The beginnings

I was born into an alcoholic family. Every memory I have of my Grandparent's house in Bellvue is of a summer picnic or Christmas party with all of my aunts and uncles and cousins gathered together with lots of beer. They were functional alcoholics; never appeared super-drunk; always stayed very late; and drove home from my grandparents house to their own homes. They held jobs and took care of their homes and kids, just like my grandparents did. Hell, when I stayed over night at my grandparents house as a kid I remember my grandfather cracking an Iron City by 9 am when he was in his 80's. It's just what he did. He lived to be 96 by the way. So like I said being a functional alcoholic was totally acceptable in my family. Even though no one said the word alcoholic. Then my mom married my biological father. His name is Bob. They had me about 10 months later. Bob was not a functional alcoholic. He was and still is a non-functional alcoholic. He liked to get falling-down, throwing-up, blacking-out drunk. He got fired from his jobs a lot. He was actually a really great athlete in high school, and was even offered a pitching position with the Pittsburgh Pirates but they said he had to go to rehab and not drink as a condition of his contract. The Pirates were even going to pay for it. He turned it down. So mom divorced Bob because he was a non-functional alcoholic. I think I was about 2 years old at the time. He had visitations but the little bits I remember was just him taking me to a little dive bar in the bottoms of McKeese Rocks Pittsburgh, his dad owned (also an alcoholic who later died from bleeding esophageal varacies). Then my mom remarried. She got a new lawyer and the visitations changed. The new rules were that Bob could no longer take me to a bar and no longer drink when he had visitations with me. I was 4 years old at the time and I didn't see Bob again for 36 years. Telling Bob he couldn't drink when he was around me was like telling him he couldn't breath. And I was hurt. I was resentful. I was angry. And I was fearful. At 4 years old I was already stuck in the triangle of self obsession. My mom and step-father, Dan were not helpful. I received no explanation. As a matter-of-fact, it was forbidden to even ask about my dad. The answer I received when I did ask about him was "he loves his beer more than he loves you". Now that's a really shitty thing to tell a child about their father. That just fostered more fear in me. My step-father, who is now my new dad, drinks beer, I know because he sends me to the fridge to get it for him. Will he also leave because he loves beer more than me? My mom drinks beer. Not as much as my new dad, but will she end up loving beer more than me? More resentment, more anger, more fear. Only I'm a child and I don't know what I'm feeling so I'm also confused.