Forgetting 30 Father's Day's. Remembering an Alcoholic.

As far as I can recall it was a day that never happened.

Absolutely non-distinctive and forgettable.

Yesterday when I asked Mom, she said “all I can remember is backyard BBQ’s and a lot of drinking. I don’t remember ya’ll ever having a one-on-one, but you always gave him a card”.

Yeah, sounds right.

He was always drinking and I always gave a card.

I don’t remember any of the possibly 30 or more cards that I may have given.

I don’t even remember necessarily wanting to give a card despite how much I do and did love him. But I know I would have given a card.

Today, on this Father’s Day, I’m wondering what I wrote in those cards. I can safely assume I got a card that had truth to it – I have always thoughtfully considered and selected a card. Always.

So I wonder, did I pick a card that simply said what I felt and added a quick scribble at the end?

“With love, Justin”

Or did I add to it?

“Roses are red, violets are blue, Dad, you know I love you”?

Did I wax poetic with a heartfelt sentiment?

“Dad, in all these years a single card can’t sum up what my heart has stored for you. You’re the best!”

Or did I try to inspire him?

“You’re a great dad! Keep doing amazing things – I love when you spend time with me and all the great things we talk about”.

I don’t really know.

I simply don’t remember.

Like I said, I always thoughtfully pick out cards. So I’m sure it was genuine and optimistic – that’s how all those cards are written anyway.

As I try to imagine a day I don’t remember, I find myself drawing familiar scenes together to create a picture.

Somewhere between the long draw from a Marlboro red and another sip of coffee, I slip an envelope across the table with “Dad” written in the center. Eye contact and a smile – I smile back. He clears his throat and I watch his hands work the card free. I watch him read. I imagine those words of love and hope and optimism dancing forward in his mind all the way to his heart. I imagine they arrive like a fisherman’s bobber splashing the surface of his mind before sinking away being pulled deep below were all those good things went and rarely came back from. I see him, red faced and red eyed and hung over force another smile and come for a hug and a kiss. Depending on the sentiment or the year, or the level of drinking the night before he might have laughed or “felt it” deep inside – for a moment. But the moment would have been short lived. I imagine it ended with me looking optimistically for a thoughtful response. Something that would have balanced my time spent on the card. I always pick a thoughtful card, surely he noticed right?

And, after the moment passed I’m sure I thought “maybe next time I’ll say it better”. Or maybe I thought I could believe the what the card said with as much belief as I could muster and it would be real for me too, that the card was the sum of all my feelings for him. And that he felt that way too. As the years passed and I got older, maybe I thought it didn’t matter, but at least I was trying – at least one of us was trying.

I’d like to say I don’t remember simply because I didn’t give it much thought, but that would be a lie.

I’ve always been very thoughtful about my dad.

The quality and nature of those thoughts have varied over the years, but I know that when Father’s Day came, it came with me thinking about him. And I know that not many days came or went (nor do they still) where I don’t think about him.

So much thinking. So many Father’s Day’s now passed yet I just can’t remember any of them.

I know they happened. I know I was there.

Where are those memories now?

Today, after nearly a decade of him being gone and me now having ten years of experience as a dad myself, I wish we could talk about life and my kids. I wish we could swap stories about the things kids do, the things I did as a kid at the same age as my boys, and what my kids are doing now and how proud he is to be a dad and grandfather.

I know that on this day, I’d be thinking of him and give him a thoughtful card. And I know that I would be more patient and also more direct and clear on what I mean with my words and my heart – and he’d better understand what I value. And he’d know that I valued him, loved him, and forgave him.

I wish I could have told him what I really thought back then. I wish he would have understood things from my perspective and that it might have mattered to him. Maybe it did. I don’t know.

If only I could have found that right and perfect card that would have lasted more than a moment on his fogged radar. That card that shook him free without repercussions to me after he read it. That card that would have said what was truly on my heart rather than the simple optimistic platitudes.

The perfect Father’s Day card.

That’s what I’m thinking about at this moment.

What’s it take to be that perfect Father’s Day card when your dad is an alcoholic?

The one that shows honesty, compassion, hope, forgiveness, love, and optimism but says directly what your heart cries out for?

I don’t think there is one. Maybe there should be one.

Maybe across the front, in a nice script or calligraphy it could read:

A Father’s Day to remember!

It would open showing a son and father walking toward a setting son. The interior message might say:

Dad, you know I love you like only your son could.

Flesh and blood, you know me and that I am good.

So on this day, and in this way, I really must say,

For the one thousandth time, your breath stinks so please stop the drinks.

I know you’re busy, work is hard and you aren’t in the mood.

And yes Dad, I know you’re stressed and this seems really rude,

But you’re resistant, constantly distant and so unpleasant

I can’t help wonder if you love the drinks more than what I think.

You know I love you, so don’t let these honest words light your fuse,

It’s because I care so much, so here is a great idea you can use.

After all, it’s Father’s Day today! So in this way, if only for one day,

This is what I think. Let’s spend the day together without even a single drink.

That might not be the card for everyone on Father’s Day. But today, if dad were still alive, I think this card would be the one I would thoughtfully consider – and hopefully have the courage to give – lovingly and optimistically, and with grace – free of judgment and anger. Maybe for him, in just that right moment, with the grace of God it would be the perfect card that actually says what matters.

But I don’t know.

I didn’t see that card when I went looking and I don’t think a card like that exists.

I wish it did.

Now, after nearly a decade passed I still miss and love my dad so much.

I know he drank down his thoughts and pains and I know he added my childhood to his well of mistakes. I wish he wouldn’t have. I wish he would have had the courage to break free from its grip on him.

I wish he could have seen how great of a man he was, how wonderful his mind was, and how generous and beautiful he was to those whom he loved and that loved him. I wish he knew that we always loved him, it was just his drunk counterfeit that we despised. I wish that he knew what we knew about that guy, that counterfeit, that he was trapped in a bottle that didn’t have to be drank from.

Instead, he could have been sober and free. Free to love, free to be loved, free to live completely unbound from his drinking. I know this is true and possible. There are thousands if not millions whom have broken free from that bondage.

I wish I had the memories of a dad who conquered his alcoholism.

How mighty and strong would that be?! How great an example of would that set?! What a beautiful thing to honor on some future Father’s Day! To be able to write in a beautiful Father’s Day card, the simple post script: “Dad, I love you, and I’m so proud of you and the time we have together”.

I know this is heavy . A real buzz kill I’m sure. Especially on such a day as this.

But this is real. How long must we watch our dads drink away their life and honor? How many sons will rise up in this shadow to do the same as they father another generation of sons who don’t remember their Father’s Day’s either? How many, like me, will not look fondly on past Father’s Day’s?

How many, like me, will ask what really is the point of a Father’s Day anyway?

Is it the drinking and cookouts? Is it a “day off” for Dad’s from the job of parenting? Is it a day for those busy and distracted dad’s to stop everything that distracts them so they can finally focus on their kids and, if only for a day, be a Dad and nothing else? I wonder, are dad’s going all year anxiously waiting for this one day? Is this the one day when they are honored as the head of the family, the provider and protector? Is this day special?

I don’t know. Dad was an Alcoholic.

He never told me what it meant. I mean, what it meant to him.

And so today, when I reflect on those living years with Dad, I can only assume it didn’t mean all that much to him. Just another day…

Maybe because of his dad and his own life experience he though Father’s Day was just another day. Maybe he thought it was a non-distinctive and forgettable day. Maybe he too had years of experience and felt it was just another day that never happened. The kind of day with food and lots of drinking. A day with a card that didn’t say much and didn’t change much. A day that was like most other days. Maybe his dad never told him what it meant either.

And that makes me so sad.

All those memories we could have had that died, one by one, drink by drink, forgettable day by forgettable day. Traded like cheap currency for fleeting numbness and new hurts and pains.

And here I am, still reflecting on those dead, forgotten memories. Wishing we would have more days free of the toxic fog of alcoholism.

Here I am still wishing more could have been done sober, more that would have been worth remembering on a day like Father’s Day. Surely its more than BBQ and a lot of drinking and giving a card.

(posted on 6/19/16)

About Justin McCullough

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