This is quite a dramatic title for what will most likely be a lackluster account of my latter-day appreciation of adult drink, so I apologize if you later feel mislead.
My childhood and formative years weren't necessarily spent sheltered from the worldly side of life.
My father, for many years, drank recreationally. He was, for the most part, a beer drinker, who like most of his peers, appreciated a cool, sudsy one every now and then. I never saw him inebriated, though I heard stories of rare occasions when he had a bit too much after a night of dancing. There were some years when he and my mother would go out dancing with friends, most likely at clubs that ringed our particular county precinct, which was dry.
At times, we would also find bottles of stiffer stuff around the house, usually whiskies, bourbons or brandies, however, this was very rare. I remember an occasion where my father, my brother and I (both juveniles), and one of my father's co-workers were all crowded into the cab of a dump truck. As we drove down the roads, a bottle of cheap wine was passed down the line, my brother and I taking our share as well. Juvenile drinking and flaunting the open container law. Heady days...
My father's drinking days ended when he became a Christian. We were members of a Southern Baptist church, somewhat old-fashioned, and if the members of this church drank at all, they kept it well-hidden. Smoking was accepted, and the men of the church were known to sprint to the door after the closing prayer to fire one up. Gluttony was accepted as well, as the ample bellies around the sanctuary would evidence, but drinking was not to be accepted. The Fundamentalist belief that all alcohol was evil somehow took hold there in that conservative, yet reasonable, church.
Growing up in that environment, I bought into the party line as well. I was an unabashed teetotaler in my teen years, sanctimonious and proud, knowing that my way was the right way. I remember discussions with my Sunday School teacher in my late-teen years. She was a Presbyterian, so was liberated concerning drink. I would argue the dry perspective, using worn-out arguments that I had heard from others, few that could be reasonably supported by scripture or the normal rules of reason. She was kindhearted though, and didn't slam me in my ignorance as I should have been slammed.
Fast forward about 4-5 years: a recent college graduate and newly married, we would gather with our peers from our Newly Married Couples Sunday School class. There were a select number of our group that felt more liberated, but were most likely rebels against the party line. We would have small fellowships where wine or wine coolers flowed, and we felt edgy and real and untouchable. We remained in hiding, which also means we were ashamed to a degree. It wasn't a frequent practice, yet proved that I either doubted my earlier dogmatic position of dryness or I was sinning against my own conscience.
My dryness continued for some time. Some years later, I eased up on my convictions, having a glass of wine here or there, occasionally a little more. I rarely bought it for myself though. On the rare and few occasions that I went into liquor stores to buy something special for this or that, I felt like I was somewhere I didn't belong.
I'm not really sure when my total liberation took place, but now I find myself doing things that I would have never imagined 30 years ago. I go into liquor stores regularly. I am a member of the frequent shoppers club at one particular store that I favor. I still have no fondness for beer, but have found that I like some single-malt scotches, irish whiskies, vodka, rum and tequila. Vodka, rum and tequila are usually for cocktails and are rarely used straight-up. Whiskies are sipped and appreciated for their complexity, though I don't have the discerning palate in that area that I would desire. I've tried to perfect certain cocktails that I favor, usually using the tequila, rum or vodka, so I'm an amateur barkeep.
My adult children are "liberated", too, and their formation has been interesting to witness. One is like her mother, preferring the sweetly palatable girly drinks. Another likes beers, proving such tastes aren't inherited from parents. Another drinks drier wines and whiskies and other things more in line with my tastes, yet has attenuated her imbibing in her latter years by her own will power, choosing more often now to abstain. I respect this a lot. Self control is a rare virtue.
I still have a goodly number of friends that wouldn't understand where I am now. They are still in bondage to the notion that all drink is wrong. My belief on the matter is not without support or reason. I am where I am now because I came to realize that drinking is not wrong
per se, and is only wrong or bad when used to excess. This puts it in the same class of every other acceptable activity on this earth. When we do not exercise self-control in our liberties, we are lawbreakers just the same. Being controlled by our appetites and using them to excess is the sin, not the general exercise. Granted, there are some things that are wrong in any application, yet drinking is not one of them.
In years past, I heard sermons, voiced by desperate pastors who sought to frighten the congregation into understanding that alcohol was the Devil's device. They would go to great lengths, stretching scriptural supporting texts to the breaking point in order to support their dogma. Biblical wine wasn't wine, they said, but was grape juice. Jesus turned water into Welch's. Greek vocabulary was often bandied about to give the sermons the authority of the original languages, which none of the rest of us knew. We believed them. We never drank.
It has always been a worry of mine that if I drank, I'd be excessive and therefore, a drunkard. Now that I do drink, I don't believe I'm excessive. I've never, in my entire life, been what I would consider drunk. Buzzed perhaps, and there are some that would say this is just the same, but never drunk. When even buzzed, I don't want to drive, which may prove non-drunkedness as few drunks have enough good judgement to say no to driving.
Why do I do it now when I did without for so many years? I enjoy it, for one. It's a common bond I share with my son-in-law, as well as with some new friends and my older children. None of us are presently over-users, and the ones that have been excessive in the past have learned their lessons from those events. All said, I have no regrets. It may yet prove to be that my drinking will give me common ground with certain people and open certain doors that would have remained closed. That may be wishful thinking, borne from a desire to validate my newfound hobby. I think not, but we shall see.
