Raising A Glass

I saw my father drunk exactly twice.

The second time was when my grandmother died

But, the first time was the one I remember the most.

Dad had a great sense of humor and was always laughing, but he was always very careful not to let us know when he got upset. After all, living with Mom all those years left our emotional batteries highly charged enough for this life and the next.

My father had caught my mother in bed with another man. AGAIN.

Yeah, Mom was a slut; however, this time was different.

Dad had discovered Mom and her latest paramour in the barn. Shouting was followed by screeching tires as the trick drove off in a huff.

The screaming began even before the guy was out of the driveway. My mother shouting at the top of her voice to make sure the neighbors heard even though they were ¼ mile away.

“I can do whatever I like and you can’t stop me?” Barb snarled.

“Barb, we are married.” Cal tried to insert.

“I don’t care. I want laid!”, she yelled.

My little sister and I were in a bedroom upstairs with the TV on. As the shouting got louder, we kept upping the volume to pretend like we couldn’t hear.

Breaking glass from downstairs brought us to the top of the stairs.

“Coward!” Mom screamed as she tossed another dish.

CRASH!

“Barbara, stop!” my Dad tried to restrain her.

“Hit me!” she snarled.

CRASH!

“Enough!” he yelled as he tried to catch a vase and missed.

CRASH!

“Hit me!” Mom screamed into his face.

Dad grabbed her shoulders and tried to hold her still as the intense depth of her mental illness came out.

“Barbara! I want a divorce!”

Silence.

“What?”, she said.

“I want a divorce.” he said quietly.

“YOU…want…a…divorce?” Barb looked at him incredulously.

“Yes.” Cal sighed. “I have had enough.”

My mother plopped herself down in a chair and looked him up and down.

“You wouldn’t dare…” she started.

“I have had enough.” he slowly said.

That is when he caught sight of us standing at the top of the stairs.

“You kids go back upstairs.”

“But, Dad –“ I began.

“Micheal. Take your sister and go back upstairs”

Lisa and I went back upstairs but kept the TV volume way down trying to hear what was going on downstairs. We heard some mumbling but little else.

Eventually, we heard a car start up and drive away.

Peeking down the stairs, we saw my Dad do something we had never seen him do before. My Dad cracked open a bottle of whiskey and started to drink.

I went down the stairs and left Lisa upstairs.

“Dad?”

“Micheal, please go back upstairs.”

“Dad, divorce?” I asked.

“Everyone has their limit, son. Now go back upstairs.

A few minutes later, I heard our neighbor Chuck talking to Dad downstairs.

“Cal, I don’t know how you put up with it this long.”

“I got kids.”

Chuck cracked open another bottle.

Lisa and I fell sleep watching “Chiller Theater”.

Around 3 a.m., the door to the bedroom opened.

My Dad was drunk as a skunk and peering in at us. I pretended to still be asleep as he came into the room.

My father stared at us for a good ten minutes then sighed.

Dad leaned over and kissed the top of our heads and left the room.

I don’t think he even knew he was crying.