Danish, 18, hopelessly devoted to dreaming and thinking way too much just like everyone else.
I personally believe I am and always have been a good kid. I get almost straight A’s and B’s in school. I don’t do drugs. I’ve had two girlfriends, but never knocked anybody up. I am surrounded by good and responsible people.
And I never drink.
I am a good kid.
Actually, when I think about it, it’s pretty weird that I am a good kid. I should be more messed up, having grown up with the dad I do.
I miss mum. Although Dad still drank, when she was around. Either she couldn’t tell or she just didn’t care. She was good for me and Dad, though. When she died 9 years ago, Dad’s drinking got really out of hand.
I was 9.
I find it weird, because in the movies the drunk dads always beat up, abuse or at least yell at their sons. My dad never did so .
Sometimes I wish he would.
It would be so much more easier to hate him. And I would at least get attention or a reaction from him. When I was smaller I would proudly show him my homework, whenever I got a good grade - which was often.
"That’s great son. You’re doing well."
The first time I was proud of his reaction but after getting the same response again and again I realised he didn’t care. When I was 12 I simply stopped telling him about my life. School, friends, girlfriends. He never knew anything. Because he never asked. He was too drunk to notice the fact that another soul lived in the house. I saw a movie once, where someone said they felt like they tried to scream underneath water.
I feel like that too. I am drowning. Screaming for my dad, who will never hear me.
I’m 17 now. I will turn 18 in three weeks. In half a year I will be done with high school and go to college. Dad used most of our savings after Mom died, but after saving up by working and hopefully getting a scholarship I hope to make it on my own. I must get out of this home.
My dad just got home. I heard him close the porch door. I shouted a greeting, but he didn’t answer.
Maybe he didn’t hear me through my closed bedroom door.
He is sober sometimes. We spend time together most early afternoons in the weekends. That is the best time of the week. When he’s sober his eyes are crystal clear. Most of the time there is a bluriness to them.
I can hear him snore in the living room. I went to get a glass of water and looked and him, sleeping in the sofa. I love that man so much. He is my dad, and he is the best dad in the world when he doesn’t drink. I know he loves me. That is why I don’t understand, why he would do this to me. To his only child.
I remember the first time the drinking-thing really got to me. It shook me to the marrow and I broke down crying. That time I swore that if I ever was so lucky to get children, they would never have to experience the pain that I have. A lesson from him. My Dad has taught me many things, like riding a bike and standing up to bullies, but this one is the most important thing he ever thaught me.
My Dad is my hero. I think he always will be.
I’m just so ashamed of him. When my friends implies his drinking, I always brush the subject aside. Saying my dad likes to have a beer now and then, Who doesn’t? I must protect him. After all, he is my dad and I love him.
It is worst in the night. I feel alone. The darkness buries me in misery and I wonder if I will ever escape those contrasting feelings within me.
I never drink.
I tell my friends that it is a principle of mine. That is not the reason. I don’t want to turn into him. It my worst fear of all in life. I’m terrified I will do so.
It has been very long and I won’t let him get hurt.
Because he is my Dad and I love him so damn much.
That’s why I dont understand it. I dont deserve it, it hurts so much. I don’t want to hate him, I can’t. He is still a good dad.
And I am a good kid.