In his youth, my father was known to enjoy a night out drinking and fighting. Usually he was there to make sure his brother Woodrow got home safe. When he married my mother she told him he could bring all the liquor home he wanted as long as it was inside of him. He would later say he decided if he couldn't drink at home he didn't want to drink. I can remember seeing him have a few beers when I was four or five, and he kept the same fifth of whiskey "for the croup" hidden in the cupboard until I was ten or eleven. I am thankful I never saw him drunk. My memories are of a strong, self-controlled, god-like figure.
I am not certain how my dad broke free from an early pattern of drunkenness. It was a systemic sickness both in his family and in the society in which he grew up. Young men went out on Friday nights to get drunk and fight. Many of them became alcoholics. His deliverance came long before his salvation and was of course the grace of God working largely through my mother's prayers and influence. But the words of my grand-parents also left their mark.
Dad often told two brief stories that clearly had an impact on him. First and perhaps most powerful were the words of his mother. "One night Woodrow and I came in so drunk we could hardly get up the front steps. Ma met us at the door and said, "If anybody ever raised two fools I sure did."
Another indelible mark came from his father. My grandfather, Albert "Abb" Johns, lost his first wife with two small children in the home. He married my grandmother and had seven more children. Somewhere along the way he became a heavy drinker and fighter. At least until he had his first stroke while my dad was still young. "One night Woodrow and I came in from an evening of drinking. As we lay on our bed Pa shuffled by, looked in and said "You boys can mess with that stuff if you want to, but sooner or later it will get the best of you; And that ain't hear-say."
I have seen enough drunks in my life; happy drunks who would give away everything they owned just to be loved, angry drunks who hate themselves so much they just want to hurt and be hurt and so they fight. I remember the slurred speech, the drool, the vomit. The stench is unforgettable. None of them set out to be alcoholics. They just wanted to have a little fun, to feel better for a while, to just fit in. Sooner or later it just got the best of them.
