My father was and, as far as I know, still is an alcoholic.
Because my mum had incredible insight, I didn’t get to see him in that way and never suffered living with him as an alcoholic. My mum got us as far away from him as she could give her circumstances. But that didn’t stop my father; he hired someone to track us down and eventually turned up on our doorstep wanting to see me, on a few occasions and always stinking of beer. Thankfully these visits were almost as rare as Halley’s Comet.
I made the decision never to let that happen again, never to let a drop of alcohol pass my lips whilst my son needs me.
Later on in life, I went looking for him and met up with him several times back in my teenage years. I wanted to see for myself what he was really like. Could we form a bond? Could I call him dad? Looking back, I should’ve realized what he was like because we always met at his local pub.
Last night I followed in his footsteps. Today, I find myself acting like the man I met in the pub. The man who could never be a father. Last night, I became his son and unknowingly let him creep into my life. Because of my decision, I missed one night of putting my son to bed. Why? Because I got drunk. I got drunk to the point I was sick.[irp]
The next morning, in a decisive instant, I made the decision never to let that happen again, never to let a drop of alcohol pass my lips whilst my son needs me. I may have lost one night, but I’m sure as hell not losing out on being there for Noah for the rest of his life.