Beer Parties

I'm not sure if it was because Dad, himself, had been drinking (he wasn't so much mean when drinking, but odd) or because he thought it would teach us something (there was never any telling what he thought his "lessons" were teaching), but oftentimes we would all gather on Dave's bed in the middle of the night (I was awakened, I'm not sure about my siblings). The purpose for our gathering was a beer party. No special occasion, no reasons ever given, just to sit around on his bed and "chug" beer to Dad's song: "Here's to (Jenny) and the way (s)he does the hoochie-kooch, soooooo....drink chugalug, chugalug, chugalug..." We all got our turn to "chugalug" and everyone loved my turn because of the faces I made when trying to be tough about drinking something so awful--especially to my four and five-year-old taste buds.

Did I mention four and five-year-old taste buds? It amazes me still that none of us have any drinking or drug issues. If his lesson was to make us, me in particular, dislike beer, it worked. I won't drink it to this day. Another thing I learned from those beer parties was how fun things were when the family was together--even if it was doing something I detested in a place that was uncomfortable to be (Dave's bed was not a welcoming place with boogers on the wall and blood stains on the sheets from his constant bloody noses). It was still fun to watch my siblings have their turns and to just be close to each other.

Does it make me an optimist to see the good in this or just warped from drinking the rocks out of my brook?

Jen;-)