by Rodney Crutchfield

Created on: March 15, 2009   Last Updated: March 16, 2009

Father- At Last I Understand

I'm now 61 years old, and my father's been gone for the last 36 years of my life. He

died a relatively young man of 51. I remember good times with him, but more deeply I

remember the absolutely horrible times- you see, Daddy was an alcoholic.

Daddy was an alcoholic, and to be more specific, he often was a mean drunk.

Whenever he was drinking, he would take it out on anyone around him. Needless to say,

I learned at a very early age to stay out of his way after the bottle was opened (which was

as soon as he hit the door after work. He would head straight to his bedroom, fifth of

vodka and chaser in hand, and the next time I'd see him, he'd be rip roaring drunk. This

was a nightly occurrence.

When I was a child I understood none of his behavior. All I knew was that I could not

have friends over for the fear of them finding out about my darkest secret. I did not

understand why he often beat me, or hit me, many times in the face with his fist. All I

knew was that this was life with Daddy, and over the years I learned to resent him, even

though I still loved him and despite his actions I knew he loved me. When he was sober

he was one of the kindest, most gentle person that I have ever known.

Nonetheless, I grew to be a man, always harboring ill feelings toward my father. I

become a man who was not very self confident, one who was never content and could

not stick with a job. I felt that all my shortcomings could be traced to my father. I could

not succeed, but it wasn't my fault. The more personal problems I had, the more I laid

the blame on Daddy.

My father died in 1974- as much as I tried, I could not find any tears. I continued to

resent him in the years to come, maybe even more so as time went by. One summer my

wife and I went to visit my aunt in Ocala, Florida. The subject of my father came up, and

I told her about how I didn't understand about how my father treated me. Then she told

about his experiences in World War II, and how he had spent time in the Pacific Theater.

She showed me an old newspaper clipping about Daddy winning a Bronze Star by killing

69 enemy soldiers one night when his company was almost overrun by superior enemy

forces. She told me that he had had it rough, and came back a changed person, never to

be the man he once was. I knew that he had nightmares every night. Still, I was unfazed

and felt that this was the man who had tortured me and ruined my very life! I could not

begin to forgive him.

What makes a man suddenly realize that everything he has believed all his life is, if not

wrong, at least is tainted? For me, it was not my aunt's pleas to forgive my father, or even

remembering the times that were good opposed to the bad times. It came to me while

listening to a country song. It was about a young man talking with his grandfather about

some old black and white pictures he had found. One of the pictures was taken in 1943,

and showed the old man in uniform in what the grandfather called "the middle of hell".

It didn't hit me the first time I heard the song. After hearing it many times, all of a sudden

I knew- my father went through the middle of this hell and never totally made it back.

Just as my aunt told me, I knew that this was the reason my father drank and why he was

the way he was. He was trying to wipe out the memory of hell!

As I said, my father has been gone nearly 36 years. It's too late for me to talk with him

about my feelings. All I can do is put my thoughts down on paper. Daddy, wherever you

are, I now realize the torture you went through. At last I understand!

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