Harmless Drunks...

Six months later I was sitting on the lounge; knitting a bootie. I guess I thought that's what pregnant people did while they waited for the baby to come out...

It was a Friday night; my Father was at the Bowling Club. He hadn't been talking to me much for the last few weeks but it's only when he comes in and gets really angry and upset with me that I realise why; because my Mother hasn't told my Father about my pregnancy at all.

He's had a few drinks down at the Raffles and now sadly yells at me 'You didn't even tell me yourself you little Bitch' and then goes on to tell me that he has only known I'm pregnant for as long as my gently swelling stomach has been apparent. And now I'm only rubbing it in further by knitting in front of him.

I told him that I thought he knew; that my Mother had promised to tell him. I'm not angry even though I'm yelling; I'm crying my eyes out right alongside him. He says he didn't even know I had a boyfriend; and I tell him I don't which only makes him cry some more. He tells me that out of all his children that I'm just like him; that I remind him of himself- and I instinctively knew he meant that I was a failure. Because that is what he thinks of himself; that He is the one who has let everyone down and somehow failed us. I don't know why he even thinks that...

At least he got to be a Soldier when he grew up; I never got to be a Vet. He's worked every day of his life since he left school at fourteen; and that's the same amount of years that I currently haven't had employment for. He got married and bought a house before he thought about having children while I, on the other hand, lived at home thanks to my Parent's good charity. There's the Third Strike against me. And that's why I'm the failure and he's not.

He's the main reason I went to university and got that stupid degree. I couldn't quit- even when I really wanted to; because I had already let him down enough.

He's told me how he thinks we've all failed. Me and my three Sisters and Him. It's an issue that comes up every now and then when I go to the Raffles for a drink with him. I'm the one who always brings the topic up- because I'm drunk and want to try and be Philosophical about Life. It's only those times when we stay until closing time that the trouble seems to start...

When I've drunk two or three carafes of head-ache inducing crap I'm most in the mood for a chat- but I honestly don't intend for them to become the tearful arguments they do. Before my little Son was born I would go nearly every Friday night to have a drink with my Father. He'd usually go home long before I did because I would promise him that I was only staying until I finished the drink I had in front of me; if he knew that I was actually planning on staying until they no longer served me then he wouldn't have left me there. A few times we even walked out together only for me to return five minutes later so I could continue getting drunk with all the others who also stay until Closing.

There's Old Jack and Bowie for a start. I don't sit with them until after Dad goes home because he thinks they are a pack of roosters; but they are just harmless Drunks like Me. Not one of them has ever tried to hit on me; they've walked me home plenty of times when I was drunk and stumbling and been perfect gentlemen every step of the way. Another friend, Harry, used to call me his 'bud-dae' and we'd sing hits by the B-52's at Karaoke nights, while Bowie and I would often wobble back to my house to have a session and continue drinking further on into the night; usually waking my grumpy Hubby in the process.

He doesn't get that angry at me for bringing them back to our house; I think in some ways he's grateful to them for getting me home in one piece. The last time I was escorted home by Bowie was only a few months ago actually; though Harry's 'grown up' a bit in the last few years and I haven't run into him for a while...

While the Raffle is being drawn I sit with my Father and Pete, and Big Al and Little Al- the guy who looks a bit like little Lou Richards the AFL legend. I know everyone's wives names, the names and ages of their grandchildren; even what they paid at the petrol pump this morning and who's suffering from Gout and various other ailments. Years ago, when I went every Friday night without fail- Dad even used to save me a chair until I got there; where I'd sit on the left of him.

I was the youngest, as well as the only girl, who sat at the Table. I know that most people might think it odd that a girl who was only in her mid-twenties would choose to sit around a bowling club every Friday night with a bunch of old men in their sixties who have retired- but I learnt a lot about my Father that I never would have known if I hadn't.

Besides- the Club is the closest watering hole to my house; I get looked after; it costs nothing to get there and the drinks are cheap and plentiful.

Why would I need to go anywhere else?