Drinking, Health / Wellness

The Greatest Gift My Father Gave Me

Brian Cuban writes about the time his father helped him take a big step in his recovery, saving his life.

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bcuban familyApril 2007.  I am broken.  I am lost.  By walking through the door of an alcohol 12-step recovery group[1] the day before and accepting my desire chip, I have taken that leap of faith and my first step into recovery. That first step forward we all must take to survive regardless of the mode of recovery chosen. I am still missing something however.  I am missing that conversation.  The conversation of a 13-year-old boy and his dad.  A conversation about being bullied, feeling ugly, a difficult relationship with his mother, feeling so alone in his bedroom wanting to be loved. Not understanding that he is loved.  Too afraid of being told he is not.

Now, two days off of an alcohol- and drug-induced blackout.  Two days off of my second trip to a local psychiatric facility.  I’ve begun the journey of honesty about where I am in my addictions, eating disorder, and depression. My gut-wrenching loneliness in a crowded room. Without my father however, there is no honesty. Without that conversation that never took place over four decades ago.  Only continued hiding from the truth.

I stand outside his apartment door.  A door walking distance from my home. A door walking distances from his other two son’s homes. Decades later, and over a thousand miles from Pittsburgh where we were raised. This is no accident.  It was the bond of family and brotherhood he instilled in his three sons.  Growing up, we would constantly hear him say:

“Mark, Jeff, and Brian, wherever you go in life, never allow yourselves to grow apart.  Always love each other. Never be afraid to tell the other you love him.  Always call each other. Always be there in difficult times. There is nothing more important than your bond as brothers. As my sons.” 

My father was the middle of three children. He understood that bond all so well. He and his older brother Marty worked together at a small car trim shop in Pittsburgh for over 40 years until Marty’s death.

I stand at his door.  He is now in his eighties. He does not deserve such a burden now.  To feel his son’s lifetime of pain. I stand there…  I stand there…  I finally knock.   “Come on in, Brian! So great to see you!” As usual, he offers me his seat on the couch. He asks me if I need anything to eat.  I need to talk.  He knows something is wrong.  A father knows.  He sits down next to me on the couch.  I am crying.  In an hour, I unload decades of pain.  Things I had kept from my him because I loved him. Because I did not want to burden him.  Because I did not want to see his disappointment in me.  I did not want to see his pain over my failures in life.

There was none of that.  He held me. He cried with me.  Then he said the one thing that defined everything he had taught his sons growing up.

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“Brian, I love you. Move in with me and we will get through this together.”

My father, Norton, or “Norty” as he is called by so many. My father, of the greatest generation. A veteran of the Pacific and Korea.  My father gave me the greatest gift.  The gift of a father talking to his 13-year-old son and letting him know he is loved.  I was that 13-year-old boy.  My father had allowed me to take another step in recovery. The gift of finally allowing myself to be loved. The gift he had instilled in all of his sons so many years earlier in loving and supporting each other.  That day, my father helped redefine my future. That day, my dad saved my life.


[1] The largest and most well-known alcohol 12-step recovery group is Alcoholics Anonymous.

Brian Cuban (@bcuban) is The Addicted Lawyer. Brian is the author of the Amazon best-selling book, The Addicted Lawyer: Tales Of The Bar, Booze, Blow & Redemption (affiliate link). A graduate of the University of Pittsburgh School of Law, he somehow made it through as an alcoholic then added cocaine to his résumé as a practicing attorney. He went into recovery April 8, 2007. He left the practice of law and now writes and speaks on recovery topics, not only for the legal profession, but on recovery in general. He can be reached at brian@addictedlawyer.com.

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