This is a hard one. There are the memories you go back to and savor and then the ones you shy away from. Some are non-memories, like moments that could have been memorable but got squandered. It all swirls around regret, and what we make of that rotten word. I haven’t gone through my personal inventory in a structured 12-step fashion, but have reflected on the harms I’ve done to myself and others through drinking. This is one I sit with around Valentine’s Day because it’s about my two girls and the annual father-daughter dance we used to attend when they were in grade school.

There’s a phase of my kids’ lives now that’s pre-smart phone and post. As a young parent you start using tablets and screens to get them to quiet down for a bit so you can take a break. Then when they have autonomy over it and start keeping their phones in their rooms over night, they develop this new identity that’s largely informed by what they consume on that little square.

And they go through adolescence too. This is horrible timing, with the phone and hormones. Your kids change and with any luck, they come out the other side unscathed.

But before all that when my kids were just kids there was this annual father-daughter dance at the school. I went once or twice with our oldest and then again with our youngest. I conflate all the times; there are no pictures I know of and I can’t remember much. Sadly, what I do remember is taking them out to dinner beforehand at a tavern under the auspices of it being a date, which it was in a sense, but that was a ruse if I’m being honest.

I remember sitting across from them at the table in that dark dining room with the light of the parking lot coming through. I remember how young they were and how foolish we felt. And when we got to the dance, which was unimaginably loud and sparsely attended, I remember seeing some of the other dads with their girls who were friends with mine, and they would all scamper off giggling leaving the dads alone to chat, and no one could hear anything.

I remember just a clip of dancing with my kids on the gym floor with the lights spinning and the pink/red Valentine decor but there isn’t much else. What I remember most was the bogus premise of taking them out to dinner so I could drink. Now you could not beat yourself up over that because having a drink or two makes social settings more bearable, but the way I see the drinking those nights, it feels like a wedge between me and my kids and now those are memories I don’t have. I remember instead what I was most fixed on.

Other dads gave me advice along the way, encouraging words, savor the time. I knew I should but struggled with it. Then I think something changed in me when I dropped the fact that parenting felt awkward at times and realized I’m the only dad my kids get. What I said and did really mattered, more than I knew.

My kids won’t remember much from those dances either. You don’t need to feed painful memories, or stew over the past. But I’ve always looked for the lessons in regret to correct what I can on the balance sheet.

As I continue this book on Buddhism and the 12 steps there’s a piece on impermanence, that maybe addicts in particular don’t like change, or we want to hold onto that high as long as we can. If I’ve learned anything, it’s that life keeps moving with or without you. Look at your kids and see how fast they change. Make good memories. Learn from your regrets.

Categories: Addiction, Creative Nonfiction, Memoir

Tags: Creative Nonfiction, Memoir, parenting, recovery