Papa Don't Preach

My father is a loser.

His love for gaining a high at the expense of my ailing mother is enough. I've been dealing with his drug-induced love all my life. Though, he's gotten progressively worse. Anything he can smoke, put up his nose, or in his mouth, he will. No matter what the cost. And now he's cost himself his eldest son.

I tried. I really did. To accept that he wouldn't change, because he, himself refused to. I'm tired of the fight. Tired of him stealing my mother's prescription medications. Tired of arguing with him about what he's made my family become. Tired of his outright ignorance and disregard for me, my brother, my sisters, and most importantly, my mom.

She's suffering because she chooses to live with him. They just celebrated 33 years of marriage. I'm not sure what the celebration entailed, but it most assuredly was not a romantic candle-lit dinner. It probably consisted of a drooling stupor and Mom turning to bed early. Now, I'm sure there were wonderful moments of pure bliss during those years, and maybe there will be momentary pockets of more...but I'll never know that because I'm done. Absolutely done with him.

Today got ugly. But I stood my ground. I knew what I needed to say, and I said it. And unlike all the other times we got into a heated discussion about his drug abuse, I didn't shed a tear. Historically, I would argue until I was hurting. He'd threaten to kill himself (his only out when backed into an undeniable corner). I'd tell him not to be stupid, and he'd make me realize how sad he was, although he'd never expressly say it. The conversation would end with me in tears, unable to speak clearly with my wavering voice and deep, angry sobs.

Yes. I was a champion today. I'm not looking for a medal of honor; it is a sad, pathetic story. I couldn't back down. I was too angry.

Mom was in a car accident. We spent 5 hours in the hospital. She's okay, but the car's totalled. When my sister took Mom home, Dad yelled at her for not filling her prescription of pain medication. No concern for the well-being of his wife. No concern for the feelings of his children. His only concern was for him to get high, or mellow out, or whatever. What a pathetic piece of crap. A TRUE embarrassment. And he's my father. But not any more.

I was on the way to console my mom when my sister called and urged me to get her out of the house. "Dad" had lost his mind, gone insane really because he was concerned about pills that aren't prescribed to him. I knew I had to get her out of that hostile environment. Years ago, she refused to divorce him. Perhaps out of fear, or guilt, or comfort, and now I had to rescue her...or so I thought.

When I arrived, he was frantically on the phone dialing Walgreens to fill her prescription. They were in their bedroom, Mom curled in a near-fetal position on the bed. I brushed by the druggie and laid next to MY mom. I didn't say a word to the old man. But he responded, "What, so I'm an asshole?!"

From that moment, I knew it was on. Whatever "it" was. Dad was pissed because he needed his drug fix. I was pissed for the same reason. I knew what I wanted to tell him, I just didn't know exactly how it would transpire.

I told him I was tired of him stealing medication from my mom. I told him he was tearing the family apart. I called him selfish. I told him I wished he would kill himself, like he always threatens. I told him he was a horrible father. And I meant every word I said.

At one point, he threw the prescription bottle at my head when I questioned who the meds were prescribed to. When he wanted it back so he could complete the automated Walgreens transaction, I refused, saying that I'd have it filled when I took Mom with me. At that point, he referred to my partner as "your fruit boyfriend". I had always known my sexuality bothered him, but he was usually cordial with my partners. Now, his true colors were rapidly evolving.

Still, I refused to hand him the bottle. He angrily got into my face and threatened to hit me. His face reddened and his scowl pierced through me. Still I didn't waiver. The old man has two bad knees, and my foot was only inches away from a hearty kick, right into the closet. Mom begged him to back down and asked me to give him the bottle.

By the end of the 30-minute ordeal, we both told each other "Fuck You", he told me get out of his house, and to never come back. He did say I didn't care about him, but I pointed out that I called him for his birthday yesterday (they got married on his birthday). He flat-out told me "so what". The failure also made claims that I was "homosexual" because I was molested (not true), and that I was a "sarcastic sonovabitch" (when I'm angry, it really comes out).

During this nasty shouting match, Mom, in all her complacency, wrote him a check for the cost of her just-filled prescription. He snatched it from her fingers and cast a dagger-stare at me before storming out of the room. I pleaded for my mother to come home with me, but she refused, fearing harsher repercussions if she wasn't home when he returned (whenever that might be). So, I let her be. I hugged her hard and told her I loved her then I came home and cried my eyes out.

But I didn't show him my tears he had seen so many times before. Mom told me she was surprised that I finally stood up to him ("like a man," were his words). My brother congratulated me on my performance as well, saying, "I've been waiting for you to do that. Felt good, didn't it."

Yes, it did feel good to tell that horrible excuse for a human exactly how I felt. Without crying, and without writing letters that were undoubtedly crumpled up and thrown away. It doesn't feel good, however, to know that Mom still has to put up with that man and all his insane antics. I'll still visit her, just not in their home. Other people have opted out of visiting there because of his behavior, and I'm sure I won't be the last. Because Keith makes sure to be consistent in one area: being a bigoted drug-induced asshole like everyone knows him to be.

Of course, I'm still angry as I write this. The anger will fade away, but my feelings will not.