Alcoholic Dad Quotes

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A lot of people feel like they’re victims in life, and they’ll often point to past events, perhaps growing up with an abusive parent or in a dysfunctional family. Most psychologists believe that about 85 percent of families are dysfunctional, so all of a sudden you’re not so unique. My parents were alcoholics. My dad abused me. My mother divorced him when I was six…I mean, that’s almost everybody’s story in some form or not. The real question is, what are you going to do now? What do you choose now? Because you can either keep focusing on that, or you can focus on what you want. And when people start focusing on what they want, what they don’t want falls away, and what they want expands, and the other part disappears. (Jack Canfield)
Rhonda Byrne (The Secret (The Secret, #1))
It's like when my doctor told me the story of these two brothers whose dad was a bad alcoholic. One brother grew up to be a successful carpenter and never drank. The other brother ended up being a drinker as bad as his dad was. When they asked the first brother why he didn't drink, he said that after he saw what it did to his father, he could never bring himself to even try it. When they asked the other brother, he said that he guessed he learned how to drink on his father's knee. So, I guess we are who we are for a lot of reasons. And maybe we'll never know most of them. But even if we don't have the power to choose where we come from, we can still choose where we go from there. We can still do things. And we can try to feel okay about them.
Stephen Chbosky (The Perks of Being a Wallflower)
For kids like me, the part of the brain that deals with stress and conflict is always activated...We are constantly ready to fight or flee, because there is a constant exposure to the bear, whether that bear is an alcoholic dad or an unhinged mom (p228)....I see conflict and I run away or prepare for battle. (p246)
J.D. Vance (Hillbilly Elegy: A Memoir of a Family and Culture in Crisis)
Did she say anything before she died?" he asked. "Yes," the surgeon said. "She said, 'Forgive him'" "Forgive him?" my father asked. "I think she was referring to the drunk driver who killed her." Wow. My grandmother's last act on earth was a call for forgiveness, love and tolerance. She wanted us to forgive Gerald, the dumb-ass Spokane Indian alcoholic who ran her over and killed her. I think My Dad wanted to go find Gerald and beat him to death. I think my mother would have helped him. I think I would have helped him, too. But my grandmother wanted us to forgive her murderer. Even dead, she was a better person than us.
Sherman Alexie (The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian)
What's the difference between bulimics and anorexics?" I ask. "Anorexics are anorexics all the time," she says, "I'm only bulimic when I'm throwing up." Wow. She sounds just like my dad! "I'm only an alcoholic when I get drunk." There are all kinds of addicts, I guess. We all have pain. And we all look for ways to make the pain go away. Penelope gorges on her pain and then throws it up and flushes it away. My dad drinks his pain away. (107)
Sherman Alexie (The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian)
This man was a rogue, not because circumstances forced him to be a criminal but because he was born that way. He was probably conning his mother out of her milk the moment he could grin. He'd charm the clothes off a virgin in twenty minutes. And if the poor fool took him home, he'd drink her dad under the table, beguile her mother, charm her grandparents, and treat the girl to a night she'd never forget. In the morning, her dad would be sick with alcohol poisoning, the good silver would be missing together with the family car, and in a month, both the former virgin and her mother would be expecting.
Ilona Andrews (Fate's Edge (The Edge, #3))
When I was about nine, my siblings and I fell out of our moving van at an intersection. My dad didn’t notice for about five blocks. It was back before seat belts. It was also back before parents used any sort of common sense whatsoever. It was a time when you didn’t raise your children. You just fed them and they got bigger.
Dina Kucera (Everything I Never Wanted to Be: A Memoir of Alcoholism and Addiction, Faith and Family, Hope and Humor)
Just as the moon brought out the wolf in a werewolf, so alcohol brought this creature out of his dad.
John Ajvide Lindqvist (Let Me In)
Ground rules, Tanner,” he growled. Tanner paled. More good. “No alcohol. No smoking. No drugs. No looking at other girls. You can dance with my daughter. Your hands will avoid the danger zones, which are here, here and here.” Liam gestured to his chest, groin and ass. “You can kiss her. Once. At 10:59 p.m. tonight, when you’ll be standing here once again. I will be on the other side of this door, waiting for her. Am I clear?” “Yes, sir,” Tanner whispered. “I was your age once, too,” Liam said. “I’m aware of that, sir.” “I know what you think about.” “I’m sorry.” “You can think it. You can’t do it.” “Okay.” “I have many sharp tools in my garage.” “Yes, sir.” “We’re clear, then?” “Very, sir.” “Good!” Liam smiled, then grabbed the boy by the shoulder and dragged him in. “Nicole! Your date’s here.
Kristan Higgins (Until There Was You)
The description of Huck’s father grabbed my full attention, and I glanced up at the book in my teacher’s hand as if to double check. My eyes bulged reflexively. Huck’s father was an abusive drunk just like mine. The boy was hopeful that a corpse found near the river was actually his dad, but it turned out not to be. It was spooky how high my hopes rose for the boy, and then sank so utterly low when the body was discovered to be a female in disguise. I should’ve mourned for the woman, but it was the boy I felt bad for.
Richelle E. Goodrich (Dandelions: The Disappearance of Annabelle Fancher)
Perhaps nothing so accurately characterizes dysfunctional families as denial. The denial forces members to keep believing the myths and vital lies in spite of the facts, or to keep expecting that the same behaviors will have different outcomes. Dad's not an alcoholic because he never drinks in the morning, in spite of the fact that he's drunk every night.
John Bradshaw (Bradshaw on the Family: A New Way of Creating Solid Self-Esteem)
When she's not talking to him the house is heavy and cold and we know we're not supposed to talk to him either for fear she'll give us the bitter look. We know Dad has done the bad thing and we know you can make anyone suffer by not talking to him. Even little Michael knows that when Dad does the bad thing you don't talk to him from Friday to Monday and when he tries to lift you to his lap you run to Mam.
Frank McCourt (Angela's Ashes (Frank McCourt, #1))
I became a student of my own depressed experience, trying to unthread its causes. What was the root of all this despair? Was it psychological? (Was it Mom and Dad's fault?( Was it just temporal, a 'bad time' in my life? (When the divorce ends will the depression end with it?) Was it genetic? (Melancholy, called by many names, has run through my family for generations, along with its sad bride, Alcoholism.) Was it cultural? (Is this just the fallout of postfeminist American career girl trying to find balance in an increasingly stressful alienting urban world?) Was it astrological? (Am I so sad because I'm a thin-skinned Cancer whose major signs are all ruled by unstable Gemini?) Was it artistic? (Don't creative people always suffer from depression because we're so supersensitive and special?) Was it evolutionary? (Do I carry in me the residual panic that comes after millennia of my species' attempting to survive a brutal world?) Was it karmic? (Are all these spasms of grief just the consequences of bad behavior in previous lifetimes, the last obstacles before liberation?) Was it hormonal? Dietary? Philosophical? Seasonal? Environmental? Was I tapping into a universal yearning for God? Did I have a chemical imbalance? Or did I just need to get laid?
Elizabeth Gilbert (Eat, Pray, Love)
The person his dad became when he drank had no connection to the person he was when he was sober. And so it was comforting to think about Dad being a werewolf. That he in fact contained a whole other person in his body. Just as the moon brought out the wolf in a werewolf, so alcohol brought this creature out of his dad.
John Ajvide Lindqvist (Let the Right One In)
When I walked into the house, I went in search of one of my dad's bottles. Not that they were that hard to find. He hid bottles all over the house. I knew where they all were. That was one of my hobbies, finding where my dad hid his bottles. It was my version of looking for Easter eggs. In my house, Easter lasted forever.
Benjamin Alire Sáenz (Last Night I Sang to the Monster)
The survivor movements were also challenging the notion of a dysfunctional family as the cause and culture of abuse, rather than being one of the many places where abuse nested. This notion, which in the 1990s and early 1980s was the dominant understanding of professionals characterised the sex abuser as a pathetic person who had been denied sex and warmth by his wife, who in turn denied warmth to her daughters. Out of this dysfunctional triad grew the far-too-cosy incest dyad. Simply diagnosed, relying on the signs: alcoholic father, cold distant mother, provocative daughter. Simply resolved, because everyone would want to stop, to return to the functioning family where mum and dad had sex and daughter concentrated on her exams. Professionals really believed for a while that sex offenders would want to stop what they were doing. They thought if abuse were decriminalised, abusers would seek help. The survivors knew different. P5
Beatrix Campbell (Stolen Voices: The People and Politics Behind the Campaign to Discredit Childhood Testimony)
My childhood was surrounded by trouble, illness, and my dad's alcoholism, but as I said, we just didn't have the time to be impressed by all those misfortunes. I have an idea that the Irish possess a built-in don't-give-a-damn that helps them through all the stress.
James Cagney
My first incident drinking alcohol occurred after a 2-month period in which I stole wine coolers and beers from my parents and hid them in different places around my room. I was 14 years old, in eighth grade. I invited a friend over one night after I had stolen enough. After 2 wine coolers the friend interrupted me, saying, "Hold on," and vomited into a trash can. I vomited a lot into the toilet. The next day, like a dumbass, I put the empty wine cooler and beer bottles in our outside garbage bin without trying to cover them. My dad caught me as a result, but hid it from my mom for unknown reasons.
Brandon Scott Gorrell
If you threw Elvis and a scarecrow in a blender, topped the whole thing off with Seagram's 7 and pressed dice, you would make my dad. He's got tar black hair and shoulder blades that cut through his undershirt like clipped wings. He looks like a gray-skinned, skinny-rat cowboy and I would be lying if I didn't say that I am, maybe sorta kinda, keep it secret, in love with him. And you would be, too, you would, if you met him before drink number five or six. Just meet him then. Get lost before things get ugly.
Andrea Portes (Hick)
My dad was the town drunk. Most of the time that's not so bad; but New York City?
Henry Youngman
I never stopped loving my dad, even when I didn't like him.
Stephen King (Fairy Tale)
I soak it up like the best kind of alcohol, not caring that it will hurt in the end. I want it now. I want him. “Kiss me,” I gasp.
Katee Robert (Your Dad Will Do (A Touch of Taboo, #1))
For kids like me, the part of the brain that deals with stress and conflict is always activated - the switch flipped indefinitely. We are constantly ready to fight or flee, because there is constant exposure to the bear, whether that bear is an alcoholic dad or an unhinged mom. We become hard-wired for conflict. And that wiring remains, even when there's no more conflict to be had.
J.D. Vance (Hillbilly Elegy: A Memoir of a Family and Culture in Crisis)
editor in New York and my mom and dad on the phone. My body is weak and bloated. I’m slowly poisoning myself to death. And it’s not like I haven’t seen what this shit does to people. The most fucked-up detoxes I’ve ever seen are the people coming off alcohol. It’s worse than heroin, worse than benzos, worse than anything. Alcohol can pickle your brain—leaving you helpless, like a child—infantilized—shitting in your pants—ranting madness—disoriented—angry—terrified. But that’s not gonna be me, I mean, it can’t be. I may hate myself. I may fantasize about suicide. But I’m way too vain to let myself die an alcoholic death. There’s nothing glamorous about alcoholism. You don’t go out like Nic Cage in Leaving Las Vegas, with a gorgeous woman riding you till your heart stops. Alcoholism takes you down slow, robbing you of every last bit of dignity on your way
Nic Sheff (We All Fall Down: Living with Addiction)
We’ve now established three things. First, we don’t need willpower when we don’t desire to do something, and it isn’t a thing some of us have in excess and some of us don’t have at all. It’s a cognitive function, like deciding what to eat or solving a math equation or remembering your dad’s birthday. Willpower is also a limited resource; we have more of it at the beginning of the day and lose it throughout the day as we use it to write emails or not eat cookies. When you automate some decisions or processes (through forming habits), you free up more brain power. Second, for us to make and change a habit, we need a cue, a routine, and a reward, and enough repetition must occur for the process to move from something we have to think about consciously (“I need to brush my teeth,” “I don’t want to drink wine”) to something we do naturally, automatically. Third, throughout the day, we must manage our energy so that we don’t blow out and end up in the place of no return—a hyperaroused state where the only thing that can bring us down is a glass (or a bottle) of wine. Maybe
Holly Whitaker (Quit Like a Woman: The Radical Choice to Not Drink in a Culture Obsessed with Alcohol)
An even more blatant example of the government’s hypocrisy was their role in regulating alcohol. The politicians and bureaucrats pretended to care about alcoholism but allowed minors to drink with adults all day and all night. They just opened more jail cells and operated additional paddy wagons, letting the drunks back out in time for Sam and me to fire cherry bombs at them. As Dad said, “Half the PhDs in the country study Indian alcoholism, but nothing changes. No one in the government really gives a shit. They just want the tax revenue.
David Crow (The Pale-Faced Lie)
Rayna does not get sick on planes. Also, Rayna does not stop talking on planes. By the time we land at Okaloosa Regional Airport, I’m wondering if I’ve spoken as many words in my entire life as she did on the plane. With no layovers, it was the longest forty-five minutes of my whole freaking existence. I can tell Rachel’s nerves are also fringed. She orders an SUV limo-Rachel never does anything small-to pick us up and insists that Rayna try the complimentary champagne. I’m fairly certain it’s the first alcoholic beverage Rayna’s ever had, and by the time we reach the hotel on the beach, I’m all the way certain. As Rayna snores in the seat across from me, Rachel checks us into the hotel and has our bags taken to our room. “Do you want to head over to the Gulfarium now?” she asks. “Or, uh, rest up a bit and wait for Rayna to wake up?” This is an important decision. Personally, I’m not tired at all and would love to see a liquored-up Rayna negotiate the stairs at the Gulfarium. But I’d feel a certain guilt if she hit her hard head on a wooden rail or something and then we’d have to pay the Gulfarium for the damages her thick skull would surely cause. Plus, I’d have to suffer a reproving look from Dr. Milligan, which might actually hurt my feelings because he reminds me a bit of my dad. So I decide to do the right thing. “Let’s rest for a while and let her snap out of it. I’ll call Dr. Milligan and let him know we’ve checked in.” Two hours later, Sleeping Beast wakes up and we head to see Dr. Milligan. Rayna is particularly grouchy when hungover-can you even get hungover from drinking champagne?-so she’s not terribly inclined to be nice to the security guard who lets us in. She mutters something under her breath-thank God she doesn’t have a real voice-and pushes past him like the spoiled Royalty she is. I’m just about aggravated beyond redemption-until we see Dr. Milligan in a new exhibit of stingrays. He coos and murmurs as if they’re a litter of puppies in the tank begging to play with him. When he notices our arrival he smiles, and it feels like a coconut slushy on a sweltering day and it almost makes up for the crap I’ve been put through these past few days.
Anna Banks (Of Triton (The Syrena Legacy, #2))
Kids from dysfunctional families cannot possibly seal their identity, because they have no sense of I AMness when they begin adolescence. My family was severely enmeshed as a result of my dad’s alcoholism and his physically abandoning us. Our enmeshment looked like this. As you can see, none of us had a whole distinct self. Most of each of us was part of the others. When one of us felt something, the others felt it too. If mom was sad, we all felt sad. If she was angry, we all felt it and tried to stop her from being angry. There was very little foundation for me to create my identity.
John Bradshaw (Homecoming: Reclaiming and Healing Your Inner Child)
When he was a kid, it used to feel like his parents disappeared when the got drunk. As the levels of their glasses went down, he could sense them pulling away from him, as if they were together on the same boat, slowly pulling away from the shore where Oliver was left stranded, still himself, still boring, sensible Oliver, and he'd think, Please don't go, stay here with me, because his real mother was funny and his real father was smart, but they always went. First his dad got stupid and his mum got giggly, and then his mum got nasty and his dad got angry, and so it went until there was no point staying and Oliver went to watch movies in his bedroom. He'd had his own VCR in his bedroom. He'd had a privileged upbringing, had never wanted for anything.
Liane Moriarty (Truly Madly Guilty)
Bipolar disorder is vicious. In her manic phases, she was the mother every kid wants—fun, loving, full of life. But when the switch flipped, she barely spoke to any of us, just hid out in her room, watching TV. She didn’t bathe. Didn’t eat. She refused her meds, preferring alcohol. No one, least of all Dad, could convince her otherwise. And then one day, she was gone.” “You mean dead.” “Yes.
Ellen Hopkins (Love Lies Beneath)
If I’d realised how much that pressure would build inside me, the slow descent into a dull existence, days blemished with concern for my dad and whether I’m looking after him properly — well, I would have stayed out late some nights, lost my virginity at sixteen instead of still having it, developed a fondness for alcohol, sat at bars, smoked weed, danced at clubs, and turned strangers into friends.
Jessica George (Maame)
Ma kept the alcohol for company in the dining room china cabinet. All the sweet after-dinner liqueurs nestle there together. But there is one bottle she never knew about right here in the kitchen. I reach deep into the cabinets and remove Dad's hidden bottle of Lagavulin. I set a tumbler on the counter and pour him two fingers of scotch. 'This is a tumbler, watch it tumble,' he said. The golden brown liquid, more gold than brown, somewhere between weak tea and apple juice. I stare at it. Nothing. Out loud I say, "This is a tumbler, watch it tumble," an incantation or a toast or both, and drink it down. It's like drinking a handful of matches. It burns and then smokes. I fight back a cough. There's a note of something deep and earthy, like beets or truffles, which then vanishes, leaving only a palate seared clean.
Jael McHenry (The Kitchen Daughter)
My mother was an overwrought artist who achieved some success but was a little too fond of alcohol and always struggled to find new clients, while my dad the underemployed accountant specialized in schemes to get rich quick that usually brought in nothing. Neither of them seemed to possess the ability to focus on one thing for any length of time. Sometimes it felt as if I had been placed with a family rather than born into one.
Jeff VanderMeer (Annihilation (Southern Reach, #1))
In my reading I found that many hoarders have similar stories to my dad. Maybe they weren’t the children of abusive alcoholics, but they were emotionally neglected at some point in their development. One of the more popular theories behind the triggers for hoarding indicates that people who were neglected emotionally as children learn to form attachments to objects instead of people. When they do connect with others, they then keep any object that reminds them of that person as a way of holding on to those attachments. Every
Kimberly Rae Miller (Coming Clean)
What were you wearing? Why did you go to his empty house alone? Did you drink any alcohol or take any drugs before going to Samael's house? Do you have a boyfriend? If so, are you serious with him? Are you sexually active? What did you eat that day? Who cooked for you? Who dropped you off at Samael's house? I was mentally prodded, poked and attacked with quickfire questions that made no sense to me. My mind couldn't begin to fathom why they needed to know those things about me. I was astounded by how different it was this time. The worst question they asked me was: are you sure you didn't imagine it considering your past? Like it was my fault. Like I had imagined the sexual assault I had undergone. Like I had just assumed that he was that kind of guy because of what the monster did to me. I was on the verge of throwing up throughout the entire trial. My mum and dad both sat silently watching, looking like they were ready to burst. This was serious they kept on telling me. Sam was over eighteen. I could be ruining his life right now if I was wrong.
Danielle Dunn (What it's Like to Keep Living)
I believe the circumstances of my childhood set up a perfect path for me to be used by God. At fourteen, I came to understand God’s message, and my baptism in the Ouachita River provided me with a peace about my relationship with Him. But my biggest hurdle in becoming one of God’s disciples was my shy disposition. My personality has always been laid-back, and as I mentioned before, I think my dad’s wild days in my childhood contributed to my becoming introverted. As I became a teenager, I still didn’t say much, and my Christian life was really about trying to avoid doing things that were wrong. As some of my friends began to experiment with sex, drugs, and alcohol, I simply tried to survive as a Christian.
Jase Robertson (Good Call: Reflections on Faith, Family, and Fowl)
My mother was the alcoholic in my life. I was the eldest of four children and always had the duties of taking care of my brothers and sisters, the house, and my dad. I resented my mother for this. But my dad praised me so much and gave me so much special attention for being the “little mother” around the house for him, that eventually I didn’t seem to mind my mother’s alcoholism. My dad would always let me sit in his lap at night for being “his girl,” comb my hair, and do special things for me. Something didn’t feel right about it, but it was the only attention I got. As an adult, I seemed to have everything going for me and seemed in control. But my husband confronted me one day and said he was dissatisfied with my difficulties in being intimate with him. He wanted changes or a divorce. I was stunned. That’s when I discovered that growing up in an alcoholic family affected my ability to be intimate. I figured if I dealt with my feelings and issues about my mother, things would be fine. After all, she was the alcoholic. Well, I did deal with her, but things weren’t fine. I came to realize that all that special attention from my dad was really a source of pain and the real culprit behind my difficulty in being close to my husband. Now I realize that I’ve lived my life for him. I chose my husband because I thought my father would approve. The career and family I built were intended to win my father’s admiration and love. Even as an adult, I went to him with intimate details of my life, which he invited. God, I began to feel icky all over again. I was scared and guilt-ridden. I knew I had to stop being “Daddy’s girl” if I was going to save myself and my marriage. It was the most difficult decision I ever had to make about my life: separating from the man who had been the only source of comfort while I was growing up. Yet it was also the most freeing decision I ever made.
Kenneth M. Adams (Silently Seduced: When Parents Make Their Children Partners)
Even as a kid, I’d lie when people asked if I attended church regularly. According to Gallup, I wasn’t alone in feeling that pressure. The juxtaposition is jarring: Religious institutions remain a positive force in people’s lives, but in a part of the country slammed by the decline of manufacturing, joblessness, addiction, and broken homes, church attendance has fallen off. Dad’s church offered something desperately needed by people like me. For alcoholics, it gave them a community of support and a sense that they weren’t fighting addiction alone. For expectant mothers, it offered a free home with job training and parenting classes. When someone needed a job, church friends could either provide one or make introductions. When Dad faced financial troubles, his church banded together and purchased a used car for the family. In the broken world I saw around me—and for the people struggling in that world—religion offered tangible assistance to keep the faithful on track.
J.D. Vance (Hillbilly Elegy: A Memoir of a Family and Culture in Crisis)
My parents died one after the other my junior year of college—first my dad from cancer, then my mother from pills and alcohol six weeks later. All of this, the tragedy of my past, came reeling back with great force that night I woke up in the supply closet at Ducat for the last time. It was ten at night and everyone had gone home. I trudged up the dark stairway to clean out my desk. There was no sadness or nostalgia, only disgust that I’d wasted so much time on unnecessary labor when I could have been sleeping and feeling nothing. I’d been stupid to believe that employment would add value to my life. I found a shopping bag in the break room and packed up my coffee mug, the spare change of clothes I kept in my desk drawer along with a few pairs of high heels, panty hose, a push-up bra, some makeup, a stash of cocaine I hadn’t used in a year. I thought about stealing something from the gallery—the Larry Clark photo hanging in Natasha’s office, or the paper cutter. I settled on a bottle of champagne—a lukewarm, and therefore appropriate, consolation.
Ottessa Moshfegh (My Year of Rest and Relaxation)
He still has the same nightmares, ten years on. After Police College, exams, shift after shift, late nights, all his work at the station that's garnered so much praise from everyone but his dad, even more late nights, so much work that he's come to hate not working, unsteady walks home at dawn to the piles of bills in the hall and an empty bed, sleeping pills, alcohol. On nights when everything has been completely unbearable he's gone out running, mile after mile through darkness and cold and silence, his feet drumming against the pavement faster and faster, but never with the intention of getting anywhere, of accomplishing anything. Some men run like hunters, but he ran like their prey. Drained with exhaustion he would finally stagger home, then head off to work and start all over again. Sometimes a few whiskies were enough to get him to sleep, and on good mornings ice-cold showers were enough to wake him up, and in between he did whatever he could to take the edge off the hypersensitivity of his skin, stifle the tears when he felt them in his chest, long before they reached his throat and eyes. But all the while: still those same nightmares.
Fredrik Backman (Anxious People)
A very young child cannot understand that his dad is a sick alcoholic. Children are limited in logical ability. Their earliest way of thinking is through feelings (felt thought). Children are also egocentric. This doesn’t mean they are selfish in the usual meaning of that word. They are not morally selfish. Egocentric thinking means that a child will take everything personally. Even if a parent dies, a child can personalize it.
John Bradshaw (Healing the Shame that Binds You)
Every one of Dad’s colleagues would eventually commit suicide, most by gunshot to the head, and every woman in their circle except for my mother would become a dysfunctional alcoholic. But in the fifties, they were all riding high.
Tim Gunn (Shaken, Not Stirred)
Booze and Your Boys Hoping to toast some big baby news soon? You might want to consider swapping your accustomed toasting beverage before that big news even comes through, or cutting back on how many toasts you make during conception season. Too much alcohol (as you may have been dismayed to discover at one point or another) can impair a guy’s sexual function—a function you’re now counting on. But worse than that, research indicates that daily heavy drinking can damage sperm as well as reduce their number (in some men, even one or two beers or glasses of wine is enough to temporarily keep the boys down). Too many rounds on a regular basis can also alter testicular function and reduce testosterone levels (not a good scenario when you’re trying to make a baby). Heavy drinking (equivalent to two drinks a day or five drinks in one sitting even once a month) by the dad-to-be during the month prior to conception could also affect your baby’s birthweight. So for best baby-making results, your best bet is to drink only occasionally and lightly—or
Heidi Murkoff (What to Expect Before You're Expecting)
All that usually drew my eyes in his direction, for our entire life together, everything he had done, been, and said, that which made up “Dad” and was immanent in him, or in my view of him, whatever his appearance, all that was suddenly gone. He looked like a drunk who had put on a suit. He looked like an alcoholic his family had picked up, cleaned up, and taken along.
Karl Ove Knausgaard
I said get out, damn it,” Dad repeated, spittle flying from his mouth. “I won’t have a sixteen-year-old boy bawl’n like a little girl all the way home. Man up or walk.” Too much wine had left Dad’s teeth and lips stained red, and Shane could smell the alcohol, even over the foul stench of Jackie’s cigarette. His aunt had whispered an apology to Shane at the funeral reception, saying she’d only put wine out because she didn’t think his dad would drink it. What she didn’t realize was Dad had become such a raging alcoholic that he would’ve
N.W. Harris (The Last Orphans (The Last Orphans, #1))
The addicted father. Some people grow up with dads who are alcoholics or drug addicts. In these cases, a child does not know who his father is. One day he is fun to be with, the next day he is a monster. One day he is playful and friendly, the next day he has red eyes and a frightening demeanor. This can traumatize a child who needs to feel secure at home. Children of alcoholics face severe struggles later in life because they do not know whom to trust—especially if their own fathers were out of control.
J. Lee Grady (Fearless Daughters of the Bible: What You Can Learn from 22 Women Who Challenged Tradition, Fought Injustice and Dared to Lead)
With my wonder child as a guide, I can now see that my whole life is perfect. My dysfunctional family, my alcoholic dad and co-dependent mom, my poverty—all were perfect. They were exactly what I needed to experience in order to do the work I am now doing. Without my childhood I would never have done a TV series on dysfunctional families or written books on shame and shame-based families. And certainly I wouldn’t be writing this book on homecoming, which calls you and me to reclaim and champion our wounded inner kids.
John Bradshaw (Homecoming: Reclaiming and Healing Your Inner Child)
I didn’t understand about alcoholism yet, how booze and drugs fed the wounded animal in Walter, I just thought that’s how life was. Unpredictable and insane. I’d show up to school the day after one of his episodes feeling shell-shocked and spaced out. I don’t know how I manifested this stuff outwardly, but I never talked to anyone about it. I just wandered around in a daze, stuck in a severe hangover. I had no idea how to deal with it. I was very conscious of the things I loved about my family—the freedom of all of us walking around the house naked, Walter being a musician, the amazing jazz I heard, the well-stocked book and record shelves, the bohemian aspects of our life. But I’d lie in bed at night and wish that I had a boring, normal, dumb family. One with no creativity. I wished my dad worked in a factory, and my mom was a conservative housewife who wore ugly pantsuits. I wished they’d have petty arguments and watch TV; the way Archie Bunker and Edith behaved on the TV show All in the Family, or like the Battaglias back in Larchmont. I equated creativity with insanity.
Flea (Acid for the Children: A Memoir)
All of us experienced similar difficult moments when we were young. So what is different now? It is the absence of parents, who have nothing left to give. Some of us as kids came home to intact and caring families that were able to “talk us down” from the precipice, to assure us of their love, and to help put things in perspective. Someone was there who clearly cared and who told us that the harsh judgment of our peers was not the end of the world. In the absence of that kind of wise counsel in times of crisis, such as my dad provided for me when I came home battered from school, today’s kids have nowhere to go with their rage. Some resort to drugs or alcohol, some withdraw into isolation, and some, sadly, vent their anger in murderous assault. If only Mom and Dad had been there when the passions peaked. So many of the difficulties that confront our kids come down to that single characteristic of today’s families: There is nobody home.
James C. Dobson (Bringing Up Boys)
Eyes shrivelled by cigarettes and alcohol. Potbellies full to bursting with roundworms, amoebas, earthworms, and assorted mollusks. Heads shaved with knives. Arms and legs stiff with digging graves from morning till morning. They were close to ten, maybe twelve years old. They toted the same justifications: “We’re doing this to pay for our studies. Dad’s already gone with the locomotives. He doesn’t write no more. Mom’s sick. The uncles and aunts and grandmothers say we’re sorcerers and it’s because of that dad got married a third time and that our sorcery comes from our mom and that we should go to see the preachers who will cut the ,inks by getting us to swallow palm oil to make us vomit up our sorcery and prevent us flying round at night.” They lived off a multitude of rackets, like all the kids in town. They worked as porters at the Northern Station, and on the Congo River and at the Central Market, as slim-jims in the mines, errand boys at Tram 83, undertakers, and gravediggers. The more sensitive ones stood guard at the greasy spoons abutting the station, whose metal structure recalled the 1885s, in exchange for a bowl of badly boiled beans.
Fiston Mwanza Mujila (Tram 83)
and—feelings. He wasn’t used to having feelings, let alone facing up to them. “We might’ve been once, but, well... things happened.” Great, really descriptive. She deserved a better answer than that. “My dad’s an alcoholic,” he said baldly. There was just no other way to put it. “He bottomed out, became abusive.” The words flowed on, even though
Pamela Aares (The Heart of the Game (Tavonesi #6))
Well, you were a difficult child - that’s all there is to it,” Mom said. I remembered all the times my mother ignored me when I needed to talk. “And you were a difficult mother.” With that, I hung up the phone. Again, it was weeks before we spoke.
Jacelyn Cane (Mom and Dad's Martinis: A Memoir)
Following dinner, we tidied up and Mom and Dad went straight to bed at about eight o’clock. The house was dark and spooky on Sunday nights. Dad said he had to go to bed early on Sundays because he had “the yips.” Eventually I took that to mean he was hungover and had to get his sleep to be ready for another week of work.
Jacelyn Cane (Mom and Dad's Martinis: A Memoir)
Once you uncover your storyline, I encourage you to take these two steps: First, walk through the original drama, but give it a new ending. Change the story, and you change your energetic system—and your neurology. Second, rewrite the characters. In your life play, replace the needy mom with a giving, kind one. Instead of an alcoholic, absent dad, give yourself a super-supportive one. Your workplace dramas will shift as your internal script does. Having rewritten your story, you can formulate an intention for attracting and maintaining supportive work relationships. After all, success really does depend on being open to serving others and receiving help in return. Design an intention with your long-term heart’s desires, not just the next step, in mind.
Cyndi Dale (Energetic Boundaries: How to Stay Protected and Connected in Work, Love, and Life)
My parents weren’t given to calling their friends liars. So when our friends who were homosexual—Mom was always open, as was Dad, about which students were or weren’t gay—told my parents that they had been born that way, not only did they believe them, but Dad defended them against people who would judge or exclude them. Dad thought it cruel and stupid to believe that a homosexual could change by “accepting Christ”—or, for that matter, that an alcoholic could be healed by the same magic. Dad often said “Salvation is not magic. We’re still in the fallen world.” Dad
Frank Schaeffer (Crazy for God: How I Grew Up as One of the Elect, Helped Found the Religious Right, and Lived to Take All (or Almost All) of It Back)
He’s smart, kinda, in his own way…like his father. His father was the smartest boy in his class. I thought the dad would be an engineer, but he took to alcohol, like a lot of these Indians…got angry…was hard on his son. Mormons don’t drink, you know.
Tower Lowe (In Dulce, Disturbed (Cinnamon/Burro New Mexico Mysteries #1))
Get over it, Greg, seriously. I do not need a f**king dad tonight. You know what I need, my best friends, alcohol and a good time. I don’t want to deal with you being a little bitch because you have some misguided worry someone might find this look attractive. I don’t care, and don’t have time for your shit.
Harper Sloan (Axel (Corps Security, #1))
dad will soon see that he is suffering from a distortion of values.
Anonymous (Alcoholics Anonymous: The Official "Big Book" from Alcoholic Anonymous)
Returning to Bath, Dahmer moved in with his father and stepmother. However, it was not long before his excessive drinking got him in trouble with the law. In October 1981, he was arrested for disorderly conduct and resisting arrest. His dad tried to get him some help and introduced him to Alcoholics Anonymous, but it didn’t take. Thoughts of his earlier deed refused to go away, and his drinking caused conflict in the home. To appease his wife, his father suggested Jeff move in with his paternal grandmother in West Allis, Wisconsin—a working-class suburb of Milwaukee. His father felt it would serve two purposes: Jeff could look after his grandmother, who was getting on in years, and with him gone, there would finally be peace in their home. Dahmer’s move to Wisconsin was the beginning of some real soul searching. His grandmother was a very religious woman. He loved and admired her and felt she could help him get control of his life. She was kindly, loving, and tolerant, and she had a quiet serenity about her that he craved. He felt that religion might provide a way out of his predicament. They discussed religious matters, and he began to accompany her to Sunday service and weekday Bible study. This kept him sober during the day, but when Grandma retired for the evening, he began to drink again. He knew he had an alcohol problem, but felt his need to drink arose from the horrible memory he carried with him. He could never get it out of his mind. No matter how hard he tried, the knowledge of what he had done stayed with him.
Patrick Kennedy (GRILLING DAHMER: The Interrogation Of "The Milwaukee Cannibal")
I did not expect Archer to look this good shirtless,” Zane said, surprise evident. “I thought alcohol made guys pudgy.” Noah lowered his sunglasses to gawk at Archer’s distinct lack of a belly. “Not that I can see.” “Archer’s not as surprising as August. I was not expecting those abs or those biceps,” Felix remarked, taking a bite of a Nerds Rope he’d pulled from a backpack in the back. “Don’t forget Lucas, taking that dad bod to the next level,
Onley James (Mad Man (Necessary Evils, #5))
A dad who didn’t want to know him, an alcoholic grandmother. Zoe’s dad, the only person who might have provided stability, had died while she was pregnant. She sniffed back a tear.
Rachel McLean (Deadly Terror (Detective Zoe Finch, #4))
That year, my mom descended into an alcoholic stupor. My dad became a gaunt phantasm haunting the rooms of our dusty house.
Wendy Heard (You Can Trust Me)
Marilyn also said she felt as if she was just “going through the motions” of having a life. Except for when she was at the club playing tennis or at work in the operating room, she usually felt numb. A few years earlier she’d found that she could relieve her numbness by scratching herself with a razor blade, but she had become frightened when she found that she was cutting herself more and more deeply, and more and more often, to get relief. She had tried alcohol, too, but that reminded her of her dad and his out-of-control drinking, which made her feel disgusted with herself. So, instead, she played tennis fanatically, whenever she could. That made her feel alive. When I asked her about her past, Marilyn said she guessed that she “must have had” a happy childhood, but she could remember very little from before age twelve.
Bessel van der Kolk (The Body Keeps the Score: Brain, Mind, and Body in the Healing of Trauma)
Live like there is no tommorow cause tommorow is never promised. You can lead a horse to water but you can't make it drink. God does not judge us on our fathers sins. Father son and holy spirit I hold you nearest. To be a mother you need to actually be there and represent what a mother is. You don’t get to be the mother if you show up after the kids are already grown up. She’s like all those animals at the end of the story who show up to eat the Little Red Hen’s bread. The train crawls out of the Tapachula station. From here on, he thinks, nothing bad can happen. People come here to prosper. You have nothing here. What have you accomplished? You can't live through or claim there your children if you weren't there for them. The garden is a metaphor of opposites man women good evil up down everything has a opposite. God had already planned my destiny before I was created. Treat others how they treat you or how you want to be treated. My kids are my world and I will protect them from your evil manipulative narcissistic ways. Forgive but never forget. Knowledge is power. You don't own me. I only owe my servitude to the family I created and God. Love thy father who art in heaven. Your only Australian if you live in Australia. If you live in America your American stop trying to get freinds and likes based on where other people think your from. Don't blow your own trumpet. A bad worker blames his tools. No worries mate she'll be right. Couldn't hand a man a grander spanner The game was a fizzer. I wouldn't piss on them even if they were on fire. If you think I'm bad you should see my sister. She gives me cupcakes for my birthday. Happy birthday man whore. She's like that white girl at the gangbang party Your mother and father would be proud lol. narcissistic siblings keep score and feel compelled to outplay a sibling. They often triangulate in the family, playing two against one. Children reared in narcissistic homes rarely feel connected to one another as adults which is a good thing. Suck a big black cock casey. And mum try too lol and dad I'm not even gonna bother keep paying that child support mum and keep it for yourself and your drugs and alcohole dad Lord knows
Rhys dean
One Christmas Eve in my childhood, my dad asked if I wanted to leave alcohol out for Santa. I agreed but said to only leave a little as I was afraid I'd wake up on Christmas morning and see Santa drunkenly circling over our house in his sleigh.
Stewart Stafford
When we entered the apartment, none of us had to ask about the food basket.  From the look on Dad's face, we had received a ham.  We always prayed for a turkey.  It put him in a better mood.
Circa24 (Thomas Hardy was an Optimist: A Collection of Short Stories From the Plague Years.)
...the fight or flight response is a destructive constant companion. As Dr. Nadine Burke Harris put it, the response is great "If you're in a forest and there is a bear... When that happens, the Harvard researchers found, the sector of the brain that deals with highly stressful situations takes over. "Significant stress in early childhood, ' they write, "... result[s] in a hyperresponsive or chronically activated physiological stress response, along with increased potential for fear and anxiety" For kids like me, the part of the brain that deals with stress and conflict always activted- the switch flipped indefinitely. We are constantly ready to fight or flee, because there is constant exposure to the bear, whether that bear is an alcoholic dad or an unhinged mom. We become hard-wired for conflict. And that wiring remains, even when there's no more conflict to be had.
J.D. Vance (Hillbilly Elegy: A Memoir of a Family and Culture in Crisis)
See if you can recognize any of these patterns from your own life or from the lives of your friends and family members: Only being able to earn a certain amount of money each month, no matter how hard or how much you work Only being attracted to partners who turn out to bear an uncanny resemblance to your asshole dad (or to your asshole mom, or to the first person who broke your heart, or whatever) Hearing the mean voice of your third-grade teacher in your head whenever you sit down to create, so you avoid creating Overeating (or overindulging in drugs, alcohol, etc.) to cover up feelings of guilt, shame, loneliness, frustration that seem endless Disliking yourself/your body no matter what your shape Perpetually feeling victimized and like your life would be good if only rude other people (your family, your boss, your spouse, your employees, the government, the blacks, the gays, the straights, the whites, the Jews, the Christians, the capitalists, the hippies, etc., etc.) would stop messing with you
Carolyn Elliott (Existential Kink: Unmask Your Shadow and Embrace Your Power (A method for getting what you want by getting off on what you don't))
I don't believe in urban legends. I've been an adult since I was a child. My parents are interesting in the sense they never truly grew up. I was managing Dad's alcohol addiction and Mom's cryptic affairs with her personal trainer before I could multiply.
Night of the Living Queers: 13 Tales of Terror & Delight
Mum was a shoeaholic, and Dad was an alcoholic. He said it was cheaper.
Brett Preiss (The (un)Lucky Sperm: Tales of My Bizarre Childhood - A Funny Memoir)
My siblings are depressed and go in and out of promiscuous or unhealthy relationships. They abuse drugs or alcohol and turn to food for comfort. Sometimes I feel like I sacrificed two years of testimony for nothing. My dad is out of the house and they still treat each other horribly. They didn’t want to deal with it, and they haven’t. For years after I first came forward, I felt like the black sheep in my family for wanting a better life, a calm life. I don’t want to believe I set my expectations too high when it comes to moving forward.
K.L. Randis (Spilled Milk)
The free babysitters are brief. You go through your parents, your siblings, and the rare friend who is not an alcoholic. You then must hire some stranger to watch your prized possessions and also your kids. See what I did there? Kind of funny, right? Well, I thought it was.
Jim Gaffigan (Dad Is Fat)
She doesn’t like alcohol in cakes. That’s Katie’s thing. And she isn’t into gluten-free or, you know, polenta. She doesn’t think it’s right for cake. Anyway, it’s what poor people eat.’ My dad winces, in spite of his best Dr Seuss face. ‘In developing countries like Mexico, I mean. You have to be middle-class to afford it here.’ That didn’t help. When you get stuck, stick to the facts – that’s what Dad always tells me. ‘She’d like a Victoria sponge with lots of cream and some fruit. Raspberries and jam. Something simple.’ He looks disappointed. I can see he wanted a statement of a cake. Like his love.
Sanjida Kay (My Mother's Secret)
Miss Jeanette Bivens, one of the high school English teachers, was the Wave’s faculty adviser. She was a quiet, precise woman who had been at Welch High School so long that she had also been Dad’s English teacher. She was the first person in his life, he once told me, who’d showed any faith in him. She thought he was a talented writer and had encouraged him to submit a twenty-four-line poem called “Summer Storm” to a statewide poetry competition. When it won first prize, one of Dad’s other teachers wondered aloud if the son of two lowlife alcoholics like Ted and Erma Walls could have written it himself. Dad was so insulted that he walked out of school. It was Miss Bivens who convinced him to return and earn his diploma, telling him he had what it took to be somebody. Dad had named me after her;
Jeannette Walls (The Glass Castle)
I realized I didn’t know what Tiffany liked to do anymore. She was in a sober phase, but I had warned Dad that cutting alcohol out of her life was probably only the first step in the rehab process. Once that problem had been dealt with, I suspected the real work would need to begin. Some deeper unhappiness or instability kept pushing her to self-medicate.
Melissa Francis (Diary of a Stage Mother's Daughter: A Memoir)