The Day I Could Understand My Father a Little Bit [Part 2]
Originally, I intended to write this piece as a single flow.
I wanted to put everything about my father and myself down at once.
However, the AI calmly suggested, "It's long, so let's split it up."
Apparently, this decision was made out of concern for "readability" and "note's algorithm."
I see, now that it's mentioned, that makes sense,
and when I re-read it myself, the atmosphere was a bit different between the first and second halves.
So, following the editorial policy, I will start the second part from here.
The first part was about the time when my father began to change.
From here on, it is the continuation.
It is the story of how I moved forward.
The first part is here
---
In the winter of my third year of high school, my family was completely destroyed by my father's drunk driving.
That event forced my career path into a single direction.
The option of becoming a doctor.
I wanted a job that involved interacting with people.
I was torn between being a teacher or a doctor, but facing the reality of our household finances,
I thought, "I'll choose a job that pays well."
At that time, that was the only option I had.
However, life was not kind enough to let me move forward so easily.
I spent two years as a ronin (studying for entrance exams).
I studied at a prep school until 10:00 PM,
worked at a convenience store from midnight until 8:00 AM,
slept a little, and then headed back to the prep school.
I don't think I could have kept it up without the stamina I built in high school sports.
I was moving forward solely on willpower and grit.
Even so, I somehow managed to get into a local national university.
Private universities were financially impossible,
and I had applied to the nursing department for the late-term exam, intending to go there if I failed.
However, I have an unforgettable memory from the day of the acceptance announcement.
Friends from high school celebrated with me at an izakaya,
and since I was over twenty and the tension had finally eased,
I got carried away and committed the foolish act of drinking shochu by the mug.
I managed to make it home, but I collapsed on the stairs at the entrance.
The next morning, I wouldn't wake up even when shaken by the newspaper delivery lady,
so she got worried and called an ambulance.
The diagnosis was "just a drunkard."
"Why did you drink so much?"
"Because of the acceptance announcement..."
"Which university?"
"XX University."
"What department?"
"Medical school."
"Ah, well... be careful."
At that moment, I thought to myself in my heart,
(I will at least make sure not to get a job at this hospital.)
...That was the kind of acceptance announcement day it was.
I entered university and started drinking alcohol.
I drank like everyone else—no, there were times I drank even more.
Drinking parties in medical school are a test of physical endurance.
And as my medical studies progressed,
I began to understand my father little by little.
His irritability that day,
his lies,
his obsession with alcohol,
his addiction.
I came to realize that these were not my father's personality traits,
but rather "my father as a result of a broken brain."
For the first time, I was able to forgive my father a little.
During my university days, there was one time the three of us—my mother, my father, and I—drank together.
My father had given up on sobriety, but he was slightly better than his worst state.
That day was surprisingly, normally fun.
"I never thought I'd end up drinking with my father like this."
That's what I thought.
However, less than half a year later, my father died suddenly.
It was so sudden that it didn't feel real.
Death cruelly freezes everything.
I can never drink with him again.
Yet, it's a strange thing,
once someone passes away, only the good memories remain.
When I was little, my father took me to a pachinko parlor once.
It was only once, but it's strangely vivid.
After I became a university student, I went to that same parlor alone.
I wasn't chasing my father's shadow.
But when I stand in that light, I suddenly remember.
Now, I have become a father of two children.
I drink alcohol, and I play pachinko.
However, I know the worst possible outcome.
I believe I know the line that must not be crossed.
My father's life became the foundation of my own.
He was a cautionary tale,
but I also respect him as a human being.
"I won't be the same. But I can't completely deny him either."
While continuing to stand in that ambiguous place,
I sit in the light again today.
As a splash of color in life.
As my own way of enjoying things.
---
I cannot completely affirm or completely deny my father's way of life.
However, by putting it into words like this,
I feel that the shape of what I received in that era
looks a little more organized.
And by leaving it as a piece of writing,
where I came from and where I am heading
becomes just a little clearer.
Thank you for reading.
I will write again.