Why I Drink Now

I like to have a glass of wine before the end of my day. You might ask "Why?". You might wonder 'Is she drinking now?'. (Why do I sound like Michael Scott from The Office all of a sudden?)

I grew up in a household that NEVER had alcohol in it. My paternal grandfather was an alcoholic, so I was told. I barely remember his voice, because he rarely spoke at all. He always had a huge wad of tobacco in his otherwise sunken cheek and I never saw him spit any out. We all assumed, or imagined, that he swallowed every bit of it. The only animation I remember seeing out of him was when he would reach into a tall dresser and give me a sugar coated lemon drop candy from a bag he kept there. I'm glad I have that memory of him, because without it, I would only have the memory of the smell of sour tobacco juice and his depressed, sunken posture near a fireplace or sitting outside of his house in West Virginia. His wife, my grandmother, died when I was 10. We had lived in Indiana from the time I was 2, and between those years of 2 and 10, our family visits "back home" were quite frequent. It seems to me that Dad had little interest in visits after his mother died. I know Dad loved his father, but there had to be some resentment there for what an alcoholic parent can do to a family. I only know bits and pieces of what family life was like for my Dad growing up. Most of those bits came from other family members. I know the family moved from house to house a lot, to avoid debt collectors. One tidbit that Dad had offered up to me himself (I cherish that it came from his lips) was that his Mom kept a very tidy house when he was young and that the padded down dirt floor that she kept clean and smooth, was cleaner than any modern kitchen floor.

My Dad turned to travel in his youth, I suppose as a means of escape and to make money to feed himself. I was told that he had been to every state in America, except for two. A favorite story I remember hearing (from my Aunt) was that the family had gone berry picking once and my Dad disappeared. All that they found of him was his empty bucket. I was also told that one of his road jobs was with the circus. I always imagined that the circus sounded better than berry cobbler to my Dad. He really wasn't fond of sweets. Another thing I related to that circus story was something I overheard him tell a visitor to our home. (Little pitchers have big ears.) He said that he saw a horse bite a mans shoulder off. I don't know if he was exaggerating or not, but I was well into my 40's before I got over my fear of horses and ponies and I figured that horse was at a circus, so the circus sounded scary to me too!

I think my Dad's upbringing caused him to need a certain level of control. He moved us to Indiana and worked swing shift in a steel mill out of Chicago. Sometimes in the winter, they would put him out on the freezing docks and he'd clean the belly of the ore ships (I'm assuming that's what they were, because again, he shared very little). Needless to say, he was an extremely hard worker, unlike his father. My Dad smoked like a chimney, but he abhorred alcohol. He would get very angry at the sight of an empty beer can tossed in the yard. I was never tempted to try alcohol in my rebellious years, because although I fought a lot with my Dad, I had a level of respect for him that was BEYOND beyond. I don't think either of us recognized that until the last year of his life. He was a very strict father and very difficult to live with. I've been thinking a lot about how much he changed when he reached his 60's. He started eating spaghetti and pizza and other things that he labeled "slop". He started putting a little bit of Bailey's Irish cream in his coffee and laughing about it like it was a guilty pleasure. He let loose a little bit and realized that he wasn't his father and that being human didn't make him bad. I'm beyond happy that he realized that before he left Earth. So, several years ago, at about the age of 49, I finally realized that I'm not my Dad, I'm not my Grandfather, I'm not summed up by my past or the things I've lived through. I'm CLEARLY a control freak, because I DID inherit that from both parents, but that makes it more than okay to take a break and have a glass of wine (or two, haha) at the end of the day. It's funny how some of us punish ourselves for the transgressions of our elders. I'm trying to be the sum of my DNA plus the sum of what I am on my own and I believe my Dad approves. Cheers, Dad. Tonight's glass of wine and being human is for you.