I often wonder what life would have been like had my real dad not been introduced to drugs-heroin. I’ll never know, especially since he started using at an early age. I also wonder why he started using, why anyone uses for that matter. I was asked on numerous occasions to experiment and declined, always. It didn’t matter if they pressured or made fun of me, I always said no, but he didn’t.
On his better days, he was a pretty cool guy. He loved to dance, sing, and be silly…just like me. The robot was his favorite dance. I remember that. I also remember the bad times. Isn’t it funny how you either block them out totally or it’s all you remember.
Prison life is a memory for me. I visited him many times in prison. He wasn’t always clean because everyone knows you can get drugs in prison but he wasn’t near as messed up as he would be living outside. I always called Prison his home. He was in and out for as long as I can remember so it was “normal” for me to see him like that. He would talk about God and how he would change his ways, but mostly how he missed the taste of oranges, the sunlight, and privacy. He would write me letters from Prison and every single letter he wrote had a drawing on the front of the envelope. I still have them.
Stealing was a common thing for him. He needed money for drugs and it didn’t matter that he was stealing my brother’s stereo or golf clubs or whatever, all that mattered was getting a few dollars to get his fix. Stealing is awful and stealing from family, your own son is even worse.
Too messed up to show up for his daughter’s wedding. Honestly, I don’t know why I asked him to walk me down the aisle anyways. I mean, I guess it’s what people do right? They ask their dad to give them away in marriage but mine was too high to show up. My brother walked me down the aisle that day. It should have been the man I call my dad these days but I asked my brother instead. I was young.
One time, for a very short time, I lived with him. I pretty much had free reign and could do whatever I wanted. I only have one memory of living with him though. Just got off the school bus and walked in the house. I remember seeing needles everywhere, which was not exactly normal. There were needles all the time but they were usually kept in his room. I remember looking around because I could hear whimpering of sorts. I walked down the hall and it was the first time I had ever actually seen him doing drugs. He had his arm strapped up and was shooting up heroin. I just turned around and walked outside. I didn’t cry, I didn’t do anything. I’ve always known he has done drugs but seeing it first hand was different. I just sat there wondering why he does it, why he started doing it, and why he won’t quit.
I can only imagine the hold that drugs have on you, especially ones like heroin. I’ll admit that Dr. Pepper has that kind of hold on me and I don’t mean that to be funny. What I mean is that if soda can have that kind of grasp on me, I can understand how those drugs have consumed his life and while it’s not an excuse by any means, I can understand it. It’s important for me to understand because I know that it’s not how I would ever want to live. I don’t want to have anything to do with that kind of lifestyle, and that includes him not being a part of my life.
I could go and on and tell you horrible things I’ve seen and heard but it doesn’t matter. I chose a different path. I CHOSE a different path, for the better.
I just said no.