Why my Dad celebrated two birthdays | THE MOM STOP

There are some smells that bring me back to a certain place or time in life — but some smells summon more vivid memories than others.

The smell of peach-scented lip gloss brings me back to junior high school, when my favorite Lip Smacker potted lip gloss was always in my backpack.

The smell of natural gas and wet pine needles automatically reminds me of the days after an EF-4 tornado tore through my neighborhood in 2011. The gas lines were repaired and the trees eventually replanted, homes were repaired and rebuilt, but I think the sickly-sweet smell of natural gas will always remind me of tornadoes.

And there’s the smell of burnt coffee and cigarette smoke or the quick smell of a birthday candle being blown out — all of which instantly take me back to my childhood. Those smells remind me of when my Dad would take my sister and me to the little yellow house in Athens, Alabama, that served as an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting hall.

As a single dad with two girls visiting on “his” weekends, he couldn’t afford a sitter or have anywhere else for us to go; But , as a recovering addict and alcoholic, he knew how important those meetings were for him and his sobriety. And so we went.

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Sometimes my sister and I would play in the back kitchen of the house, going through cupboards and making flowers or other shapes with folded coffee filters. Other times we’d bring a coloring book and quietly draw while the meeting went on.

But as we got older, we started listening, especially when our dad spoke but also as others spoke about their lives and their sobriety. We’d celebrate and clap as people received coins or tokens recognizing how long they’d been sober. And sometimes, when someone was celebrating a year or more of sobriety, we were really happy to be there — because it meant cake.

For the majority of my life, we celebrated my dad’s two birthdays, the day he was born, and the day he became sober. When he got sober, he became stronger in his faith, he found purpose and he became an incredibly good father who wanted to be there as much as he could be for his kids.

Those AA meetings weren’t the ideal place for my dad to bring his two young daughters, but they made a lasting impression. They introduced us to the fact that not everyone has the same path in life, but that, regardless, everyone has struggles. Some struggles are more difficult than others, but going to those meetings taught us the importance of empathy and supporting others when they need it.

And it taught us to listen — not necessarily “listening” the way that our parents taught us, but truly listening to others when they need to talk. It’s a skill that proved useful to me later, not just as a parent, but as a journalist. And it also taught us to celebrate not just the big victories, but the little victories, too. Because in life, little victories are sometimes the hardest to achieve.

Looking back, I thank God that my dad got sober when I was only 7 and my sister was 3, because we have very few memories of him before that. We only remember the man he became later — the man I still miss every day. And even though it’s been a little more than three years since he passed away, when I smelled burnt coffee or cigarettes, when I see a birthday sheet cake in the grocery store or smell freshly blown-out birthday candles, I think of him. And I’m grateful.

Last week, I received a message on Facebook from a woman I don’t know well, but she was someone who attended AA meetings at the same location as my dad in Orange County, California. In that hall, there’s a tile on the wall which my dad decorated, that says “Another Day in Paradise,” which was one of his common quips, his way of being grateful for every day God gave him.

In the message, his friend told me that at that day’s morning AA meeting, people shared memories of my dad — he had become an “old-timer,” as he had almost 31 years of sobriety when he died. Every meeting, he would start by saying “What’s good about today” and start by focusing on something positive, something I see myself doing in my own life, day to day.

“He was loved and made such an impact on people’s lives,” his friend said in her message.

I couldn’t help but think about how right she was. And then I realized the date  — June 28. It was Dad’s “AA birthday,” what would have been the 34th anniversary of him being sober.

And I couldn’t help but smile, and think that I might pick up a small birthday cake to share the kids on my way home.

Lydia Seabol Avant writes The Mom Stop for The Tuscaloosa News. Reach her at momstopcolumn@gmail.com.

This article originally appeared on The Tuscaloosa News: Why my Dad celebrated two birthdays | THE MOM STOP