Amy and I were in bed a few nights ago doing our favorite couples activity – watching bad TV (with me bitching at what passes for entertainment these days). One show featured an alcoholic mother and father (their favorite couples activity was drinking); their grown kids were seeking an intervention for them.
While describing what it felt like to grow up with an alcoholic parent, one of the older sons said he felt “abandoned.” It struck a chord with me. It took me back to those summers we’d spend at our dad’s apartment in Detroit (divorced parents). And why I just don’t like being around drunk people, even good friends.
Our father was good to us (me and my brother) and as a kid I always felt a protective aura around him. But I always knew that once he started drinking hard (never alone though), that for the rest of the day or the night, we were on our own. Maybe it was just once a week, maybe less, but at some point, he would become so plastered that he became glassy-eyed and obnoxious at best, comatose at worst. At that point, it was up to us to find something to eat for dinner, or to put ourselves to bed, or just fend for ourselves for the next twelve hours or so.
It probably didn’t even happen that often, but enough that when the son said “abandoned,” I realized at that second that is exactly what it felt like. You were on your own. The person you knew or loved was replaced by a doddering obnoxious ass who wouldn’t remember anything he said or did the next day. Someone who put you at risk because they’ll stupidly get into a fight with anyone over nothing or embarrass you with ridiculous affectations toward yourself or worse, someone else, and not even remember the next day. The person you knew was gone and replaced by an ass with an emotional crutch, a clumsy gait, and a slobbery speech impediment. You become the babysitter of a stranger, or join in and become as vulnerable as they are. Obviously, I have never been much fun when it comes to parties and drinking.
Part of me finds it objectively fascinating, how the majority of the human race seems to rely on drinking alcohol at some point. Like some social vitamin. I don’t have a problem with people who drink. Most of the time I think it’s funny. People should be having fun. I just can’t have fun like that.
I just know that I much preferred my dour and taciturn father to the socially slick and inebriated one. I won’t abandon my own little ones like that ever.
“… But it wasn’t like I was traumatized or anything,” I told Amy. It probably just made me more self-reliant.
Plus, whenever I drink a little alcohol, the tip of my penis burns something fierce. Not in a good way, either.
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5 AM. W.T.F.
I should not have had cherry Amp and pizza right before going to bed. Normally I wouldn’t eat at bedtime but I burned about 10,000 calories tonight from jiu jitsu, the gym, and pure anger after being crushed by a much bigger but less experienced opponent today. I don’t usually get mad about losing – I guess the deadlifts I’ve added to my regimen really do increase testosterone levels.
(Antacid time, then goodnight, or morning. Fuck.)
