The Diary of a Child with an Alcoholic Parent

February 1, 2017
By , Valley Stream, NY

I see him, passed out once again, as I walked towards my bedroom. To ensure my dad wouldn’t wake up, I closed the door slowly.  I didn’t want to be bothered by him. Today in school, it was the same old thing. I walked home, dreading to face my father. I was lucky he was asleep.


All of a sudden, joy overcame my body when I heard my mother walk through the door. My mom, trying to make enough money to support her three children, worked two jobs. She was such a hardworking woman; no one could’ve gone through what she did.  Before my mother got married to my father, she was going to school, making something out of her life. She had to give that all up when she got pregnant with my older brother.


My father then awoke and I saw all the beer bottles around him. My mother told my siblings and I to go to the room, and shut the door. We all knew what was about to happen, so we obeyed my mother and proceeded. Right beside the door, I waited. I wanted to hear what they were saying to one another. An argument then occurred. I knew they would start to argue, but I was still so scared. My mom was the only one speaking, which surprised me. My dad, with his anger problems, stayed quiet. All I heard my mother say was “rehab” and “do it for the kids, they need you”. I need him? That was the most absurd, incorrect, untrue statement that has crossed me in my life. My father only stayed because he could take our money, and spend it on a fix. Everyone thought I was too young to understand, but they were so wrong. I knew my father’s drinking problem, I knew my mom worked two jobs to support us, I knew everyone tried to act as if everything was okay, but it wasn’t. My father was a nuisance, and a failure as a dad. He caused me pain and suffering, something a child only five years old shouldn’t know about. All the girls in school talked about how amazing their fathers were, and how much they’d play together, and how much they loved their father. That wasn’t the case for me.

Screams then filled our ears. My brother ran so fast and pulled the door open. The horrific scene left me frozen. Everything began to move in slow motion, and all I saw was my brother pulling my father away, with whatever strength he possessed in that fragile body of his. Worried about my mother, my sister and I ran towards her. We helped her get back on her feet, and she grabbed my siblings and I. We all dashed to the front door. We ran to the car and locked all the windows and car doors. My mother reversed out of the driveway before my father could catch up. She mashed on the gas, and we drove off. I looked back, and saw my father yelling and cursing from our driveway.

The car ride was silent, we were all too shocked to come to words. We arrived to my mother’s best friend’s house. Her name was Pretti, and she ran up to my mom as soon as we got there. She hugged my mom so tightly, and she burst into tears. Pretti then hugged my siblings and I, and whispered in our ears, “Everything will be okay.”

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