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A Son Moves Past the Anger of His Childhood
by Tom C., South Carolina
When I was a boy, before my father drank himself out
of his business and his marriage, he was the one you
wanted to remove a splinter. “Get Dad to take it
out,” my brother advised me when I was crying over the
sliver in my finger. “It won’t even hurt.”
Amazingly, he was right. My father told me to
close m eyes and look away, made some corny jokes in a
silly voice, and then it was over. “Done,” he told
me.
Later on, in my twenties, a friend who
understood my problem told me, “This stuff about your
father, this stuff you’ve buried—you’re going to have to
deal with it someday.” I had no idea what she
meant. I didn’t think I had buried anything.
I had lived through my childhood and moved on.
What was I supposed to deal with?
My wife urged
me to find an Al-Anon meeting. She knew my
background. She saw my unhappiness. But I
think the 45 minute tantrum I threw when she criticized
my driving may have influenced her advice.
When
I studied From Survival to Recovery, I identified with
the general characteristics the writers put forth: a
tendency to either keep people at bay or drop all
boundaries; to expect to do things right the first time
or not do them at all; to insulate oneself from risk but
ignore self-destructive behavior. But what
especially struck me was each person’s decision to
change.
The idea that the anger and melancholy
that had been a part of my life for as long as I could
remember might not be my true self struck me. What
if I were to give it a shot? What would I do if I
found out that it hadn’t been cloudy all my life, but
that some of those windows just needed to be washed?
I was grateful I had a fledgling program when for
the first time in my adult life, I received a birthday
letter from my father. He had moved into a house
with a garden, and grew some cucumbers. He was
starting to eat them now, and they tasted good. He
signed the letter, “Happy Birthday. Love, Dad.”
I started to cry, choked back the tears and
convulsed harder. The stories I’d been hearing of
him for years from my sisters were that he would call
them for a ride, and then borrow money from them and
from a nine-year old grandson. He lived on beer
and pain relievers. He entered a recovery program
one weekend and called them up the next for help finding
his car. I did not trust this man to be in my
life. Thanks to my program, I was able to respond
in a caring fashion.
Later his landlord found
him passed out, dead drunk and called the hospital,
where he died. It will probably always hurt to
think about him drinking himself to death in an empty
home. But even if I’m sad that he never found his
way to recovery, I’m grateful to my Higher Power for
having allowed me to receive his last gesture of love,
and respond in a loving way.
While I would have
rather learned this lesson another way, the readings,
prayers, and meetings that helped me get through that
painful period illustrated to me that I’d found a second
family in Al-Anon, and why I wanted to be there to pass
the program on to the next person who needs it.
Reprinted with permission of The Forum, Al-Anon Family
Group (December, 2009)
Al-Anon is a great
resource for ACOA’s if you’ve not checked it out.
Their web page is
www.al-anon.alateen.org for more great recovery
stories.
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