Up until the age of seven I had lived in a somewhat peaceful home. There was noise of course with eight children in the house, but not a lot of chaos or fighting. We were taught from an early age to be quiet in the house and loud outside. We were not allowed to raise our voices to one another or to speak back to our parents. Arguing was not allowed amongst the children and we were to be helpful around the house. My father had a saying that I am sure a lot of my generation was raised with and it was: "Children should be seen and not heard". If we were in his presence we were to be quiet. He didn't cater to a lot of questions and was fairly serious most of the time. My mother on the otherhand would answer any question and sang all day while she cleaned. She did solicit our help once we were old enough to be productive and taught us how to complete chores to her satisfaction.

Imagine my confusion and utter horror the first time I witnessed my father drunk. He was not a nice drunk, he always got mean. He always unleashed all of his pent up frustration about everything that had befallen him in his life and my mother bore the brunt of everything he felt. He always ended up turning on her about the smallest things and she never knew when what she said would turn into a tyrade. The proverbial: waiting on the other shoe to fall is how she lived most of her married life. At these times I felt so sorry for my mother and I loved her more than anything for being strong enough to calmly sit through night upon night of this crazy behavior.

My father was not the occasional drinker, he drank every single day(whiskey and coke and occasionally beer). He drank from 5:00 when he came home from work, until he literally passed out in the bed. On the weekends he drank from the time he got up until he passed out. Needless to say the weekends were the worst time of all in our home. My mother tried nightly to keep the peace and ease him into an early bedtime. Sometimes this tactic worked and we avoided the drunken tyrade, oftentimes it did not.

I have total recall of the nights that I spent praying in my bed that he would not kill her or us. I used to pray: "God if someone has to die tonight, please let it be him". I also prayed: "God just take my daddy away, I don't care where or how, just take him away from here". I remember nights hiding under the bed, lest he should come down the hall to wake us all up. I know now that hiding under the bed could not have protected me, but at the time it seemed like the best thing to do.  He never physically hurt me, but the promise of it was forever on his lips. He would tell us how he could kill us with one swift cut to our stomachs(spilling our guts to the floor)yikes. He learned this while in the service in Germany. He would constantly tell our mother how he could cut her throat before she knew he was upon her. I am sure at these times my mother was also thinking of ways she could swiftly kill him also(I know I would have been).

Some nights we would be sleeping when the fight would escalate and he would come down the hall and wake us all up. Eight children were made to stand at attention(he was a sergeant) and look him in the eye while he told us stories about the Korean Conflict. It would be 2a.m. and we had school the next day, he would keep us up for an hour or more just standing there, listening. I heard the worst stories about how men kill each other and how easy it is to kill someone, all of which put the fear of my father deep in my soul. My mother would beg him to let us go to bed and get some sleep for school the next day. He would finally let us go back, but I assure you it took time to put all of the war talk out of your head and go back to sleep.

My mother kept an immaculate house, cooked three meals a day and strived to keep us all healthy and fed. I know now as an adult, that a lot of her cleanliness and her stiving to keep things perfect was her attempt to keep my father happy, and maybe keep a fight down. She cooked his favorite meals and served them all on time. She ironed his clothes daily and layed them out for him to wear after his shower every morning. She handled all of our school events, homework and getting things ready for each day(we all know what a task this was). She handled all of the discipline and my father was never privy to any trouble we might have been in. She protected us from his wrath and tried hard to keep him happy.
 
The only thing expected of my father was to be the provider, and that he did well. He was a genius and when sober he was one of the smartest men you could ever meet. He had a trade that few men could do and that was to repair televisions. He worked for men who owned appliance shops and made them lots of money.
His first boss in Tennessee was also an alcoholic. They had an unspoken rule not to speak to each other until after 11 a.m. , as they were both coming off of their nightly drunk. 

Lest you think I am exaggerating about the importance of my fathers addiction to alcohol on my young life, let me assure you that it permeated every facet of my life. I was exhausted from being up at night and not getting enough sleep. I walked on pins and needles, lest I should say something or do something that would bring on his wrath. My entire young life was dedicated to being quiet, well behaved, helpful and staying out of his way. 

When things got out of control in our home, and some well meaning neighbor called the police, I felt responsible. If only I could have been better behaved,  done something differently etc. Children always blame themselves. Because they are self-centered and have not learned that everything in the world does not revolve around their actions, they feel responsible for the chaos around them. As a very young child I just knew that somehow I caused the calamaty of events that unfolded before me. As an adult I can see I was a victim of circumstances. Nothing I could have done would have helped in any way. The police would take my father to jail to sober up and while I am sure my mother was glad the night was over, this cost them precious money they could ill afford. So this vicious cycle continued for years and years, 10 years to be exact. Ten years of my young life that I lived in total chaos.

If you are reading this and you have an addiction...please get help. Do it for yourself and for all the people around you. If you have small children, it is imperative that you get help. You are shaping and forming their lives. Your addiction is just as much a part of their lives as it is yours. You can make the choice to stop, they can not. Most people think children are along for the ride. They don't remember the bad things they see, or hear. I am here to tell you, they remember it clearly and it affects them
permanently. I am a result of my father's addiction to alcohol. While I consider myself to be a good and kind person and a productive part of society, imagine what I might have accomplished given the opportunity. I spent years dealing with my childhood and I believe I have come out on the other side a stronger, better person.  However, I would not wish this childhood on your child. Please give your children the opportunity to grow up in a normal household. Peace :) shemelts