Breaking Bottles

Essay 6: Common Denominator

If you drink a lot, you won't like this read.

If you live with or love a drinker, you'll relate to it.

If you don't have exposure to alcoholism or addiction, you'll probably think I'm crazy.

This project is not the first time I've analyzed this whole journey and talked about it out loud. I went through the process with some buddies; both those I was getting drunk with and long-time pals from previous chapters who were struggling mightily with the same foe. A couple of them went through the washing-machine cycle of “quitting” with me.

A best friend of mine who is of this crop once told a story that left such an impact on me. It did him on too as it's what kicked off and fueled his quitting journey for a solid two years. Unfortunately, his dance with Lady Alcohol was not yet complete. He had gone off with his family for a weekend to a national park area. Not an uncommon tale for that troop, who I've basically known for life now. My boy told me rather nonchalantly how the entire weekend had revolved around his ability to get that next drink. It hadn't seemed that way in real-time, but the replay made the call clear. He said it was dinner at the one pub, and then some roomies; brunch and lunch and what might be open around that next area they were heading to; etc. When the realization sunk in, it really haunted him. Did he need to be drinking at all? Kids were young, man. This is family time. Ok, sure; moms and dads can and should and do have fun too and taking the edge off is part of how us Americans roll. But is that what drinking had become on his family outing? Heavens no.

He was day drinking and I think what hit him hardest is he realized he was guiding his whole family around based on where HE could access the next drink - it was like he had mapped that out as their trail. Get to the next fix. That's all that is, we just glamorize alcohol to make us feel better about the damage of this one addiction. We don't give cokeheads or heroin junkies the same pass and prefabricated excuses, do we? But hey man, I'm not trashing. I can relate. Time to drop one of my true moments of shame. It's cathartic to own up to your weaknesses and low points.

My family crew had gone out to our favorite pumpkin farm on a beautiful Sunday morning. My little angel was maybe 3 or 4; Daddy's Little Girl. This is that bliss period for young parents when everything you do is special. Just being together is special because they are so special. But ol’ dad back then couldn't do life without sauce. Not exactly sure why. Maybe I'll figure that out by the end of this series. I had done as I did and stashed my pockets with some Fireball double shots. This was football Sunday! Surely that's a good enough justification to get a little buzz, right? (If not, I can think of another.) And if we're going to have tacos early - and of course margaritas - then I might as well start a bit early and enjoy myself at the farm. They don't sell booze, so I'll bring it. Shit, I may have nailed some Asti at home before we left if the mood was right. This all made sense back then.

All made sense, all was rationalized, at a kid's event. Booze where it doesn't belong. Little kid; and not just any, but my little kid. Supposed to be a day all about making magic for her and where is my mind? So I head off to a PortaPotty to pee and do my thing. I twist off the cap to one of those cinnamon nips and bang it! Walk out of there with my sunglasses on thinking I'm cool shit… right as my wife walks in to pee too. She must have sat over empty Fireball bottles that I wasn't even smart enough to cover up. She knew her husband well.

If looks could kill! We had one of our biggest fights that night. It wasn't that I even got all that drunk that day. I hadn't. It wasn't that she was shocked to see me packing liquor in my pockets or drinking clandestine. She wasn't. It was the totality of it all; the situation and timing; the lack of fucking judgment and inability to prioritize anything higher than yourself, even your own seed, even at something so precious. Hurts to say that, but it's true. I fought back that night along the lines of how I was a good dad and had even been one that day at the patch. Both true, but it wasn't the point. It just wasn't the point. I was blind; alcohol was coloring everything.

I titled this oddly for a reason. I shared these stories together for the same reason. When getting that next drink has become the common denominator in your life, you've lost and you've lost bad. This is end-stage alcoholism just potentially not quite yet progressed to end-stage. But it's close and you're spiraling. I saw it again tonight close-up. A good person, a good mom, drowning in alcohol because it always seems to be the common denominator. She hasn't done damage… yet.

How many people live this way? Drink on the mind every time they go out no matter the scene. Or eventually every time they do almost anything. Out camping or picking pumpkins with your tots? Yeah, fuck it! Give me a double.