The 13th...

Today is my father's birthday...he would have been 62...he died 19 years ago. It's funny how you can miss someone that has been gone that long. He was by no means the best dad in the world but he sure was alot of fun...fun normally ensues when you have no rules! I was his only child, his one true love...unfortunately he loved his whiskey almost as much, maybe even a little more.

My father lived through alot....his father was a Colonel in the Army, he helped run the selective service department in Louisville during Vietnam, the same time my father was turning of age to be drafted. You would think this gave him an edge, my father thought so too, thought he would find an easy way out, he was great at those...my grandfather despised that part of him....so he enlisted in the Air Force National Guard...the safe place to be...or so he thought...got called to action almost right away, he ended up flying cargo planes during Vietnam, I think he saw one too many people die...whiskey became a real good friend after the war.

He married my mother only to find out she was in it for the money, the one thing he could give two shits about. Oh how he loved her, that would be his downfall. They divorced when I was four, it was ugly, she remarried one of his closest friends, but that is a story for another day. Now he and the bottle were permanently attached.

Can't tell you how many accidents he had because he was piss-ass drunk and driving. Luckily he only ever injured himself. The worst was when he decided to go chasing after my stepmother, sleeping at her ex-husbands house, on his motorcycle. Apparently he didn't see the gigantic telephone pole on the side of the road. He had handlebars through his stomach and his foot was severed all but the Achilles tendon. You would think that would encourage one to stop with the drinking crap but not so much with my dad, he was thick headed that way.

My stepmother's brothers were never very fond of my dad, they were asses, criminals to be more exact. One night they decided to chase my father around the barn, yes people remember I am from Kentucky, and proceeded to beat the crap out of him, can't remember what excuse he gave for that one.

Then there was always the time that my stepbrother decided to shoot my father in the gut, bullet went straight into the freezer, we left it like that till the day he died. He never really told the truth about that one either, told me he shot himself cleaning a rifle which would not only be ridiculous but physically impossible as well. Little bastard got away with it!

With all this one would think somewhere along the way he would get his shit in order and sober up. Well in December 1988 he tried, he was divorcing my stepmother and trying to gain more courtesy of me. The August before, the last time I saw him in person, I asked him why he drank, I was 11. He told me because of all the pain in his life, all the anger, especially towards my mother. Stupid 11 year old kid that I was I asked why he couldn't do something else, "Like what?" he asked...I said I didn't know. He told me to think about it....while he ran into the store...the liquor store. New drink in hand he awaited my answer...."How about hitting a pillow?" I don't recall his reply but I remember making it very clear that summer I was fed up and angry myself. I found all his stashes in the house and poured them down the sink. He was never angry with me, not once in my life did he ever raise his voice to me, much less a hand, but the next day new bottles would just appear.

That December he got sick, real sick....told me all the great things we could plan for my winter break, I had a day by day schedule all ready. I even knew he was trying to quit drinking, little did I know what that would mean. My father had been an alcoholic for almost 20 years...he tried to detox on his own. He had to call my grandparents back from Hawaii to take care of him. They picked him up drove him to the only real home he ever knew, that one I spoke of as my one regret, my grandmother put him in bed, pulled up the sheets and watched him take one last breath. On December 13th he died of alcohol withdrawal syndrome, his heart gave out, his body needed the alcohol to live and he denied it.

For years I blamed myself, I was the one that asked him to stop....I killed my daddy. I was probably 20 years old before I really understood it wouldn't have mattered. His liver was 600% larger than it should have been, I guess everyone has a point of no return.

Despite his huge shortcoming he was a good man, an honest man, a man willing to help anyone, a man with NO prejudice, a man that so many called a friend, I just wish one of those friends would have helped sooner. He was so much fun, probably more fun that a dad should have been, he didn't seem to understand the whole kids can get hurt thing. If I wanted it I got it, he used to wake up early, hungover and all, drive to the bakery, 15 minutes away and get me long john donuts. He really was a loving father, I just wish he would have loved himself enough to stop...maybe then I would be saying he "would" have been 62.

So for what it's worth Daddy...Happy Birthday...I hope you have found some peace...I miss you everyday...and I love you every bit as much as I did 19 years ago.