I didn't inherit his love for bourbon, but I did inherit his inability to be content.
My father was hilarious and creative and the best friend that a guy with a truck stuck in a ditch at 4 am could have. He was intelligent and hard-working and the life of the party. He could strum a guitar and build a tree house and fix a satellite dish. He was a great friend and employee, and I thought he was a great father.
It wasn't until I grew up that I realized he was a crappy dad and husband.
My father, like his father before him, was an alcoholic. His drink of choice was Jack Daniels and Coke. I distinctly remember the smell. For so long, I thought my dad's natural aroma was the sweet scent of Tennessee whiskey.
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