Friday, January 10, 2014

Lightweight

I was sitting at work the other day when a friend linked to an article called "22 reasons to start enjoying whiskey," and for whatever reason, it peaked my attention.

By the time the day was over, as I stopped by the grocery store to pick up some other stuff, I was perusing the liquor aisles, looking for one in particular and wondering if it was as good as it sounded.

And that worried me.

I've never been much of a drinker to begin with. In my time as a legal-age consumer of alcohol, I can proudly say I've never been drunk once, nor do I intend to be any time soon. The reason is not because I think myself superior than anyone else or somehow beyond the idea of sitting down with a drink and enjoying myself.

I just don't like the act of throwing up under any circumstances and having that accompany the debilitating effects of a hangover has never struck me as a productive way to spend my time.

Call me a square all you want, but there it is.

The other reason why I've always been more than a little hesitant about letting myself dive into my cups is quite simple. I am from a family of alcoholics. My father is and was an admitted drunk when I was a kid and my mother has used quite a bit in her younger days as well. My aunt was nearly killed when, after a night of heavy drinking with my mom, she drove home drunk and slammed into a tree. Her husband, my Uncle Mike, was also a longtime drunk and fought it for most of his adult life.

*Editorial Note - Both my father and uncle have been sober for a great many years now and I'm very proud of them both.

I lost a cousin who got drunk one night and fell asleep at the wheel, also hitting a tree head-on. I was four when that happened, but I still remember the impact it had on everyone he knew.

My first stepfather was also a pretty consistent drinker and his liquor of choice was Jack Daniels. Considering how he treated me even when he hadn't had a nip or two, the realization I made even before I was a teenager was this:

If I start drinking, there was a very realistic possibility that I could never stop. And if I started drinking whiskey, I'd end up becoming an abusive, belligerent prick. 

So as I got older, I kept finding excuses for why I wouldn't drink. I didn't think it would be accepted by my friends if I just said I didn't want to risk becoming another alcoholic in my family. The best one I came up with is that I was allergic to alcohol because of something in the fermenting process was an issue for my system.

It may have been a stretch, but it worked, and so I didn't take my first drink until I was about 25.

When I started, it was with wine and over the years, I've finally taken a liking for beer. I also developed a taste for sake as well, but hard liquor was always something I figured I was okay living without.

So when I suddenly found myself thinking about buying a bottle of whiskey because it sounded very appealing, it was a scary realization. Do I think that I'm immediately going to crack it open and get bombed out of my tree? No, but I'd be lying if the thought didn't cross my mind every time I took a drink of what if this might be when I suddenly didn't want to stop.

The thing I figured out early on was to establish and know my limits, and that they were okay. I could go have a drink with my friends and be coherent enough to drive myself home without being a danger to anyone. I could have a glass of wine with my dinner and it didn't mean I'm an alcoholic.

I make no apologies for being a lightweight. Considering what my family's history is, I'd rather be that than the alternative any day.

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