Who Am I?

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A nobody; a nitwit; a pilot; a motorcyclist; a raconteur; a lover...of life - who loves to laugh, who tries to not take myself (or anything) too seriously...just a normal guy who knows his place in the universe by being in touch with my spiritual side. What more is there?

02 January 2020

Flirting With Alcoholism


My father was a bad alcoholic.  It pains me to admit that, and my brothers and sisters would probably prefer that I did not mention it, but the truth is the truth: Throughout most of my formative years, dad’s drinking was a problem.  He did reform, somewhat, in later years, but he never really did stop drinking entirely.

We children of alcoholics all have the gene that makes us susceptible to the “disease” as people like to call it although I’m not sure I agree.  One can always choose to not drink in the first place.  Trouble is, few of us make that choice.  

Now, I’ll admit that I like to drink.  I don’t drink because I like the taste of beer (or rum!).  I like the way it makes me feel.  If it wasn’t for the bad hangovers I get, I’d drink all the time!  In fact, I could see myself becoming a major alky.  

I’ve never kept alcohol in the house.  No beer in the fridge, no bottles of Jack in the cupboard.  It’s my little way of keeping myself from becoming an alcoholic.  I don’t ever want to be that guy who drinks at home by himself.  If I have guests over, I’ll go out and buy a bottle of nice wine.  Other than that, I don’t drink at home.

Here’s why:  For supper tonight, I cooked up a dish that I’ve known about and liked for a long time.  It’s a complicated recipe, including scallops, cilantro, ginger root, fresh garlic, snow peas, bell peppers, corn starch…oh, and a cup of white wine.  Ingredients of which I have exactly zero.  So out I go…not to Walmart (which never in a million years would have fresh cilantro), but to Publix, the higher-end grocery store where the rich snobs shop.  God, I hate that place.  Nevertheless, they had everything I needed, including a nice bottle of white.  $50.00 later, I'm walking out to the car thinking, "Why didn't we just go out to a nice restaurant?"

The dish came out fine – if a little bland – just as I remembered it.  Since the bottle of wine was already opened, I decided to have a glass with my meal.  And then another.  And soon the bottle was empty and I was back to my “no alcohol in the house” promise.  And right now, as I write this, I am feeing verrrrry good!  

I have gone through periods of fairly heavy drinking in my life.  Happily and thankfully, those days are over.  I’m not one of those annoying reformed-alcoholic teatotalers who claims to never drink – oh no!  If I go out with friends, I can (and will!) still merrily drink them under the table.  I just don’t do that very often anymore.  My goal is to never have another hangover as long as I live.  So far, so good…although we’ll have to see how I feel tomorrow morning.  Putting an open bottle of wine in front of me is a bad, bad thing.

4 comments:

Ed said...

Although I have known a few people with the gene, I was blessed to not have it. I probably only saw my dad drink a single beer a year with a guest at our house, if that. I remember once when I was old enough to drink I came back from college and he offered me one while we were sitting outside jawing. I accepted but had to spit it out. After looking at the date on the can, I realized that it had expired THREE years ago, a testament to how fast he drinks a six-pack.

Despite not having the gene, I would have made a terrific alcoholic. Despite getting really drunk a number of times in my life, I have never had a single hangover. I always thought it was because I eschewed beers and mostly drank the hard stuff. But later on in life when I reverted back to beer, it has still been the case.

These days, I am my father's son. I bought a eight pack of bottles for some guests a year or so back and drank a couple with them that evening. About a month ago when moving the refrigerator from it's temporary home into its new permanent place after our remodel, I saw three left over bottles and tried one. I poured it down the sink with its skunky companions. I have about a half dozen bottles of scotch all given to me and perhaps once a year after a particularly successful day, I will pour myself a finger, but only if my wife will join me with a glass of wine. I still have a hard time drinking alone.

Kelly said...

I always remember being told my dad was a "dry" alcoholic, which was why neither of my parents drank or had alcohol in our home. Me? I'm a beer drinker and almost always drink at home alone! Well, I'm not really alone, but my spouse doesn't like to drink, so rarely joins me. I don't drink when I'm out because I'm usually driving and that's a total no-no. That said, drinking is not a problem for me. I seldom ever drink more than one beer and have never had any trouble NOT drinking. I often choose to abstain during Lent, and when my kids were young, I decided to quit entirely and didn't have drink for 12 years.

Bob said...

Like Kelly, I went for a number of years not drinking when my children were younger. Kind of ironic, but it’s when my oldest went to college and developed a taste for beer that I re-acquired the taste for it myself. My sons, son-in-law and I enjoy drinking beer together and trying new craft beers. Also like Kelly, I’ll drink beer at home on occasion and have a nice variety on hand. Maybe I never really liked Miller and Bud that much in the early days, but when I was introduced to pale ales and IPAs, I learned I really do like the taste. Good for you for learning your inclinations and your limits.

Bob Barbanes: said...

Maaaaaan, you guys are *way* too virtuous for me! Thank you for sharing your stories.

I can clearly remember the night my best bud, Warren procured for us two bottles of, yes, Boone's Farm Apple wine. This had to be 1970, which would have made me fourteen. Oh Lordy, did I get drunk! Puke? You betcha! Hangover? Ditto. Oddly, my mom picked that very morning to clean the apartment in the *noisiest* way possible. Later on, it dawned on me that she knew I'd come home stinking drunk and stinking of my own vomit. Parents...ugh - who knew they were so smart? To this day, the mere smell of Boone's Farm is enough to make me physically ill.

Anyways, after that night of drinking with Warren, and after I recovered from the hangover, I raised my hand, index finger in the air and I swore that I would never drink again! And I've made that same vow literally countless times since then too! (Evidently I'm a slow learner.) I'm surprised I don't have an ulcer or perforated stomach from all of the extra-strength aspirin I've devoured over the years.

I have been chastised about my binge-drinking by fellow pilots who feel that I should be setting a better example for the younger ones. My reply is always the same: "Hey, just because I loved The Beatles didn't mean that I wanted to try LSD!" People make their own decisions, you know?

But even in the summer, up in Washington I don't drink nearly as much as I used to. Culturally, drinking and driving is simply verboten and the police have adopted zero-tolerance attitudes. And the Bakery, where we used to hang out and drink, is a looooooong way from the orchard where my helicopter and RV are based. I know I could navigate the roads acceptably, but falling asleep at the wheel would be a major problem, and my delayed, alcohol-dulled reactions would never enable me to miss that deer that just jumped out in front of my car. And I like my car.

But not only that! From the Bakery in Pateros up the river to the town of Okanogan where I stay, there is but one road, and it goes right through Brewster. At midnight, the cops just sit and wait. For them it must be like shooting fish in a barrel. I don't want to be one of those fish.

Final note about those craft beers that Bob mentioned: I don't understand the attraction. To me, beer is beer. As long as it's cold, I'll drink it. I know people who can tell the difference between an IPA and a pilsner or whatever; I cannot. My beer palette is not so refined. Plain ol' Budweiser is fine for me. Then again, my dad only drank Pabst Blue Ribbon, so maybe I got that gene as well. Now, rum! Ahh, that's a different story ;-)