Finding Good In The Bad

My Dad was a alcoholic. He died when I was 12. When he drank he did some pretty mean shit. To my Mother, and to us kids. When he got drunk he got mean as shit. My poor mother got the most of his rage. Not only did he abuse her at times he was also unfaithful, and verbally abusive. He would also turn this rage on us kids sometimes.

My Dad was a clean freak. He liked everything spotless. Not only spotless he liked things to be a certain way. So if they where not a certain way he got mad as hell. When they where not a certain way, and he was drunk he went nuts. He once dumped all my dresser drawers. Then made me refold all my clothes because they where not lined up nice, and in a straight stack. He wanted them all stacked neat, and in rows. Shirts in one drawer, panties, shorts in another. All stacked neat. I did it. I was liked 9 or so. I did it to shut him up. Cabinets in the kitchen had to be all neat, and lined up. Like a grocery store. No dishes in the sink.

I won't share to much more. Why? I don't remember to much more. Well when someone lives a life like this they learn to block things out. The bad shit. It's a way to survive. If I walked around remembering all the bad shit that went down, then I would just repeat the cycle. I had no desire to live a life like that. To treat my kids like that. To marry a man like that. To treat my husband like my Dad treated my Mom. I wanted better. So many days lost. Weeks. Birthdays. Holidays.Years. Memories gone.

It is for the best. I have built walls to survive. It is how I can stay happy. It is how I'm not an alcoholic myself. How I know I cant be a dick to my kids. How I know that  they need to be hugged often, and told they are loved. That they are pretty, handsome, smart, and that I believe in them. That they can come to me if they need me. That  they can make mistakes, and I will still love them. Sure I get mad. But abuse? No. Never.

I would be a liar to say my Dad was a dick all the time. He had some good in him. He was a good person. The problem is when he drank he become mean. The last years of his life he drank almost everyday so you guessed how much he was mean. Often. Sober he was nice, and fun. Of was he an all right dude. I used to sit an wish the liquor store would just be closed. So that he couldn't buy beer. If he didn't have beer then he would't be an asshole. If he couldn't get drunk then he wouldn't be mean. Then he would probably cook us a big nice dinner, and for just a few minutes feel sorta kinda like a family.

He had such good taste in music. He would turn it up loud, and sing to it. That is a good memory I have. He would play it, and cook. Cook, and sing. Usually classic rock or the Blues. He always played it in the car. He would play it loud when we all cleaned house. He told us "music makes the cleaning easier". I find myself doing that to this day. I also cannot drive without music. I listen to music, and cook. Just like he did. I find myself even listening to the same songs sometimes. When I listen to certain songs they bring back memories of my Dad. He is happy in the memory. So am I.

There was also this one time in the snow. He pulled us around on a tire behind his truck.  Around the town square. The cops yelled at him he just kept going. My hands got so cold, but when we got home he made us all hot cocoa. He wasn't an asshole that day............
You just have to find good in the bad.

Otherwise you would go mad..........

He loved this song. Sing it loud baby!