I wasn’t the brightest light bulb in the box, but I knew I was a ticking time bomb. I knew that once just might be too many, and that one day it might bite me in the ass. I thought I was strong. I was smart. I could control it. I wanted to try!
My paternal grandfather was an alcoholic. He drank away a couple of businesses, destroyed a marriage, and ruined relationships. His battle with alcohol changed the course of his life and many others who suffered in the wake of his destruction. His was a life filled with lots of guilt and regret.
My mother’s biological family also had several members with alcohol addiction issues. The first family reunion I attended at 18 was eye opening! After a three day weekend there were two 55 gallon garbage bags full of empty bottles, hard alcohol bottles. There were stories of heartbreak and tragedy in the aftermath of their alcoholism.
I knew I shouldn’t drink! But, I wanted to. I didn’t like the taste of most drinks, but I liked how they made me feel. Unfortunately, I wasn’t one of those people who could have just one drink. It was one in each hand until I couldn’t stand up. It didn’t take me long to figure out that wasn’t so smart. The scary thing was that I didn’t want to drink with my friends, I wanted to drink alone when I’d had a bad day. I wanted to sit in a corner and get all warm and fuzzy. Fortunately, the lightbulb came on and it told me to run. I listened, thankfully, and I ran!
As a teenager I was angry every time I read Exodus 34:7, or when someone mentioned it. Why should I be punished for what my parents and grandparents did? I didn’t deserve it. Besides, they did some bad stuff that made me look angelic. Like most Westerners, corporate punishment didn’t set well with me. I wanted to stand on my own merit!
It took years. Years of observing life. Years of formal education. Years of studying and thinking before I realized that wasn’t what Exodus 34:7 meant. I didn’t have to look far to realize that there was a distinct vein of challenges that ran through my family tree. If you looked at the challenges my grandfather, my father, my uncle, my brothers and I all faced, they were all very similar. They were all variations on a theme. The theme was basically fast cars, fast bikes and lovely ladies, mixed with alcohol. A recipe for poor choices, poor outcomes and shattered dreams.
We are genetically predisposed to the same challenges that our parents and grandparents have. God is not saying he is going to thump me for what my family has done, he is telling me we are products of our families. We are going to have to ask for help and work at making changes. He is warning me that I am likely to follow in the footsteps of my ancestors unless I am aware and work at changing. It’s sort of a friendly reminder before I destroy my life.
When I discuss this epiphany with others, I tell them that you don’t drink vodka with a Russian, you don’t drink whiskey with an Irishman and you don’t give any alcohol to a Native American. They have had generations for their bodies to adapt and learn how to process, or not, their alcoholic beverage of choice. Biology in action. You can run from it, but you cant hide!
Ramblings of a Fuzzy Burro 