Chapter 7: Looking Back

"They say not to look back, but if you're not sure what lies ahead, what else is there but looking back?"
-Laurell K. Hamilton

It's 2AM December 14th, and I'm lying awake because my mind wont shut off. Where is my dad? Something has to be wrong...right? Something is off, really off. I just have a feeling. The has to be an answer, there has to be a clue. So what do I do at 2AM in the morning? I begin exploring all the memories of my dad that pop into my head.

CUE FLASHBACK:

I'm 8 months pregnant and really really uncomfortable. For some reason my dad and I are sitting at the kitchen table talking about childhood. Its the middle of the day and Mom and the kids are at school and work.

"Do you remember your childhood or did you block most of it out?" I ask my father.

"There are definitely holes, but I remember a lot. It's hard to forget," he replies.

"How much did your dad drink?"

"A lot baby. He would go after work and get a 1/4th of whiskey. He'd drink it until he passed out or finished it," he replies looking off into the distance as if something is there.

"Was he always drunk or was it just after work?" I question.

"That's the thing baby, he was such an amazing person when he was sober. He was so loving and funny. We had the best times when he was sober and had been through rehab."

"So he tried to get sober?"

"Oh many many times, but it wasn't like the rehabs today. It was more like a detox back then. They kept him for a week at a time and then he came back. I can't even remember the amount times he went. He tried to get sober a lot but he just couldn't stop," he tells me.

"And nobody ever called the cops on him after the beatings?" I question.

"The cops came a couple times, but it wasn't the same back then as it is now baby. My dad was really charming ya know. All he had to do was tell the cops that his wife was being out of line and he was correcting her, and they just left. They let the man of the house take care of his business. It was a man's world then. There weren't programs and protocols like there are now," he explains.

"What about your teachers? Didn't they say anything?"

"No. We always came up with excuses. I punched my brother Bill and he punched me or I fell down the stairs. The usual. Nobody questioned anything," he tells me.

"So what justified a beating?" I question...because I'm that nosey.

"There was never a rhyme or a reason. It could be anything. I remember one time my dad walked into the room and yelled for me. I walked into the room and he took me by the shirt and threw me across the room. I mean he picked me up and threw me across the entire room. I remember hitting the wall and then waking up later in a different place."

"How could a father possibly do that to his son?" I question in disbelief.

" I don't know baby. You just never could tell. This one time we were at a bar and this guy walked by and knocked Mom's purse off the table. Dad told him to pick it up and apologize. The man said no. Dad got in his face and demanded that he apologize and pick it up, but the man refused. You know what he did? He picked him up by the neck and threw him through the window. He had incredible strength. I mean he was an iron worker, so he had brute honest strength and when he was drinking, he was unstoppable."

"Oh my God. How old were you?"

"About 8. We went to the bar with my dad all the time after school. He would go play cards with his buddies and me and Uncle Bill would just wait. We never knew if he would walk out of there the angry drunk or just plain old Dad. Its probably a good thing he died when he did. When he died, Uncle Bill was getting big- he was 14- and he probably would have killed him one day. There's only so much a kid can take."

" I can't believe you are so normal Dad. Having gone through what you did, I just can't believe you aren't totally screwed up."

"Well, Uncle Bill took a lot more of the beatings than I did. He was only a year older than me, but he protected me," he says.

"I wish Uncle Bill was still here. I still can't believe he's gone."

"I wish he was too baby. I wish he was too," my father replies as tears well in his eyes.

"And nobody ever stood up for you and Uncle Bill?" I question.

"My dad wasn't afraid of nobody baby. Well, I take that back. The only person that could put him in his place and he wouldn't touch was your Great Aunt Opal. She was the only one that was able to rip him up one side and down the other."

"She's a feisty one huh?" I reply.

"Yeah, I always loved spending my summers with Aunt Opal and Uncle John. They were good to me."

"You know Noah's middle name is going to be William right?"

"Yeah baby. I'm so glad you are honoring my brother that way. He was everything to me. Some days I don't know how to live without him. Some days it's more than I can't take."

"I know Pop. I know."

END OF FLASHBACK...

Is it possible? Is it possible that my dad was done? Done with life? Done with loss? Done with pain? Just done? Is it possible that he decided to go with Uncle Bill? God I hope not. I want my Daddy. I need my Poppa Bear.