It's Been Nearly a Week

And that is too damn long to go without a blog. Unfortunately, I have nothing to blog about at this moment. So, instead, I will share the story of my first beer.

When I was 12, my father called me into his room for a "chat." These "chats" were few and far between, so I was not sure what this one would entail. So I entered the room- quite cautious of what he may have discovered I did, or was about to do- when I saw him sitting on the edge of his bed, a beer in each hand. He handed me one, told me to drink, and proceeded to give me "the talk." Yes, "that" "talk." And so I listened. I already had a pretty good idea about "it" based on school education and that channel on cable my mom didn't discover until I was 14, but I decided to humor him. And beside, I got beer. I must admit, initially I was more focused on the beer than on his ramblings, until it came to the end. My father always had a great way of summarizing his point, and I learned through the years that- should my mind wander during a "chat" I could always get the gist of it from the summary that followed.

"Son," my father said, as I managed to finish my first of many Pabst Blue Ribbons, "You're going to meet a lot of special people in your life. And some will love you, and some will say they love you, and not really mean it. The point is, I don't want you to lose your virginity to someone who doesn't love you.

"Now come here."





Has it sunk in yet? That was a joke. (In fact, once it got me into the regional semi-finals of a Bud Light joke contest on their website. I don't think the clip is available online anymore.) That scenario never happened. I enjoy telling that story because the story of my first beer- and my dad's sex talk- are fairly mundane. In fact, I'll quote you my dad's sex talk real quick, and then tell you the real story of my first beer.

Here is his entire sex talk: "If you ever decide you need them, I have condoms in my sock drawer you can use."

Awe inspiring, yeah? Now, the story of my first beer, which does involve my dad, just not like the joke sex story above.

At some point in my adolescent years- probably around year 13 or so- my father made a simple request: he asked that when I have my first beer, that it be with him. I agreed. We bonded. Many years went by.

Then I went to college.

But no, unlike most college students away from home for the first time, I did not waiver from my covenant with my father. I may have imbibed other various alcohols and food-like-stuffs for the amusement of my dorm-mates, but not once did that sweet combination of barley, hops, and yeast touch my lips. No, I had made a promise: and I intended to deliver. And deliver I did.

A couple of months past my 21st birthday, I cam home for a weekend visit to see my aunt off as she moved out of state. At her going-away party- which, unsurprisingly to anyone with any knowledge of my family, was held at a bar- my father asked if he could buy me anything. I don't think he remembered the pledge I gave him nearly eight years prior at this point, but I sure remembered.

"Sure, Dad," I said, ready for the manly hug that was sure to come my way. "I'll take a beer."

"Ok," my dad nonchalantly replied. "What's your brand?"

Surely he knew I had no brand. After all, I had promised him no beer until I could have one with him. So I told him that.

"I don't know. I've never had a beer."

"You're kidding!" my father yelled. I couldn't tell if the look he gave me was one of disappointment, or one of confusion, or one of disbelief. After all, I am a Woolhouse: most of us are born into AA. I have cousins who were given "12 Month Sober" chips on their third month birthdays. So I reminded him of our pact.

"You asked if I would wait to have my first beer with you, so I did."

"Oh, thanks." Then he turned and got a Miller Light from the bartender.

And that was it. All that build up, all that turning away offers of "brewskies" in college, all that forcing myself to drink hard liquor because I wanted to keep a promise I made to my father years before, and he barely remembered it. I downed that mother quick, and then another, and then another. I had lost time to make up for.

And that is the story of my first beer.

Also, it is the story of my last promise kept.

You hear that, wife?

Love you tender,

Adam "The 'House" Woolhouse