Happy Father's day

Bored at work as usual, I was surfing the internet and ran across the website “the daily voice.” I didn’t even know father’s day was yesterday. I started reading all the different entries from black gay men on their fathers and I couldn’t relate.

I don’t care about father’s day because mine died when I was five years old. I remember that I didn’t like him. I thought he was an asshole. I also remember that he didn’t like me much. He thought I was too effeminate. I sometimes wonder if he had lived what type of relationship would we have had. I am his first born son.

I like to fantasize that my father would’ve saved me from many years of abuse, foster care systems and my mother being addicted to crack. But the truth, my father was kind of the reason my mother first started smoking crack. I don’t know the whole story just what relatives tell me. The truth, if my father had lived he probably would've been another deadbeat dad. I mean, he had like ten other kids by ten other women. I remember when he was alive, he was never around.

As I gotten older, I think more about my father. When I turned twenty seven years old I knew that was the same age in which he died. He was still so young. Growing up I always wanted that male figure in my life: somebody to protect me, teach me about sports, and teach me to ride a bike or tie a tie for an important interview. I learned most of that stuff on my own. Growing up, I guess I wanted my father to teach me how to be a man. I know he probably just taught me how to be a criminal. It’s the sad truth. I just wish my father could’ve been a better man and then he wouldn’t had gotten himself shot in the head. Happy Father’s day dad.

Today is a good day

A friend of mine said he was reading old blogs of mine and noticed that I’ve been going through recovery since 2005. I laughed. I call those the crazy years. Actually I didn’t start recovery until September of 2007 and didn’t get serious about it until January 2008.

I believe everyone goes through their own journey in recovery. I used to think it was about being fixed. I understood why Amy Winehouse rebelled about not going to rehab. I just thought the world wanted to change me and I didn’t want to change. I thought I was having fun. I didn’t want to become lame or conformed. Everybody would say that I needed to get some help but I thought that just meant they wanted me to be somebody else’s problem.

I find it funny when I see celebrities on television boast about how much sober time they accumulated like Tatem Oneil running to an AA meeting after she was busted for trying to score crack. I think it would’ve been wiser to have gone to the meeting before the crack run. I don’t believe rehab or AA is the “save all” unless the person seeking enlightment and freedom from their addiction is willing to surrender their ego and deal with the real issues.

I used to think it was about the alcohol, the physical bottle and that tempting liquid inside. I never really got passed the first step in AA because I never believed that I was powerless against alcohol. It wasn’t like somebody was holding a gun to my head. Yet, I do believe alcohol affects people differently. I know I can’t just have one drink. I know it takes a longer time and more alcohol for me to really feel it and by that time I’m already drunk. But I have never been powerless. The fact that I can stay sober for good periods of time is a testament of my power. I understand the pitfalls. Yet, they are the urges and some days the voice is louder than others. I learned what my triggers are and how to be preventive.

I guess I started blogging about my addiction as a reminder of where I’ve been and how far I’ve come. Yes, I still drink occasionally. I still working on it. But I haven’t lost my sanity. I used to drink with no knowledge or introspectiveness. It’s like having a disease and knowing nothing about it. First, I think it’s the diagnosis and then it’s the recovery.