Alcohol’s Not-So Silent Nights, Those Unholy Nights

Christmas being in the not-so-distant past has conjured up memories of some childhood classics. After all, the holiday season is when shit really hit the fan in my family. I almost (emphasis on the word “almost”) feel guilty for having enjoyed the recent holidays devoid of guilt, drama, or police intervention.

 

Thursday Night Was Must-See Drama

Thursdays were never met with much anticipation in our home. Thursdays meant paydays, and paydays meant dad had money to waste getting wasted at the bars. Meanwhile, my hardworking mother was suffering through another 12-hour night shift so my sister and I could enjoy humble activities like eating and continuing our education. And so my sister and I would walk home from school, fingers crossed that dad would be inside the house when we arrived.

 

Love Him, Don’t Respect Him

Someone once told me, “You don’t have to respect your father for all he’s done to you. But you have to love him.” I have stood by those remarks all my life. In many ways, I was the man of the house. Most of the time, I was the only man in the house, thanks to a father who had a bad record of absenteeism.

 

The Beginning: A Very Good Place to Start

The trouble with giving family background is pinpointing the best place to start. Being a history grad, I know all too well that history is a series of cause-and-effect relationships. It’s cyclical. It repeats. My grandparents, no doubt, provide a telling tale of war and post-war struggles, even raising a family in a different time. Or my own parents’ upbringing at the height of a cultural revolution. With all due respect to them, this is my story.

 

Opening the Archives

Till now, this blog has briefly reflected on the past year. That was the original intent, and I hope you’ve enjoyed the journey thus far. For my casual readers, my stories and writing style may not resonate as much as they do with those who know me, due to the fact that you have never met me. And because you have never met me, you don’t really know my past.

From the start, my hypothesis has been this: My past has been a rickety roller coaster of highs and lows, mostly lows. Despite the tragedies and heartache my family experienced over the past 30 years, the past year has actually meant more to my maturity and progression as both man and adult.