Tag Archives: whiskey

Alone In the Dark

One night, when we were coming home from my brother’s house, my girlfriend and I were playing our guessing game of “is my dad awake or blacked out?”.  As we approached the house, we saw that all the lights were off and so was the TV was off.  “Whew” he’s asleep.  As we walked in the door to the living room, my father was sitting in the dark.  Alone.  Staring at the TV (once again: that was off) and listening to music off of his cell phone.

The sight of this startled both of us and all I know how to describe this situation as is: creepy.  I remember stopping and staring at my father for a minute or so and the only thing I could manage to force out of my mouth was “hey”, in a confusing tone.  My father just turned his head and stared at us.  I was confused about the reason my father was in the dark in the sense that I did not know the reason why he was in the dark, staring into the blank TV, by himself, with a glass of whiskey and a sappy Country song.  Perhaps there was a power outage and he was listening to music on his phone to pass the time?

However, when we finally made it up the stairs to where we stayed, I flipped the switch and the light turned on.  Creepy.  That is all I could think about.  My brother and I could not find a house soon enough.


Special Delivery: Part 2

I am ashamed to admit that there was one time, and one time only that I bought my father his whiskey.  I felt like I did not have a choice because my father was extremely drunk on this day, he could barely talk and could not even call my name or tell me what he wanted from the store.  I was in the basement watching TV when my father called my name and mumbled some other words I could not make out.

So, I went upstairs to see what he wanted.  It started out that he wanted me to go buy him a pack of cigarettes.  After I agreed and he handed me the money, he thew in that he also wanted a pint of whiskey.  I did not want to buy the whiskey for him!  I paused for a moment trying to think of a more polite way to say, “are you out of your f%$*&#g mind?!”  I was extremely angry that he would even ask me to do such a thing and before I could respond he just said “never mind, I can go get it myself”.

So, there it was.  Buy the whiskey for my father or let him drive drunk to the corner store.  When I got to the store, and and placed my father’s order, the clerk said, “you must be (my father’s name)’s son.”  That was it for me, the last straw.  I was extremely embarrassed and I was infuriated at the entire situation.  I did not even reply to the clerk and walked out the door after I bought my father’s cigarettes and whiskey.

When I brought the cigarettes and whiskey back to my father, I told him to never ask me to buy the s#*t for him again.  He started crying and I walked away.

Drinking on a Friday Night

The Friday after my father came back from his 2nd rehabilitation – one week after he came home, he had 11 beers left in the fridge.  Can you guess how many he drank?

While I was completely expecting him to drink 5 beers on Friday night and the remaining 6 on Saturday night, I woke up to quite the surprise.  ALL 11 BEERS WERE GONE!  The empty box was thrown onto the counter as if it were a trophy for him.  From having gone out Friday night myself, I asked if he had anyone over that could have assisted him in drinking the 11 beers.  My father replied with a simple “no” as if nothing had happened at all.  I was quite disgusted.

Also to my surprise, I found that when I was throwing out some garbage in the trash can in the kitchen, there was an empty pint of whiskey.  Words can not describe how I felt.  I was beyond disgusted and beyond disappointed in him.  How could he do this?  Why is he drinking this much again?  Like most things, my girlfriend was right and I should have listened to her instead of thinking that one drink could lead to eleven beers plus a pint of whiskey in a few short hours.

There were no migraines to speak of.  He was not working and had not been around distraught customers.  There was NO excuse for any of this!  He seemed happy the first day he walked in the door one week ago.  He seemed better, I should have trusted my gut last weekend.

On His Own Again

After my dad filed for divorce, my mom moved out of the rental house and in with my grandmother, out of state.  This left my dad alone – again – with his thoughts and his whiskey.  This time, my father did not have a job.

He did however, have two sources of income.

1. Unemployment from his job

2. Half of my mom’s severance package she took when she left her job (which happened right before my father moved in to the rental house with her).

These two sources of income were how he was able to say in the rental house and pay his bills.  How he got the unemployment after quitting his job and taking so many days off work, I do not know.  As for my mom’s severance package, she just decided to give him half so they could have a quick and painless divorce.  She claimed that it was half of my father’s money, anyway.  I did not feel like he deserved one cent.

Even though I was not directly involved in the conflict between my dad, brother and mom, I still found it hard to speak to my father.  He was acting completely irrational and out of control that night (and a few days following) and that was the point when I knew things were not going to go back to normal.

When I mean normal, I mean the lifestyle my parents were trying to live right before my dad started this whole debacle…



A Place of His Own

For reasons I do not know about, but can probably guess, my parents decided to separate about three months after they moved into the new rental house.  So, my dad moved into an apartment by himself and my mom and brother stayed at the new house they just moved into.

Around this time, I was having financial problems myself and decided to move into the rental house with my mom and brother.  Every so often, my mom would tell me to call my dad or go check on him (he lived a few blocks away).  Even though I called my father frequently, she still told me to do these things.

I would always call him, but rarely visited because I did not want to visit him in the state he was in.  I went over his apartment only a few times and every time I did go there he was intoxicated or on his way there.  Plus, all he wanted to do was talk to me about his relationship problems with my mom and I did not really care to hear about them.

The only good thing that came out of my father moving into an apartment was that he was the sole bread winner and needed a way to pay his bills.  This is good because he did go to work every day like clockwork.  He would even boast about how he could get through a whole day of work with a giant “migraine”.