by Monica Tunnell

Created on: February 16, 2009

Although I am not an alcoholic, I lived with one for many years. I remember waking up in the morning , finding my father already on his third screwdriver. I remember him justifying this as his morning drink because it contained orange juice, a breakfast drink. I did not know until much later that it was indeed primarily vodka with just enough orange juice to make it orange. At 6am every morning, I would sit down with my father for breakfast. He never failed to have a wonderful meal prepared for me, but yet he never had a plate for himself. When confronted with this, he would assure me that he had already eaten. Of course, later, I found that this was not the case. My father was an alcoholic before I was born, and died before I became a teen. He died because he drank himself to death. Watching this as a child was heart-wrenching and tumultuous.

My father was a successful attorney, he worked so hard to create his personal success, and within that realm he was effective. He failed to address other issues in his world, and through the avenue of alcohol, he managed to bury those issues pretty well. It was a sad story really. To watch someone achieve their greatest potential academically, creatively, socially and professionally, then to see them flush it down the toilet was one of the most agonizing experiences in my life. I cannot fathom why someone would want to do that, but evidentally, he had his reasons. Of course, as a child living with him, I had no concept of alcoholism. I just knew something was wrong with my father. I knew he had issues, but I never knew that he would die. It never occured to me that one could die from drinking too much.

When I was really young and the situation had not progressed to the point of irreparable damage, I remember my father taking me to school, taking me to his office, and taking me on errands. I remember watching him make his final argument in the courtroom and winning. I remember him as someone that other's admired and looked up to. I remember Father's Day at my school. I was so proud that day. He walked in and every father in the room knew who he was and wanted to shake his hand.

But then, things began to change. I started to see a side of my father that not many got to see. I started to see the drinking effecting his persona in a way that made me uncomfortable. A way that made me embarassed to have friends over. A way that made me think of excuses to not accompany him on the normal routines that I once did. His friends began

• 1
• 2
• Next Page >>