…crying hysterically at the door at 4am.
“Oh my God! What’s wrong?”
I briefly explained to her the story in between deep breaths.
“You will never stay the night over there again!” she said.
I never did.
This story personifies the enigma that was my father. Often his attempts at providing for me caused more harm than good. Had he never given me the money there wouldn’t be anything to take back. “The man” cared enough to want to share his meager earnings; “the addiction” just wouldn’t let it be. His bi-polar personality left me wanting to push him off a cliff, then sprint downhill and catch him.
My frustration closely resembled hatred. But I could never hate my father. I hated the evil spirit behind his actions that left me alone at night and sent him hopelessly chasing a void that only God could fill in his life.
The hardest pill to swallow as a son of an addict is to view your father as a King, but watch him live as a peasant, begging, borrowing and stealing his way through life, or play “errand boy” to the neighborhood drug dealers. He was so much greater than his earthly life reflected. He had a beautiful mind that should have taken him to great heights, but in the words of Rick James “Cocaine is a hellava drug!” It has robbed many of their greatness and made them slave to an addiction. If I take anything from my dad’s untimely death it is to guard my spirit against attacks from the enemy and maximize my God-given potential daily. Another year is never promised, so I promise to make the most of every year.
Rest in peace Pops. I love you!
Torri Stuckey is the author of Impoverished State of Mind: Thinking Outside da Block
Find him on social media, here.
For those who need help with substance abuse you can find help here and