Article February 24, 2003 Issue

In my daddy's footsteps?

By Gloria Harrison

I did not want to end up like him. I saw what alcohol did to my dad—the DT's, the lack of self-respect. When he drank too much, he couldn't work, and someone had to drive his truck, delivering the laundry and making the collections, or there wouldn't be enough money at home. Even Mother, who was not a good driver, had to make deliveries for him. Sometimes when she drove, I was the one who went to the door with the laundry to collect the money.

My mother spent years praying for Daddy. Later in life, I would learn how to heal those hard, suffering, unhappy memories through prayer. But those were tough times for Mother and us kids.

I was a child of few words and on the shy side. I had feelings, but no one ever knew, because I didn't know how to show them. I pretty much kept everything to myself. Often when I annoyed my big brother and big sister, they would say to me, "Oh, you're just like Daddy!" I didn't know what that meant—how was I "just like Daddy"? The one thing that stood out in my mind about my dad was that he drank a lot. It was a big problem. We had seen some unhappy times in the family when he was on a binge, and those were the memories about him that had stuck in my mind. So, all that I could figure out was that if I was going to be just like Daddy, I was fated to be a "drinker." And I believed there was nothing I could do to prevent this from happening to me when I grew up. Every time my brother and sister told me I was like our dad, I felt doomed. I had begun to believe them, and I sure wasn't looking forward to growing up.

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