Let me explain. . . from my soap box.

I feel the need to explain, especially to my children and grandchildren, why I abhor alcohol so much. Why, just the mention of drinking makes me recoil. I become defensive, abrasive, and intolerable when I am connected to it in any way, shape, form or fashion. I want to drag my soap box out, perch upon it and start campaigning my reasons.

Now - lest you should think I am a goody two shoes, that is far from the truth. As a matter of fact I enjoyed the beverage when I was in my early twenties. I believe my tryst with the spirits was my way of rebelling. I didn't go thru the "rebellious teen years" the way most kids do. I had far too much responsibility at home to be rebellious. And besides, I would probably not be here today if I pushed those boundaries! It wasn't until I had married and moved out that I opted to drink - and then it was more of a social gesture than anything else. But, needless to say, I did it. So I understand - to a degree the curiosity behind the myth. The myth that it is cool, fun, and has no repercussions. And for some, that might hold true. But for the majority - it is chaotic, scary, possessive, dangerous and inconsiderate of others. Tides have a way of turning - of making you face a certainty. My certainty was: I knew if I continued - even on a social level - that I could very well be staring in the mirror at the very person I did not want to be. My mom. And. . . and. . . it was by the Grace of God that I was allowed to understand and see the possible results of my choices.

I come from a long - or short long - line of alcoholics. My mom, some of her siblings, my grandfather, some of his siblings, and more than likely one of my grandfather's parents. Had I known then what I know now - well, maybe I could have read the writing on the wall. As it were, I didn't and I couldn't. You see, back then you didn't talk about "family problems". Not amongst yourselves and certainly not to an outsider. I did, however, hear my mom and her sisters talk about my grandfather and his life style. The way he was. The way his brother was. I'm not sure they even knew it was a "problem".

But I know one thing for sure. It affected me. I got over a lot of things, forgave a lot of things, but I can't get past this one. It has left scars and bruises and wounds so deep in my heart and soul that it doesn't take much to open them up, to expose my pain and cause me to become defensive and upon occasion, to withdraw. Unless you've lived in hell, you can't appreciate the burns.

My mom was an angry, mean, ugly woman when she drank. I know that is harsh. But it is the naked truth. She mostly drank in the evenings and night times were bad. She said and did things that left me wondering why on earth she had me, or any of us, in the first place. She fought with my dad when she drank. I mean that literally. She wore the black eyes and bruises to prove it. And when the mood struck mom - it usually struck one of us kids. She carried a tremendous amount of dissatisfaction, fear, unhappiness, pain, and loneliness inside herself when she was sober. Compound that with alcohol, well, it was like lighting a stick of dynamite. She had no control of herself, her thoughts or her words, or her reactions to life itself. It was beyond her and it was beyond me. I could not help her. It was a most horrible time in my life.

Sundays were welcome relief for us kids. Back then you couldn't buy alcohol on Sundays. So we had a brief reprieve from the chaos that came with the drink. But when the Blue Law was lifted all hopes went down the drain. Sundays became fair game. We became weary. I see nothing pretty, cool, or fun about that situation. And unfortunately, it is that way with a lot of drinkers.
They may not get violent, but they change in one way or another.

By the time I was born my grandfather had gotten sober. I never knew that ornery side of him. I only knew the man that shared his saucers of coffee, his Tums, his time. That's as it should be.
Happy, fond memories of someone you love.

My mom, on the other hand, never got to enjoy that time in life. Sobriety. Grandkids. Unconditional love. She left this world at 44 years of age with one teenage daughter at home and three adult children that knew all had come to an end, but couldn't grasp it. The fear of the cause of death was as painful as the death itself. A large void was where she used to be.

I fear this unwanted legacy has been handed down thru the generations, to unsuspecting recipients, ones I love and cherish. And again I feel I can do nothing. You don't know when you take that first sip if it's going to be the hook that snags you, reels you in and claims you for it's own, or if you will just steal the bait and go on your merry way. You. Just. Don't. Know

I don't want you to think that I condemn everyone who drinks. That is NOT true. I just don't know how to "handle" it appropriately. I'm like the horse wearing blinders. I can only see the path in front of me and that path is actually my past. I just don't want that iron fist locking onto the ones I love. It can very difficult to free yourself. It scares me and I want to protect my loved ones.

And for the record. I do not, I repeat, do not, hate my mother. I understand now her "illness" and the hold it had on her. I have forgiven her and my father. You see, he was the enabler. I believe every alcoholic has someone who "tolerates" the problem to keep "peace".

I feel good and bad about this post. I'm not sure I conveyed in an accurate, kind way the way I feel. I just know I had to say it. If I were to wear a sign, I think it might go something like this:

"I am a child of an alcoholic. Please understand my position on drinking. Thank you."