Lessons Learned From My Alcoholic Father

Temporary heartache can teach us a lot about being better people

It seems as though we learn our most valuable life lessons through our hardships and traumas. While these blips of time leave us with permanent scars, we often emerge with a more enlightened perspective of life.

I didn’t know my dad had a drinking problem until I was 15. Although I don’t ever remember a night where my dad didn’t have a beer or two, it didn’t progress to be problematic until my sophomore year of high school. What was once a few Coors Lights to end the day became more than a couple of glasses of Jack Daniel’s on the rocks. He knocked them back until he reached an angry level of drunk that would put him to bed.

I avoided him at all costs and even managed not to exchange a single word with him for three months. As soon as I heard his truck pull into the driveway around 6:00pm, I would retreat to my room for the night. But our house was very small, so I couldn’t fully escape the drunken rants and rage that would undoubtedly ensue as he made his way through a few glasses of whiskey. I’m still haunted by the series of sounds that would play out every evening; they signaled that the normalcy of my day was over.

The rumble of his work truck humming in the driveway, followed by the silence of the engine shutting off which alerted me that he would soon enter the house. Run to your room Kay, you only have a few seconds before he walks through the door.

From my bedroom I could hear the creak of the front door opening, followed by the steps of his work boots carrying him straight to the kitchen. No hello to my mother, no hug for his kids, his mind could only focus on one thing.

The kitchen cabinet opened with the slightest squeak, the clink of the glass bottle of Jack hitting the tile counter seemed to echo. A long pour of whiskey flowed; it sounded like the glass must have been nearly full before the liquid stopped running.

He would let out a long sigh of relief after that first sip — that’s when my eyes would well with tears. His footsteps carried him back to the living room, his chair clicked back into a reclined position where he would stay, sipping his whiskey, for the rest of the evening.

My once happy daddy was a sad shell of his former self. My hero had become the bane of my existence; a stranger in my home that I couldn’t bear to look at. It seemed like his alcoholism had come out of no where; I used to try to guess what I had done to play a part in this downfall. Did I hurt him? Did I disappoint him? I must have done something to be demoted to less of a priority than a drink.

One night while my parents were arguing, which had become the norm in our house, I decided I couldn’t stay silent any longer. I opened my bedroom door and stormed out to face my father for the first time in weeks. I looked him right in his eyes, they were red from the alcohol yet hauntingly empty, and just started screaming. Screaming about how much I hated what he was doing to our family, how much he was hurting us, and how much I wished he would stop being so selfish.

I will never forget watching the emotion return to my dad’s face as his eyes filled with tears and his face softened. He managed to get out a few words as I stormed out of the house to cool off:

“I’m hurting too, Kay. But no one seems to notice.”

I thought my dad’s alcoholism had entered our lives suddenly and without explanation, but in reality it was long overdue. My dad had felt unfulfilled for years, trying to distract himself from his sadness by staying busy and never confronting it head on.

My dad is too prideful of a man to ever show much emotion or admit that he needs help. I think that’s a flaw in the way our society teaches men to cover-up their emotions, my dad is a prime example. There were a few occasions that he opened up and let me in, but at the time I was too young to understand the lessons woven into his stories. When I think back to these conversational moments I realize I gained a lot of perspective from him that has enriched my life today.

Like when he told me about one of his last conversations with his dad before he passed away; my grandpa had invited my dad to go hunting but he declined the invitation because he was too tired from work. A few weeks later, my grandpa passed away from pneumonia. From this story I learned the importance of not letting life’s obligations get in the way of spending time with those you love.

Or when he would talk about how he entered the workforce straight out of high school; he passed up on the opportunity to go to college so that he could start earning money working in construction right away. He always wondered what he could have been if he had invested in his own education or pursued his passions. Knowing how much my dad regretted settling taught me that sometimes the lure of money isn’t worth it.

Sometimes my dad would tell me stories about his old friends. There was Bill who introduced my dad to weightlifting, Greg who was my dad’s bike riding partner for years, and Clarence who had beaten cancer and become a marathon runner. He would reminisce with great happiness, which quickly turned to dejection when he was reminded that he had lost his connection with them. Each time my dad told me one of these stories, I was reminded that adults need friends too.

But the most transformative thing I learned from living with a father who struggled with alcoholism was empathy. This lesson in empathy came gradually as I got older and started to better recognize some of the emptiness that my dad was feeling. And while being empathetic doesn’t mean that you necessarily relate to someone’s behaviors, you can at least understand why they may have acted in a certain way.

While it had felt like he was choosing alcohol over his family, in reality he felt like he had no where else to turn. The anger that emerged when he was drunk wasn’t directed towards us, it was frustration and guilt for his own life that he could no longer suppress. He felt despondent and was terrified that his family viewed him with the same disappointment, so he hid behind the bottle.

While I still can’t say that I am glad to have gone through the experience, I can say that I appreciate the lessons I’ve learned and the strength I’ve gained from it. My ability to empathize has allowed me to move on and mend my relationship with my now sober father.

I don’t want this narrative to paint a picture of my dad as a pitiful man who doesn’t have much to show for his life. He has achieved a laundry list of accomplishments, but that’s not what this story is about. This is about the years that my dad was broken and needed our empathy. It was his turn to rely on someone else instead of being the foundation supporting everyone around him.

Some people are lucky enough to have their dad bestow worldly advice that has been acquired through years of success and triumphs, but my dad just doesn’t have that life story. He’s a blue collar worker who’s spent the majority of his life sacrificing his own happiness to build a life of security for his wife and children. A lot of what I have learned from my dad came from watching him struggle through his own missteps and mistakes. And while the experience was heart-rending at times, I am a better person for the lessons my dad has taught me.