Drinking Is Not Everything

Drinking is Not Everything

My mother and father got married in a small church in Birmingham, Alabama. They had met at Florida State University and fell in love. They had big plans to raise a family, move to the country, and spend the rest of their lives together. It's funny how things never work out how as planned.

Don't get me wrong; my parents did have a decent relationship in the beginning. They occasionally had fights, like most newlyweds, and they usually resolved their issues. Eventually the fights got worse and my dad turned to drinking to "get away from his problems." I can remember waking up at night when my dad came stumbling in from the bars. My father turned into an abusive alcoholic who took his anger out on my mom and us too. He never ate with us at dinner and he always forgot our birthdays. He spent most holidays with his friends at the bars. My dad never showed up to my ballet recitals, gymnastic meets, or award ceremonies. He was never there for me when I really needed him. I knew he wasn't the perfect dad, but I always knew one day he would change his ways.

On January 16th, 1993, my dad was involved in a life-threatening accident while driving home from a local bar. He did not stop at a red light so he collided with three

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other vehicles, one being a semi-truck. He was life-flighted to a nearby hospital where they had to perform emergency surgery.

When I woke up the morning after the accident, I immediately knew something bad had happened. When I walked into the kitchen to get some breakfast, I saw the expression on my mother's face which confirmed my suspicion. I still can picture my mom standing there crying in our kitchen. She wasn't crying because she was sad or worried, but because she was full of disgust and fury. After being informed of why my father didn't come home last night, I walked into my room and cried.

A few months after my dad was released from the hospital, my mom filed for a divorce. When the courts heard about how my father abused me, I was not allowed to visit, call, or have any contact with him until he got treatment for his alcohol problem. He refused to get help, so I didn't speak with him for almost seven years. I never understood why he chose to drink alcohol instead of seeing his own children.

The summer before my sophomore year, I received a letter from the Spalding County Court System stating that I was allowed supervised visitation with my father. I was blissful that he was on his way to recovery, but I was not ready to face him. I threw the letter in the trash and continued my life without a dad. I had made it this far, why should I need him now?

By the time I was a senior, my friends and I turned to drinking. First, it was just occasionally at parties because the other kids were doing it, but then we began drinking every weekend. It was so much fun because drinking makes you forget about all of your

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problems. We were getting drunk every chance