My Rose Colored Glasses (Part 1 of 3)

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Writing 101 – Day 4: Serially Lost
Today, write about a loss. The twist: make this the first post in a three-post series.

dad n me

Let me tell you a story about how I lost my Rose Colored Glasses! As a young girl I was a daddy’s girl. I absolutely lived for just the slightest glimpse of my father. He wasn’t the tall, handsome stud that fairy tales are made of, but I did not care; he was my daddy and that was all that mattered.

My father is a Vietnam Vet and I am in my forties so I have few memories of him before the war. I do remember him being a big source of love. I remember missing him terribly when he left to go overseas and I remember the smell of his cologne. He wore old spice on occasion and I still get nostalgic when I smell it. When he returned home he was changed as anyone would expect. However, as a child I did not understand his moods. My daddy has always been a kind-hearted gentle man and he hated to discipline me when I did something wrong. There were times when I was in trouble with my mom and she insisted my dad spank me. He would take me in the room, shut the door and talk very loudly while hitting the bed with the belt. We had a secret agreement that I would scream and cry while he hit the bed. I was very good at crying on demand back then.

Those are my memories of my dad when he was sober. I have come to find that alcohol is the doorway to Hell! When my dad drank he was never violent, but he was definitely a different person. If he wasn’t lying in the floor in a drunken stupor, he was urinating on himself. He also thought of nothing but how to get more alcohol. My dad was responsible for picking me up from school because my mom was at work. He was always on time waiting for me outside and most days we would walk home together. He usually had a treat for me and as a child this bought my silence for whatever mischief he wanted to get into. Sometimes he would pick me up in his car and we would go to the store and get candy. One day in particular he purchased a sack of penny candy and some ice cream, the price for my silence, and then proceeded to take me to a liquor house. Now don’t panic, he would not let me go in, I was told to stay in the car. Time went by as I ate my ice cream and played in the car. After a while I heard loud popping noises and then I saw my dad come running out of the door and down the sidewalk. It turns out he was gambling, lost and in his drunkenness tried to buck on his opponents who retaliated by shooting at him. He got into the car and sped off all the while saying don’t tell your mama. She found out anyway because we live in a small town and the neighbors saw the whole thing. Needless to say, I started thinking differently about the first man I ever loved.

4 thoughts on “My Rose Colored Glasses (Part 1 of 3)

  1. My dad was an alcoholic too and I have some terrible memories from it. Your writing pulled me right in to your story and it also drew me in emotionally. I had to laugh when you told about your dad beating the bed while you pretended to cry! Haha! Unfortunately, I always got the “real” leather belt.

    • Priceless Joy,
      Thanks for sharing. They always say no matter how bad your situation is, there is always someone worse off. I am sorry you had to suffer, but know it was for a reason. Peace and Love

  2. I remember my dad used to go out every night to the social club that he was a member of and he would come home sometimes very drunk. Even though this was a every day event he was never violent to any of us. Then when I got out of the service I used to follow the same pattern go out with my friends after work and put down a few. My last one I don’t even remember how I got home and when I did I had thrown up on myself. My year old daughter was asking my wife what’s wrong with daddy and after that I stopped drinking.

    • Angelsdreams828,
      I am very happy to hear that you stopped! Your daughter will not have to remember the things that I have seen. There is just something about the military culture that drives excessive drinking.

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