Everyday at five o'clock, my dad would come home from work and be greeted by mother with a kiss and a glass of whiskey and soda. She would make one for herself. It was the cocktail hour for both of them. They drank all through dinner and well into the night, ending each night drunk.
There they sat, every night at the kitchen table watching a small television set about twelve feet away from them, drinking...and drinking...and drinking. I was a child and that's all that I saw. I could not walk into the kitchen and say something without getting told to wait for a commercial...wait for a commercial...wait for a commercial. That's how it was, my whole life, even til now.
When I was thirteen, I started learning about alcoholism in my health science class. That's when I started realizing what my parents were doing, and it just made me angry, bitter. However, I seemed to take it out on my dad more, although I'm not sure why. Maybe because he was more of an *** when he was drunk, more disgusting to me, although I never liked watching either of my parents get drunk, especially when they were party drunk. It was gross to me.
It took a long time, a few glasses tipped over by me, a DUI with my dad, and some tough love but he has since recovered and has been sober for about...4 years now, I think. I'm proud of him and I'm probably the only one that lets him know that. My mom still drinks around him, my brothers drink around him, I don't...and I won't. It's not fair to him and he's taken too much heat for the things he's done, and I won't make things any harder for him.