I grew up in the shadow of Boston. I could see the gleaming skyscrapers from the house where I grew up in Quincy. While people around here say they are from Boston, many of us never were from the actual city. But it is our identity.
I am an only child of basically a working-class family of fourth and fifth generation Irish Catholics.
My parents divorced when I was five years old, and my mom and I lived next door to my maternal grandparents. While my dad was present every other weekend, I was raised by my mother, Nana and Grampy.
I was well loved.
Looking back at that shy kid, I know now there was some trauma that had shaped me early on. I was painfully shy. Uncomfortable in my own skin. Did not make friends easily. Very sensitive and cried easily.
But here’s the thing about that time in most families around here. You did not share your feelings. You had to “be strong”, “toughen up” not be a “sissy”.
Girls cried — Boys do not cry.
I stopped crying. Not completely of course. But I began to learn how to hold back tears, to hide “negative” emotions or suffer the indignation of being laughed at or ridiculed.
That is all during the pre-teen years when you are trying to find yourself in the pecking order of life.
Then the next phase where boys and girls start to devolve into two distinct species of humans. I think I was a late bloomer in noticing girls and their attractiveness. But remember, we did not talk about our feelings. We certainly did not talk about our bodies and any changes or feelings that might be happening.
So many generations of kids were basically blind to puberty, hormones, sex etc. No wonder kids were sexually abused by trusted adults and how many LGBTQ youth hurt themselves physically and emotionally when you are basically taught that your body and your natural sexual instincts are dirty, shameful and wrong.
During this time of discovery and “coming of age” you learn the word “gay”. At the time this was not a celebrated phrase, or even neutral in its connotation. While it may technically have been used to describe same-sex relationships, it was a slur.
I will not mention all the other words that are equally or far more hurtful, but I will say that at this time in my life the last thing you wanted was to be deemed “different” and the accusation that you might be gay was a very serious fear.
As I think about this time, it is clear that 99% of this is typical of kids finding their way and trying to make sense of the dynamics of society. I’m sure there wasn’t true hatred, but we learned this behavior from those before us and the quest to be the Alpha lead us to use words along with physical challenges to establish pecking orders.
I mention this because I feel it imprinted on my psyche that you needed to be a strong “man” in life.
Emotionally and physically, I was not strong.
I did eventually grow taller; I was six feet at 13 years old. But I was socially awkward and emotionally fragile.
I was bullied. Sometimes very badly.
But remember, you don’t talk about feelings. You do not seek help. You do not tell the teachers or the administration. You try to be strong. Laugh along like you are in on the joke, not the butt of it.
Move into adulthood and there is alcohol.
Here is where, in my opinion, this toxic male trait gets out of hand.
Adulthood in many ways, levels the playing field. We are not trying to be the alpha male of the playground anymore. We are just living our lives with our friends and trying to maintain our relationships.
However, in our society, alcohol is THE center point of so many of these relationships, if you really think about it. Play on a sports team? Go out for drinks after the game. Love to watch sports? Go to the stadium and tailgate for six hours. Rough week at work? Meet your crew at the local pub for drinks and apps and have a grand old time.
Of course, none of those things are harmful in a vacuum, but for a future alcoholic this was the foundation of the disease.
Drinking is accepted as part of adulthood. And, in my social circles, expected.
Because, if you didn’t drink, or only drank a little, you were a lightweight, pansy, sissy-boy or any of the other abhorrent homophobic slurs.
But here is the other thing. The lovely numbing effect of booze places a filter on your feelings and takes the edge off social awkwardness. You can breathe a little easier. Laugh harder. Dance better. Talk to, in my case, girls with ease. You can be cool.
And if you could drink a lot, well that was like a having a merit badge in life.
So the benefits seem to outweigh the bad parts and its fun. I had fun for many years.
Until I wasn’t having fun anymore.
I was unable to control my drinking. For so long I wanted to slow down and maybe stop but the thought of being different, being accused of not being “a man” was too much.
The admission of failure in my quest to never be an alcoholic like my father also held me back.
I am now a sober dad.
I have two young daughters and they do not have any real memories of my drinking days, thank God.
I think about how they will navigate a world with men and boys who are still being told to “man-up” and an alcohol industry that glamourizes drinking.
I think about the “mommy wine-time” phenomenon and what appears to me a new level of acceptance that girls/women can party like frat boys as if it were some kind of feminist victory. Yet, how many of them are victimized by this behavior? Regardless, what appears to me a new level of acceptance of hiding your emotions behind alcohol as something funny enough to put on one of those kitchen signs or a dish towel, I find troubling.
I am a worrier. Its part of who I am and not always a healthy combination with my alcoholism.
But I am also a dad. A sober dad.
If I stay a sober dad, I can help my girls navigate this world to the best of my ability and hope for the best outcomes.