When I turned fifteen I had a small party. Veteran’s Day is after my birthday so we always had the day off from school. They used to have teen nights at an old club called Tuxedo Junction right off of Main Street.
All my friends came over early so we could get ready together. The hair, outfits, makeup, etc. My Mom also wanted to sing Happy Birthday and have cake before we left.
My Dad was home, but he never left his room. Wouldn’t even come down to sing or say Happy Birthday.
One of our friends already had their license and a car, so for once, we were able to go out on our own without having to have a parent drive us. I remember when we got to the parking lot of the club we decided to drink before going in.
The memory of this night is like it happened yesterday. All my “friends” and I were singing 50 Cent’s “Go Shawty its yo birthday…” before going into the club.
We had a good time, and when it was time to go home, we did. We had another bottle of alcohol waiting for us because we planned on sneaking out later when everyone was asleep.
Now, here is where it gets awkward.
My Dad got home just about when we did, which was about 12:30 am. Can you guess what I’m going to say next?
He was drunk! As we got in, some of my friends ran up the stairs towards my room, but me and one other friend got stuck behind my Dad as he decided to climb the stairs towards his room.
He kept falling up the stairs. My friend laughing, me fake laughing because not only was he falling up the stairs, his pants were falling at the same time. I was fucking MORTIFIED! And of all days… thanks, Dad. Happy Fucking Birthday to me!
We waited a little while, so we knew for sure everyone was asleep. Then we snuck out of the house to drink down the road by a creek, dodging into the woods whenever a car drove by.
I couldn’t wait to drink. I wanted to forget that my Dad had just humiliated me. I wanted to also forget that YAY he was drinking again AND was too drunk to have cared that it was my birthday.
You think I’d have NOT wanted to drink because of his drinking. No, it just made me want to do it more.
Funny when I look back on certain moments. He drank, so I drank. I see how easy it was to forget my problems with a bottle. I guess I am my father’s daughter.
We were doing the same things, but in my head it was different. I know now that it wasn’t. We were on the same track, him just further along than me.
I started drinking the same age my Dad did. I am thankful that eventually, I turned towards a different path. (It took a lot to get me there, but I did it.) It would have been just as easy not to have. But I’m glad I did.
But at the time, and considering the group I was hanging out with, it was easier to numb myself than look life in its face and challenge it.
This was the first birthday my dad ruined, but it wasn’t the last.
“Children of addicts suffer just as much or more than the addict themselves.”- Unkown Author