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My father is a mysterious individual. I honestly don’t know him that well. We haven’t developed a personal relationship, mainly just superficial. What I do know is that he went to the Navy right after high school to try and make a life for himself, yet he came back with a substance use disorder. He didn’t know that his young mind was not equipped to handle war, especially Vietnam. He didn’t know about the deep levels of discrimination he would face while trying to do a good thing and serve this country. He didn’t know that upon his discharge they would discard him like trash. It took decades for him to somewhat recover from this trauma and honestly, I don’t think he really ever will because he still has residual effects today. I haven’t spoken to my father in depth about his past and the years he suffered in addiction, as he is in recovery now and has been for the better of a decade or so. I think my fear is I will not get the answers I seek and it would cause me to become more distant. I fear that he may not know exactly why and that will cause more confusion. I fear that he may be honest and tell me something I do not know that will cause me more pain.

I have so many unanswered questions, but I do not actually know if I want the answers. I have not tried to have these hard conversations with him, nor has he tried to discuss past matters with me. We are both bull headed. Most people say visually I favor my mother, but I know some of my personality traits come from my father indeed. He is still alive, so maybe I have time or do I?

My mother would have been great. She had the looks, the charisma and the brains. She had a drive about her that she could accomplish anything. Unfortunately, after losing her whole family that tragic day I believe her drive was also killed. My mother was never the same and drugs just gave her an escape to live with the guilt and pain. She too was supposed to go with her mother and sister that day and for whatever reason she didn’t. Who knows what the outcome would have been, but she was spared. I think she thought she could have changed things, although we know she couldn’t. My mother didn’t talk much about those events, but what she did share with me allowed me to have a sense of pity and compassion for her. I felt like she was given a bad deal, that life had drew her a bad hand and I think she felt that as well. I wish sometimes that I knew more and could do more, much like her. I sometimes think what I could have done and if it would have made a difference….I will never know.

I was born in California and raised primarily in South Los Angeles, with time spent in Corpus Christi, Texas in the sixth grade and high school. My paternal grandparents were my primary caretakers. My maternal grandmother was murdered when I was around 3 and my maternal grandfather, well I didn’t meet him until my late teens when I moved to Corpus Christi. I did have a step paternal grandfather that I would spend time with from time to time. I am a middle child on my mother’s side and the only child on my father’s side. With my grandparents life was stable and most people would say I had it rather “easy”. My grandparents were business owners and hard workers. They gave me a comfortable life. We went on family vacations, had birthday parties and even had a housekeeper….do they say that word now a days?

Anyway, although I wasn’t allowed to do everything I wanted. I had everything I needed, with them at least. My parents had a drug addiction, but my grandmother had a gambling addiction. It was known by everyone, but discussed by no one. I was informed by my grandfather that he also at one point drank excessively, was it addiction or alcoholism I am not really sure. Having real conversations, sharing emotions, being vulnerable were not realities in my home. On the other hand, addiction was more transparent with my mother’s side of the family. My paternal grandfather was also an alcoholic and drug addict, so addiction runs deep for me.

I can never remember a time when my mother and father were together. Not one single time. I guess that is for the best since they may have been toxic together anyway, if I believe the stories my mother told me. According to her, my father was a drug addict who put his hands on women. Thankfully I have never witnessed this side of him. Throughout my childhood I was bounced around between my paternal grandparents and my mother. My father was mysteriously not present except for some holidays when he would come to my grandparents house. I always despised him. Mainly because he would show up with a women and sometimes with a women with children. Like really? Come here with your ready made family, the audacity. I would often be surly to him and his guest. My grandfather would say “You don’t have to like him, but you have to respect him because he is your father”. I would shrug like whatever. I can recall going to my father’s house one summer and sitting on the couch watching Little Mermaid on repeat the entire time, barely speaking to him or the other occupants of the residence. I couldn’t wait for my grandparents to come and pick me up. My relationship with my father has been tumultuous.

My mother, well she was a simple yet complicated woman. I really believe that her life would have been better if her mother were never murdered. Anyway, she was a drug addict the entire time I knew her. I can not remember any extended period when she did not use, sometimes moving back and forth between substances. Throughout my childhood she never really had stability, moving from place to place sometimes with me in tow. I can remember being stable with my grandparents, then she would come get me and take me to live in houses without electricity, gas or running water. I am grateful that I was never molested or sexually assaulted being in some of those environments. I remember school being my refuge sometimes. I was always a great student. My mother didn’t have many lasting romantic relationships that I can remember, but she was never alone if that makes sense. I had this empathy for my mother, that I did not have for my father. I thought his absence was selfish, but my mother’s was pitiful. No one ever spoke a bad word against my mother, at least not around me. She was a petite woman with a fiery attitude and loud mouth. She was entertaining and engaging. Many say I favor her, I would often deny it. There are times when I was exposed to more than my young eyes should have seen with my mother, she was too transparent sometimes. I loved her, but our relationship was not really mother daughter, more like big sister little sister. As I got older I felt more like the parent. I was responsible at a young age and had to watch over my younger sister. I didn’t want the responsibility, yet there was no one else who did.

Why do people become addicts? I have no idea and if I did I would be a wealthy woman. Now I am not going to be a victim with a feel sorry for me pity story, but what I will share is my story, my perspective and how addiction has impacted my life.

I don’t think I was born to addicted parents, but my parents both became addicts after my birth. I don’t remember that obviously, but that is my version of the story I tell myself. The story I got from my mother is that my father contributed to her becoming an addict, but I never asked my father because I fear the answer and the further devastation it would cause to our relationship.