Drinking at Dad

One day, during the summer of 1969, I watched my dad walk down the street for another leg of his three-day drunk. For years, my dad's drinking had been the great obsession with me. His behavior when drunk was always more interesting than it was when he was glum and sober. It was the only time I could get his attention. His alcoholism had become my painful fascination. Although I had been aware of his drinking for about twelve years, my frustration didn't register until I called my mother to again ask if there was anything we could do.