I remember the names and places, as if it were yesterday, the bars my father spent countless hours, days, nights and weekends in, wasting his life. He brought my brother and me, to those same bars quite often, when we were kids, we could have been as young as 8, 9 maybe 10. I remember we’d go to the dump on Saturdays, and then the bar afterwards. Anytime we were out with him, for whatever reason, we’d always end up at the bars; the Gaslight Lounge, the Buck and Doe, the Underpass lounge and the Lift a Latch Cafe, just to name a few. We’d spend hours, countless hours, days, nights and weekends in those same bars, begging him for quarters to play the video games, drinking sodas and wondering when we’d get to go home. We did this instead of little league, fishing or whatever other crap sons do with their dads.

The names changed, the Atlas Pub, the Open Door, My Brother’s Place and the Purple Onion, I was turning out just like him. I started drinking when I was 13, 14 maybe. By the time I was 16 or 17, I was drinking at the Wolf’s Den in Palmer. I got my first O.U.I. after leaving there one night. Now it was me who was spending countless hours, days, nights and weekends in bars, wasting my life. My father would have been proud of me.

He died. He died at 54, alone, miserable and drunk. I suppose I could be angry with him. Life has not been easy for me or my siblings, alcohol can really screw up a family. I could be angry with him, but I pity him.

I was 16 or 17 when my mother left him. At some point he and I tried to reconnect, or at least I tried. That night ended in disaster and I never saw him again. Years later I quit drinking (which was horrible) and shortly after that, I went to college. I had three or four partime jobs while in college, one of which, was working at Wilbert Burial Vaults. They made and delivered concrete burial vaults to cemeteries. One day his name showed up on the board. I made sure I was the one to deliver his vault. Nobody was at his burial. He wasted his life, he died alone and nobody cared that he had died, including me.

That very easily could have been me. For years I was on that very same track. It was in those years I made the decision to never have kids, to never be a horrible father like he was. I was turning into him, or so I was told many years later, and it was that day, I quit drinking. Years later, I have wonderful family and friends, a good job, a beautiful home, and my bills are payed. And of course, there’s Day, my wife. Twenty years, they haven’t all been easy, but they’ve been exciting. I’ve seen and done more with Day, than I ever thought I would. There are no more bars, just a big huge world for Day and I to discover and explore together. We’ve done a pretty good job so far, and I am excited for the next twenty years. I am writing this while sitting in the airport in Iceland, waiting for our connecting flight to Norway, where we will meet our friends, K and J, for another adventure. Life, my life, is glorious! BTW, I realize now, I would have been an awesome dad.