“I promise you dad, if you address this drinking issue, I will not text you again,” I shouted angrily, “but if you don’t, feel free to block me because I won’t stop.”
“See how she talks to me?” He looked at mom and my sister, who were already standing between me and him, so he wouldn’t hit me.
“If I were you, I’d check into rehab.”
“You think you’re clever?”
“I am clever,” I told him, “That’s why I’m telling you, you have a drinking problem. How can you drink this much, and you’re not even eating?”
“Are you the one who buys me that beer? Just go find a man and get married. And if you keep up with this, your husband will be beating you seriously.”
“Honestly, if this is what you call marriage, and if men are like you, then I would rather stay single.”
Remember that essay I told you I wrote? ‘Why I think you have a drinking problem?’ It’s because I had foreseen that fight, and I didn’t want to be involved in that verbal altercation with him. If only I had given it to him earlier.
I almost complained that a fight mom had provoked was now directed towards me, but then I figured, dad is an alcoholic and he is in denial, and I pointed that out. He definitely had every reason to hate/hit me; speaking from a drunken point of view.
Most of the time, when I’m not in the mood to fight, I leave dad and go to the bedroom even though he interprets it as cowardice and follows me, threatening to hurt me and stuff. On Sunday however, I wanted him to fully understand that I meant everything I was telling him; I decided not to run. If he wanted to take all his rage out on me, then I was going to stand there and let him do it.
See the thing with my father, is when he starts talking, he gets so vulgar, one forgets they are talking to a parent; still, I tried hard not to lose my temper, because I didn’t want to have issues that would take me to the confession booth when the waters had calmed. There’s so much I wanted to say to him, but I restrained myself.
“You’re going to be a truck driver,” he seethed.
“I’m not going to pay your fees for law school.”
“This far I’ve come dad, God has brought me. And if it’s His plan that I become a lawyer someday, it won’t be because of you. Besides, I already knew you drank my fees.”
A parent wishes only the best for their children; that’s what people say, right? Well, not my old man. He’s wished very many things upon me, none of them good. I remember this one time he was in my big sister’s bedroom, fighting, and by mistake, as he waved his hands carelessly in the air, he hit a low hanging light bulb and it fell on the floor, shattering into pieces.
That day I hadn’t argued with him, but when he saw me picking the pieces up with a dustpan, he just scoffed, “All you do is clean up. You’re going to be a maid.”
I was hurt, obviously, but slowly I’ve come to understand that’s who he is. So when he said I would be a truck driver, I deduced it was because of the fact I had taken the car without his permission and normally he never lets me drive it unless he really wants me to; when he’s in a good mood, and it has nothing to do with him being protective of his car. I hate to admit it, but he’s just mean.
It’s not the first time I’ve felt this, or said it, but dad is just mean. Now that I’m much older, I understand how he was able to spend long hours in bars, leaving three defenceless kids hungry. It’s not my place to judge him, but everytime I see him binge-drinking, I pity him. Soon, my sisters and I will be moving out, and every little thing he does bespeaks anything but love/care.
One might be tempted to think I’m just a crazy girl, desperate to be loved by her father, but honestly, I couldn’t care less if he hates me. When I decided I was going to confront him for his alcoholism, I knew he would hate me for it; but I did it anyway; because I hate the way he treats mom when he is drunk; I hate the man he is when he is intoxicated, and the things he does would make me wish for a better dad if I were still a baby.
No child or woman deserves the drunken treatment he so enthusiastically dishes out. And even he were a woman, no man would deserve such.
I understand alcohol could overpower someone, especially when one becomes addicted to it, but I also imagine, if one truly loved someone, they would give it all up for them. In the text I sent dad, I told him to consider giving it up for mom. He always says he loves her, and when my sisters and I move out, it will be just the two of them left.
What worries me is the thought that I don’t trust him enough to leave mom in his care when we move out. I’m scared he will hurt her, like he did when we were young. He has done it so many times before, and now he drinks more than he did then and he is more violent than he was then. How I’m I supposed to trust he won’t do something stupid?