Sometimes, when I hear music from the early 80s, I’m hit with nostalgia, warmth, happiness, and hope. But I’ve often questioned why. Coming from a home with divorce, which happened when I was only three, a lot of my childhood wasn’t happy. My parent’s split cast a dark shadow of shouting, anger, vindictiveness, and heartache on family life. Sad memories which still occasionally surface and sting today, even though I’m nearly 50.
Last night, as I watched a movie set in the 80s and enjoyed the soundtrack, something clicked. I finally figured out why I feel this way. It hit me that despite the chaos of the immediate post-divorce days, the early 80s was a time before alcohol took over.
My mum told me my dad always drank, even before they split. But as a young child, I didn’t see it as a big issue. He was strong, friendly, funny, kind and charming, with a strong work ethic and a need for mischief. I lived with him after the divorce, and I adored him. I remember finding his drunkenness amusing when I was about eight as he stumbled across the living room and fell into the Christmas tree. But once I reached my teens it wasn’t funny anymore. His drinking was a major issue, which I often felt I had to deal with alone, and it continued to cast a big shadow until he died when I was 40.
The drink made my dad lose respect for himself, and people lost respect for him. He always managed to pay the bills – he was a functioning alcoholic – and if my dad lost a job, he mostly picked up another one. But he stopped looking well, and he struggled financially, emotionally, and mentally. And therefore, so did I because his burdens felt like my burdens, and as he soaked himself in whisky, I felt like I was drowning.
He never physically hurt me (which I’m thankful for) – he was a sad drunk with a vicious tongue rather than a violent fist – but watching him slowly kill himself, hurt me deeply. I constantly worried I’d find him dead when I got home from school, and I used to check if he was breathing in the middle of the night. I also felt a lot of shame when people saw him drunk. And all these years later, I can still feel the consequences of this trauma.
So, back to the glory days of the 1980s, its music and culture, and the odd reasons for my nostalgic thoughts of warmth and hope… I have an answer to my question. It’s not the era itself that generates these feelings; it’s more about the innocent time before alcohol tightened its grip on my life – before it changed my dad and made me collateral damage to countless bottles of whiskey.