Meet The Man Behind The Addiction

Today is my Dad’s birthday, and I realized you should probably meet the man who I consider the “real” Steven Louis Chance. The man behind the addiction. Who he was when sober. I want you to meet the kind, loving man we all adored so much. The man I always hoped would stick around.

Steve was born on August 21, 1956. He grew up in a small town outside of Boston called Newton. 

He was the youngest of three children. His mother was Irene, and father Sheldon. The oldest of his siblings is my Aunt Carol, followed by my Uncle Al, then my Dad. My grandmother always called him “Stevie.”

He grew up a bit of a wild child, just like I did. He has told me many crazy, funny stories from his past. Like how as a kid in winter him and his friends would take their sleds and go into the streets and grab hold of a car and go for a ride! He was a daredevil.

He grew up in an Italian Jewish family and had his Bar Mitzvah at the age of thirteen, which in our religion signifies “manhood.” An “Italian Jew” was not something very common back then, and because my Grandmother wasn’t Jewish, there were many ways people made her feel lower for it.

My Dad worked for my Grandpa in his ceramic tiling business called Beacon Tile and Marble Co. when he was in his twenties. He also worked as a mover, truck driver, and even owned at one point an Arcade with my Uncle. 

That’s when my Mom and brother met my Dad. And as a kid, I’m sure my brother was in heaven! He always talks about how he would go to the arcade with mom and wear his rain boots, and Dad would give him tons of quarters. He would stuff them down his boots while he walked around and played all the games.

My Dad had thick dark brown hair. (Again just like me.) I always tussled it because he always had to have it “perfect.” He even had a brush in his car at all times. I swear, every time before getting out of his car, he would brush and touch up his hair.

Dad’s favorite hobby of ALL time was golf. He would play golf any chance he could. And he was good. He loved it. For me, he always loved it a bit too much. Golf on TV always! And no, you could not change the channel. It’s not one of the things we share in common. But let me put it this way; we put a golfer and his favorite golf term “love your lie” aka love where you land on his tombstone. We even leave golfballs for him sometimes instead of the traditional stones when we visit his grave. As much as I may hate it, I know it meant a lot to him.

Dad’s favorite sports teams: Celtics, Red Sox, New England Patriots. I think you can see the theme. He was also a fan of boxing and the woman’s CT Husky’s basketball team.

My Dad’s favorite animal is the elephant, which I have adopted as my favorite animal. Just like him, they are kind, amazing creatures. He had tons of elephants that both my brother and I inherited that sit in various places around our home. It’s nice to have something special close to remind us of him.

Dad’s favorite colors were red and black. His wardrobe mainly consisted of jeans, a black t-shirt and sometimes his blue denim button up. OR golf clothing.

Dad loved to watch movies. We were always watching movies together. At home or in the theatre it didn’t matter. I swear he’s why Blockbuster lasted as long as it did!

Dad also loved to read, a passion we both had very much in common. His library was one I could only dream of one day having, BUT I do not have the room for that as he did. When he would read a hard covered book, he always used the jacket as a bookmark and would get so bent and worn; he ended up throwing them away. So all his hardback books would never have the cover jackets to them. It used to annoy me because I love looking at the artwork for a novel.

My Dad loved my Mom. They were each other’s best friends. No matter what happened, she was the only woman he truly loved. To see them together it was like witnessing something rare. The smile and eyes always told all.

He was very into fitness. Dad always liked to stay fit, eat right, and meditate. A healthy lifestyle was important to him. I think it comes from abusing his body so many times that he wanted to make sure he was healthy in all other aspects. 

He loved my brother and I. He may not have always been the best at expressing it or showing it, but I know deep down he truly loved the shit out of the both of us.

Dad was the best type of friend. If you were in his circle of friends, he would do ANYTHING for you. Dad cared. He was emotional. I just never fully realized it before. When he loved, he loved.

He swore. A LOT. Hence where I get my own dirty mouth from, and I don’t hate it.

He loved music. A few of his favorites:

• Allman Brothers Band
• Steely Dan
• Warren Zevon
• U2
• Queen

Those are just to name a few.

He was a fantastic storyteller. Which I think is a family trait that I never inherited. He held your attention the whole time, never missing a beat. He was captivating. Dad also knew how to tell a good joke. He tried to teach me, but I always mess up jokes. I happen to lack that skill.

My Dad was a major neat freak. Oh, how my messiness drove him mad! I think my brother inherited Dad’s squeaky clean lifestyle. 

He had a transforming smile, although half of his photos look like mug shots, or have an annoyed” let’s get this over with look.” But when he truly smiled, you couldn’t help but smile back.

He was my Dad. A father/daughter bond is so different, unique in its way. Just like my Mom and I have a special relationship in a but in a different way. Dad had so many amazing qualities when sober. I am lucky to have experienced good times with that man.

But, he had a disease. And it takes all these wonderful qualities and turns them into something completely different, a stranger. But underneath the addict was a loving, caring man who did amazing things that I will never forget. Dad was a man who loved deeply and was also hurt deep down inside.

Behind an addict, is a person, and people who care about them. They have families and friends. We need to learn who they are underneath the disease.

I know he tried to fight his demons. Or, well… I think he thought he was trying. I know he wanted to get better, but didn’t know how. I know deep down that good man wanted to win, he just didn’t know how to admit to fault, and yes its sad but that’s okay. It’s okay because I know he is at peace now. He is free of the pain and the hurt, as much as it really hurts.

It also strips away everything you’ve worked to gain in life. But I’ll never let it strip away who he really was. Because without the addiction, he was my hero.

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