For many years I hated Father's Day. Not only that, I also hated my father for as long as I could remember.
And I hated him because he was a brutal, raging alcoholic who would get stupidly drunk and beat everyone and everything around him when he was on a rampage.
Between my brother and me, I would suffer the brunt of his anger and get my ass kicked on a regular basis. My little brother was much smarter than me.
When my father would strike him, he was smart enough to fall to the floor and start crying. At that point, my father turned on me. After a while, I became the focus of his attention because most of the time he would start assaulting me and my brother would escape completely. And the reason he would start on me, is because I didn't care how much punishment he gave me, I'd be defiant and unwilling to even give him the satisfaction of shedding tears. Instead I'd run outside with my bottled up pain and find someplace on our small farm to vent my tears and anger. Usually I'd end up behind the barn or perhaps sitting at the edge of the small creek that bordered one side of our property. There I'd sit, crying until I had no more tears left. But I still carried a residual anger that I took out on those around me.
Between eight and 12 years old I took my anger out on those around me in the small country school I attended. I became known as someone who was not to be messed with. Even though I was a skinny little kid, my unpredictable anger kept others away from me. There were only a couple of kids out of the 90 some students that attended that small school who could beat me up. And they didn't want to bother with me because they usually became injured in the process of putting me in my place.
Around the time I was 12, my mother took custody of me and my brother and moved us to Southern California to live with her and my stepfather. The one thing I brought with me from Oregon and that small farm was the anger that I carried inside. And today I believe that that anger is what led me to alcohol and drugs – into a life of crime that put me in prison, jail, and mental hospitals for over 15 years.
Until I was in my 50s I carried anger and resentment toward my father. It was only until later, maybe into my 40s, that I realized that living with these feelings was getting me nowhere. Once I got sober I came to terms with my childhood and in fact found some strange sense of gratitude for the upbringing that I had at the hands of my father.
I think that because of the way I was treated I had a sense that I was less than others. And because of that I felt a burning desire to become a success. And eventually I came to a point where I was even prepared to forgive my father for how I was treated. In fact, I visited the small cemetery in Ohio where he was supposed to be buried. But the caretaker told me his grave was unmarked and that he didn't know where it was.
I left that cemetery feeling a little lighter - even though I was unable to visit his grave and maybe say a few words. Today I think it was because of the way my father treated me is why I've been able to have a successful life, rather than dying from alcohol and drugs. Or perhaps ending my days in a prison cell.
I became able to focus my anger and resentment and use that energy to become successful at whatever I tried to do. And I was able to do that.
Because I have worked with addicts and alcoholics for the last 30 years I've heard many stories from those who blame their addiction on their upbringing in a violent home. But because of my own experiences, I am able to tell them that it's a waste of our precious time to dwell on what happened to us as a child. And I can tell them that because I spent much of my time using my upbringing as an excuse for living with my addictions.
The only way to change our lives today, is to accept what happened to us in the course of our upbringing. Only then can we live a clean and sober life and focus on becoming a successful human being.
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