Feature Article March 13, 2003
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The Daughter - Part 1
This
series of articles was written by one of our readers. The stories are
true; the names are fictitious.
Drawing by Martina Field
As
a child, I grew up in an era where drinking was socially accepted
amongst the parents of the day. The Dean Martin Show and the
Galloping Gourmet are just two T.V. Programs that my family
watched. Both of these men drank on their shows. Later it was
told that Dean Martin drank soda or water, and Graham Kerr had a
plastic covering over his wine glass. They really werent drinking,
but that was the times back then.
My father began his drinking before I was born, when he was around 25 years old. By the time I remember him coming home plastered for the first time, I was 4 or 5 years of age. I woke up and had to go to the bathroom, and when I came out my daddy was sitting on the bottom of the stairs trying to untie his shoes. I was shocked to see my daddy acting so weird and smelling so awful. He looked up and smiled at me, which frightened me even more, for he didnt smile at me like he used to. His smile was more like a smirk. Then he asked me to give him a kiss. I stood frozen in the door frame, just staring at the man who looked something like my daddy, but acted like he was someone else.
Daddy asked me again to give him a kiss, but I couldnt move. He reached out and grabbed my arms and pulled me hard against his chest. His breath was disgusting and I had to turn my head away from it, which caused Daddy to become angry with me. He squeezed my arms and demanded that I give him a kiss. He shook me back and forth and started yelling at me. Then and there I knew that this man wasnt my knight-in-shining-armour-daddy, for he would have never done that to me, and I refused to give him a kiss. Then he said something that made my blood run cold, If you dont give me a kiss Im going to throw you out in the cold! I wouldnt give in but began to scream and tried to get away. Daddy picked me up, still clutching both arms as tight as a vice, and began walking to the front door. That was when my Mommy showed up on the scene. She demanded that Daddy let me go, but he told her I was being punished for being a rotten brat and pushed her aside.
Then I heard this loud demand from my 12-year-old sister, Let her go now Dad!! but all Daddy did was swing his arm around and smacked her so hard in the face that she fell against the wall and crumbled against the floor. She looked up at me so defeated and lost. I stopped crying or trying to fight him anymore. Mommy was begging Daddy to stop, but he wouldnt. He opened the door to let in the winters cold and blowing snow and set me down on the frozen step in bare feet. As he shut the door he looked down at me and I stared back into his eyes, and all the love and admiration I had for him went cold with it.
I dont remember how I got back into the house. Later in life I was only told that a lady who lived in our house managed to distract Dad long enough to allow my Mom to retrieve me.
Ive watched my father try to run us off the road and say he was going to kill us all. He tried to burn our house down with us in it. He had a loaded gun under his bed and kept saying one night he was going to use it on us. My fathers drinking never ceased, but increased. He missed out on so much of his familys life. He never wanted to be around his six children, of whom I am the youngest; yet he would brag about us at the bars and amongst his drinking buddies. Many times furniture was destroyed because of his demands. The telephone was pulled from the wall so many times that my Mom learned how to re-install it herself to save money. I never had friends stay over night, for I never knew how Dad would react. Oftentimes I would come home and find him sleeping just inside the front door on the floor. Mom eventually put a couch in the entrance way so that it would least look like it was better for him sleeping on it instead of the floor if anyone came to the door.
During his drunken times when my older siblings would have parties at the house, Dad would often come downstairs nude to shock their guests. Or he would walk around in his boxers with the pee hole open. Mom would always have to steer him back upstairs, where we little kids would have to hear him swear a blue streak because Mom was ruining all his fun.
I dont have all the paper in the world to tell you all the things he did to make life miserable growing up. I just know that I lost all respect for him the night he threw a little girl outside in a snowstorm with nothing on but a red flannel night dress. I lost all respect for him when he would belittle my Mom in such harsh ways that I couldnt take it anymore, and when I was 14 years old I kicked my Dad out of the house and told him not to come back until he could show some respect to others. That night my Mom realized that she had to do something, so when he finally came back, she asked him to stop drinking, get help or she wanted a divorce.
Christmas 1977. Dad was wasted through the whole thing. I remember Christmas day as if it was yesterday. The whole family gathered. My two older brothers, their wives and three children, my sister and her boy friend, my two other brothers, my Mom and myself sat around the big dinning room table waiting for Dad to come carve the turkey, but he was too drunk to stand up. He sat in his boxers all day on the couch!! How he managed to go out that night to a party I will never know, because I never really paid much attention to him; no one in the family did.
Dad and Mom came home that night and he went to bed and stayed there all of Boxing Day and got up around 9 p.m. Mom, my one brother and I were watching Christmas comedy specials on T.V. I sensed someone looking at me, and looked up into the saddest eyes I have ever seen. Where Dad was standing, no one else could see him but me. He was looking at me - for what I never knew. I had two thoughts go through my head at that time.... 1) Hey Dad, come on in. Red Skelton is on. 2) Go on and get drunk like you always do. The second thought took hold; I said nothing and looked away from him.
That night he committed suicide. I was the last member of my family to see my father alive.
I could have, should have, but didnt. He could have, should have, but didnt either. The pain of what he had done tore our family to pieces. Actually it was like a bomb had exploded and scattered us everywhere!! No one thought that maybe we would need counseling. Everyone thought it best not to talk about the drinking or the suicide and eventually it would go away. But it didnt and it still hasnt, and that was 25 years ago this Christmas past.
Being a daughter of an alcoholic sucks. My father never attended anything I participated in. He wasnt there to watch my softball team win first in the province. He wasnt there when I won an award for Most Promising Actress in the provinces drama competition. He wasnt there when I had an operation and was scared to death because no one on Marcus Welby survived surgery! He wasnt there when I was became the first female Air Cadet in Canada to be allowed on the Firing Squad with an average of 92%. He wouldnt even attend the Air Cadet Banquet, of which he was an organizer, because he was against having girls as Cadets. That was all before he died.
After his death he wasnt there to celebrate my sweet sixteen. He wasnt there when I won Miss Inglis Memorial and wore a ball gown and high heel shoes for the first time in my life. He wasnt there to comfort me when the love of my life - the boy next door, my boyfriend of three years - dumped me. He wasnt there when the true love of my life came into my life. He wasnt there to walk me down the aisle. He wasnt there to see my children grow up to be great young men. He wasnt here to kiss the boo-boos or to share in the good times. He chose a life other than that. Dad chose not to go to A.A., but to end it all, and for that he has missed so much.
In writing this it is my desire to see other daddies not miss out on their childrens lives. Every little girl needs her daddy to protect her, and every little boy needs his daddy to teach him right. Every little girl needs her Mommy to show her how to be a good mommy when she grows up, and every little boy needs his Mommy to kiss it where it hurts and cheer the loudest when he plays sports. My brothers, sister and I didnt have that because our dad chose a different priority. If you are one of those Daddies or Mommies, you can choose to get help, for someone elses life depends upon it.
