There were so many reasons that I am amazed I even made it to adulthood. One of them was the realization as an adult that my dad was most likely very under the influence of alcohol when he was behind the wheel. Dad always had open beer in the car (when it was legal to do so, mind you). When it was no longer legal to do so, that did not stop him from going 'up and down the line' as he'd call it. He'd often take me with him when he did this.
Dad would drive from bar to bar, stopping to have a couple of beers at each one while looking for and/or waiting for any of his buddies to show up. He bought me all kinds of soda and snacks, gave me quarters for the jukebox, and even more quarters to play pool, pinball, darts, or that bowling game where you slide the puck over metal triggers and the pins pull up. I thought he took me with him because he wanted to spend time with me. He took me with him because he wanted to go drinking and he couldn't leave me at home by myself. All of the junk food and the quarters he gave to me that made me feel so special kept me quiet and occupied while he passed the time. Then he got back behind the wheel and risked driving from place to place with me in the car as he became more and more intoxicated.
I knew all of the places by heart; Al's Tap, The Moose Lodge, the VFW, Ralph's, Bud and Viv's, Four Corners, the list goes on and on. When we were on vacation, it was the holy trinity of The Uptown Bar, Rhodie's, and the Chatterbox. These were within walking distance of each other, two on the same side of main street, and one kitty-corner across the street from them. Dad never wanted to go anywhere that he couldn't have a beer. I don't remember him ever running out of it either. I would later learn that my dad took Librium, which my mom's doctor describes as 'powdered alcohol'.
When I was old enough to stay home by myself, Dad liked to 'fake me out'. He would ask me if I wanted to go for a ride with him (which really meant he wanted to go up and down the line). I would ask him to give me a few minutes to get ready (we're talking no more than five minutes at the most here people). He would sneak out of the house and get in the car. I would walk out the door to find a) the car pulling out of the driveway b) the car halfway down the block already or c) the car already long gone. After several episodes of this particular behavior, I said "If you really don't want me to go with you, please don't ask me to. Sneaking out and leaving me behind after you've asked me to go with you is just cruel, and there's no excuse for it."
He was also very cruel to me about my weight. It didn't matter that he was a major contributor to my extra pounds with all of the junk food he was always plying me with for one reason or another. It also didn't help that he had a sadistic side. There was a grocer in town called Fairway Foods that sold the most god-awful store brand canned spaghetti I had ever tasted in my life. Franco American it was NOT. Slimy, tasteless noodles in red-colored water that was supposed to be sauce. There was no flavor whatsoever. I was gagging on this stuff.
Dad asked me what was wrong. "This is nasty! There's no way I'm eating that!" I spat in disgust. "You...don't like it?" He stared at me, utterly incredulous. "No, it's gross!" He shook his head. "I don't believe it!" he said. I turned towards the wastebasket to throw the can away. "Give me that" Dad said. Puzzled, I handed it over. He set the can on the table and left. He returned with a piece of notebook paper and a black marker. He made a sign and propped it up next to the can. In big, block letters he had written: The Only Food That Becky Doesn't Like. A sizable arrow pointed in the direction of the can. I rolled my eyes and moved to take it down. "Leave it!" he snapped. "What? Why?" I asked. "I said leave it" he warned.
I knew that my brother's friends were going to see it....and so did he. I started to feel sick inside. I tried one last time. "But Dad..." "LEAVE IT OR ELSE!" he thundered. When my brother's friends came over, I could hear them laughing and joking about it. I was humiliated into the very dust. My heart screams anew in agony with the memories of wounds as fresh as the day they were made, the pain laying me open straight down to the bone with every word that I speak, every thought that I think, every letter that I type. I discovered that he derived a deep, sadistic satisfaction from humiliating me in front of the opposite sex.
We were at a place called Kozy's Pizza with family friends. One of their sons brought a buddy of his along with us. At this particular time in my life, I was a healthy 132 pounds, perfect for my age, bone structure and height (I was about 23 at the time). Dad asked if I had my camera with me. I told him yes, that it was out in the car. "Why don't you go and get it?" he said. "You could use the exercise anyway." Everybody laughed. I felt my cheeks flush with embarrassment; tears stung my eyes. I snatched the keys from his hand and stormed out the door.
There were several times at work (we had the same employer for awhile) where he insulted me freely about my looks in front of male co-workers. Mere weeks before he ended up passing away, he was still at it. McDonald's was having a 79 cent cheeseburger day. Each of us bought a sackful to take home to our families for dinner (we did not live in the same house, mind you). He asked me to carry his food for him. I had the two bags in my hands when we passed a table full of his friends. They called out and waved to him in greeting, smiling between the two of us, waiting for an introduction. "This is my daughter..." he announced to them. I nodded, smiled and said hello. He motioned towards the bags with his hands "...and these are all hers."
I closed my eyes as they roared with laughter; I couldn't get out of there fast enough. I stared at the back of my dad's head with tears in my eyes, thoroughly stung. "Was that really necessary? Why did you have to say that?" It disturbed me that he had nothing to say for himself. We got in the car; he drove me back to my house in silence. I mumbled goodbye and pushed the door shut behind me. Deeply hurt, I headed straight for the house and didn't look back.
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