my ridiculously absurd life with my alcoholic father

So today I feel it's necessary to begin with some precursors, and a prelude of sorts, concerning my style of writing.  First, this blog is meant for those 18 and older.  Second, I haven't bothered to pretend to be politically correct, because life is not always lived-out properly.   It happens one day at a time, with all the good and bad emotions in the mix...and not many think of the resulting consequences of their actions that will come back on them, to be explained or repented of, at some later date.  Third, you will notice that I use dots...dashes--- and "ditto marks" as I write.  Fourth, everything I write in this blog will be non-fiction...or at the least..the truth as I see it. 
Too, this blog will reveal my life... but hopefully, elements of yours as well.   So, dig-in-deep and search your inner soul for any evidence of lingering regrets, remorse, or otherwise revengeful memories.
It seems that alcoholism and gambling and other women/men just go together.  That translates into irresponsibility and lost paychecks that disappear with far less effort than it took to earn them.  The ironic thing is that for some unknown reason, catholics approve of all of this...minus the other women or men part.  But, then too, there is the confessional for that indiscretion.  Too, that lifestyle...or lack thereof...produces much insecurity,nightmares and daytime fears. 
With my dad, there were always those big, sad, blue eyes that could make me do just about anything.  Manipulation was his thing and he knew how to use it.  Take for instance fishing.  Yeah, fishing.  Dad had this thing about fishing.  No one else he knew did.  But, he didn't like to go alone.  So he'd flash those big baby blues at me...and for some reason everyone else could tell him "thanks-but-no-thanks for an offer to go fishing with him...but!...not me...wasn't even a question...last choice but always he could count on me. 
So off we'd go, drunk or not, mostly yes, drunk dad driving !  And we'd stay until we couldn't see each other across that lake any longer.  The sun would set with us waving and smiling from across the water to each other.  No words, no real connection at all.  Oh dad thought so.  But that's more of a man thing than a drunken thing. 
And we would not mind that we didn't catch anything.  Actually, I hated all the stuff that went along with fishing.   The tall grass that snakes could hide and slither in, the stick-tights that hurt my fingers as I tried to remove them from my pants, the worms that pleaded for life as I popped the hook through their little bodies two or three times, depending on their length, and the slimy fish that demanded to be released from that menacing hook in their mouths.  But dad had given me tha look.  And that's all it took.
More tomorrow folks...see