Fraught

Ok, back to dear old dad. Because I've had a bit to drink after a long hard week. And the first thought in my mind, and what I tell D is, "There is nothing that would get me behind the wheel of a car." Because I'm a responsible person, sure. But why that particular sobriety test? Because although my father rarely had more than one beer, when he did have anything to drink, he drank too much, and not only was he belligerent, he insisted on driving. Normally, my parents shared the driving, the issue of 'the man driving' never came up. And mom was by far he better driver. Until he'd had a few. Then, nothing could keep him from taking the wheel. As frightened as I always was when he drove, when he'd had alcohol, I was terrified, certain I would die in the cemetery below the curve of the Ambassador Bridge on the Windsor side.

One of my earliest memories, confirmed as adults by my brothers, was of my father's sister's wedding, when he got drunk. I knew mom was upset, and something was wrong with dad, and I was laid in some sort of car bed for babies, between my brothers, in the dark backseat. Brother'd apparently gotten into the copious liquor at the reception. My mother never spoke of this, save in snide asides. Took years for me to sort out the memory, and both brother's memories, but it turned out to be accurate. Fraught.

Since D does not drink, and does not drive, it's occasionally been a concern that I do. If I'm out, I do not drink, I drink only as much as will not affect me, or we have we get a friend to drive. Since both of us take the issue seriously, there is no debate. I have had to be acutely aware of my state of sobriety if I've had anything, because I go toxic so easily. Yes, I am a cheap drunk. And I err on the side of safety. And even inebriated, my first priority is the safety of those around me. This is ingrained.

Lesson learned. Oddly enough. I am sober, or I am passenger.