The Bunny's Tail

Dad wore Old Spice Aftershave. As a child I loved that smell. It covered up the stink of alcohol which oozed from his pores and which gagged me as I reached up to kiss him goodnight.

One of the requirements in our family was that I pretend to adore him. On the rare occasions I didn’t, he’d shout, "YOU MUST THINK I'M A TERRIBLE PERSON!”

As an adult, I imagine myself saying, “I do think you’re a terrible person. Consider what you’ve done to my mother, to our house, to me. Don’t come around here with your alcoholic victimization routine.” But at the time I was struck dumb, paralyzed from the terrible wound that we called a family.


Dad has been dead six years now. One of the things my daughter inherited was his old leather key chain. She says, “It used to smell like [Grandpa], but it doesn’t any more.” Curious, I take a sniff and my hound dog nose picks up the scent of Old Spice.

Instantly the memory of him comes back so intensely he seems to be in the room with us. Tears fill my eyes. My daddy is here and he’s gone forever.

I lean against the wall, very mixed up. On one hand, I am a scared kid, hiding under the kitchen table while he beats my mom. Another part of me remembers…

The first time he came home from rehab, I was five or six. He had made two ceramic bowls in there--one for my brother and one for me. I still have mine. On the side is a picture of me with a halo and my nickname Pody followed by pictures of cats dreaming about fish or saying “meow.” Best of all, at the bottom of the bowl was the back of a bunny. If I ate all my cereal or whatever, I could see its fluffy tail.

Today I hold the bowl in my hands and think how he went to the trouble to make this treasure for me. If there was a fire in our house (and assuming the cats and husband were safely outside) I would grab that bowl, because hidden underneath the alcoholism, he’d loved me all the time. And underneath the fear and hurt and anger I’d loved him.