The state of my family's livers
Aunt Susan has taken over for Trisha while Trisha is away. Her post inspired me, so I thought I would share a little about my adventures in an alcoholic family too.
The most vivid alcohol memories I have center around family reunions and weddings (Budweiser made a killing every summer in my town). My first encounter with the liquid evil was at such a gathering, a family reunion for my mother's side of the family.
I was around 6-years old, and the day was hot and humid, causing you to stick to everything you touched. Even though my great-aunt Mary had a habit of getting confused (she's now been diagnosed with alzheimer's), she was put in charge of the watermelons for the family reunion. It was a seemingly easy assignment: hollow them both out and fill one with vodka and one with juice (for the kids). Since the adults were already lit, however, no one realized that Aunt Mary switched the melons. No one noticed the children behaving oddly. As I said, it was hot, and children tend to chug. When we all started throwing up as if the Ebola virus had swept through town, my mother (who, thankfully did not get lit often) put the puzzle pieces together and removed the offending melon.
I'd like to say it never happened again, but there was the time my cousin forgot to label the punch bowels at the pig roast (yes, people have pig roasts). Then there was the wedding where the guests didn't think to keep the kids out of the orange juice fountain containing peach schnapps....I think I was drunk more as a child than I was as a college student.
At last year's reunion, my cousin wanted to pass around a container to collect money for bailing her son out of jail (he was in for either drug possession or failure to pay child support; I can't keep track). The only boxes we could find were Coors boxes--how classy.
Somehow, my parents managed to break free of the cycle for the most part. Luckily, my brothers and I have also managed not to go down that road. I still get worried sometime when school gets tough and I find myself cooking with wine for more than 3-consecutive days. It's just so hard not to pour a glass or two (or three on really bad days) when the bottle is just sitting there on the counter, staring at me.
I guess you could say that watching your family kill themselves can save your life. At least it gives me something to talk about.