It was a cool fall Sunday afternoon at the softball park. As I remember it, I could bare the temperature because I was all of six or seven. Pops manned the barbeque grill and my brothers and I ran around with all the other kids pretending to be our fathers on the diamond.
After a few hours of horseplay, I needed to quench my thirst. I asked my dad for something to drink. He looked around all of the different coolers for a pop (middle finger you if you call it soda) or water, but to no avail. All that remained was beer.
Being in the drunken stupor that he was in, he picked one up and stretched a cold one out in my direction.
"Son, if you're thirsty this is what you're going to have to drink," he said.
Growning up and even still today, if someone says something to me that's ignorant, I look at them crazy. But it was rare that I did this with my father. Yet, this was that special/rare occassion. I cocked my head sideways like a confused cockerspanial.
"Alright, be thirsty," he said.
I rushed toward him and took the beer. I knew I wasn't supposed to drink beer, and if my mom found out all hell would break loose. But what would be so wrong with getting a taste of what made my father such a happy man. (Seriously, my brothers and I all loved when he was drunk because that's when he became less of an asshole and would take us to McDonald's without us asking.)
I opened the can and took my first sip of what I now call the truth syrum. I took it down with the ugliest look on my face because of how disgusting it tasted. I took a few more sips before giving it back to my father, and going back to the field. The beer did quench my parched throat.
Today, as I look back on my first gulp of beer, I wonder why it no longer does that. Why after every drunken or not so drunken bout with alcohol I have, do I always wake up in such a dehydrated state that it feels like I spent the night in the Sahara?
I do not understand this. In college, I probably had 50 drunken bouts and two blackouts, and probably had a total of three hangovers. Now, if I get tipsy, there's a 50 percent chance I won't leave the bed until noon the next day (or else I'm just feeling shitty as hell at work).
This, my friends, is why I feel old.
After a few hours of horseplay, I needed to quench my thirst. I asked my dad for something to drink. He looked around all of the different coolers for a pop (middle finger you if you call it soda) or water, but to no avail. All that remained was beer.
Being in the drunken stupor that he was in, he picked one up and stretched a cold one out in my direction.
"Son, if you're thirsty this is what you're going to have to drink," he said.
Growning up and even still today, if someone says something to me that's ignorant, I look at them crazy. But it was rare that I did this with my father. Yet, this was that special/rare occassion. I cocked my head sideways like a confused cockerspanial.
"Alright, be thirsty," he said.
I rushed toward him and took the beer. I knew I wasn't supposed to drink beer, and if my mom found out all hell would break loose. But what would be so wrong with getting a taste of what made my father such a happy man. (Seriously, my brothers and I all loved when he was drunk because that's when he became less of an asshole and would take us to McDonald's without us asking.)
I opened the can and took my first sip of what I now call the truth syrum. I took it down with the ugliest look on my face because of how disgusting it tasted. I took a few more sips before giving it back to my father, and going back to the field. The beer did quench my parched throat.
Today, as I look back on my first gulp of beer, I wonder why it no longer does that. Why after every drunken or not so drunken bout with alcohol I have, do I always wake up in such a dehydrated state that it feels like I spent the night in the Sahara?
I do not understand this. In college, I probably had 50 drunken bouts and two blackouts, and probably had a total of three hangovers. Now, if I get tipsy, there's a 50 percent chance I won't leave the bed until noon the next day (or else I'm just feeling shitty as hell at work).
This, my friends, is why I feel old.
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