home from school and telling us that it was OK–it was just one.
Sometimes I can recall his overbearing and loud yell that could be heard from inside our neighbor’s house and I can feel the bruises. He never came to any of my school events like Open House because he was too drunk.
Sometimes I try to remember the good times and think about him cooking spaghetti in the kitchen or waking up to buttered Pancakes for breakfast. I can think about his infectious laugh and the way he always made me feel better when I was sad.
He brought me up right, with values and a conscience. I am so much like him it scares me. When it’s my turn, I want to be a better parent, but also instill the same morals my dad instilled in me.
It takes a lot of man to realize when there is a problem and to fix it. It hasn’t been a smooth ride, but my dad has still been there for me. I talk to him every day and he tells me how much he loves me and how sorry he is.
It wasn’t good enough at first, but now that I am older, I know he is a good person with a huge heart that let the alcohol get the best of him.
Anyone who thinks that alcoholism isn’t a disease is wrong. It is just as heart-breaking as cancer or AIDS. It spreads to all aspects of life, including raising your children.
I have learned to be strong and see things through a different light because of my dad.
He was sick, but now he is in remission. I doubt that my dad will fall off the wagon.
I know that he is the person he always was behind the alcohol.