Alcohol and Me, three parts

Part 1

Very first memory, taking sips from a small glass, my father would mix some sweet kosher wine with water, probably on a holiday like Passover. The sharp kick of alcohol, even that miniscule amount, and the warmth down the throat, spreading inside.

First few times it was consumed in quantity, and I actually got drunk, then pretty sick, was with some Cold Duck. Don't recall how we ever got a couple of bottles, with my old friend David, I think we were fifteen or so at the time. It wasn't easy, slowly draining a bottle of this bubbly crap while trying to play double solitaire in my mom's garage, the taste of it became more tolerable. 

But, after a few times waking up feeling like morning meatloaf roadkill, you tell yourself it's just not worth it, but then you forget that fairly quickly. Perspectives can change at different ages, like old memories, they evolve. Fast-forward a few years later, after little interest in the subject, I re-united with alcohol in a whole different way. 

Part 2 

The Pico-Union neighborhood in the '70's was a teeming amalgam of many Central, South American, and Mexican cultures. A great and lively street life, with endlessly enticing sights, sounds, and food aromas, it was a thriving urban center for working-class Angelinos from every destination. Densely populated,  busy Alvarado Boulevard included several blocks of Westlake Park, with its resident ducks, small boats, pigeons, and palm trees. 

Somehow, I was existing, seriously depressed and cut off from family and friends, almost twenty-one, my unemployment checks were about to end; I had a small, 3rd floor apartment, low rent. For the prior months, my entire life had been hanging out at this combo pool hall/bar off of 8th Street, it was called the Tender Trap. With my long hair, beard, and characteristic cowboy hat, no one ever asked for my ID. So, I happily drank away, daily, from the 12 noon open to late night closing. 

One casual afternoon, I'm at the counter with a cold mug, and these two old bartenders got into an ugly spat, with one tearing off his apron and storming out the door, never to return. Two days later-- I'm still two months away from legal age-- I'm working behind the bar. That's when things started to change fast, notably, my tolerance for beer. Within weeks, my usual consumption of several mugs a day rapidly turned into several pitchers a day, but feeling no pain, because there's a certain subtlety that masks what's happening by degrees. 

Tolerance Factor, along with Abstinence Syndrome (withdrawal) the only two ingredients needed to create big trouble. These two clinical addiction markers characterize what happens to us when we drink alcohol constantly, with little thought to the destruction at hand. Soon, within a few fast months, I was a walking mess. Adding a bottle of sweet Southern Comfort to my daily beer at the bar intake didn't help at all. I began noticing changes, definitely bad ones. 

My hands developed a slight tremble, my concentration, like even driving, was skewed and very short-term. Typically in good cheer, I became more sullen, paranoid, and grumpy. Feeling sorry for myself and for my solitary, loveless life, I drank more. Now, it was a small bottle of awful Ripple pear wine as soon as I woke up, then steadier, I could tie my shoes. Knew I was in danger, sinking fast, but it was still the world's fault, all of it, I vainly thought, my self-pity was dominant, there was nowhere to go. 

This went on for months, then I got fired over something stupid, the bar changed owners, but I'm still drinking heavy, even passing out in the park at times. Then, my own memory gets murky here. I recall catching a very devastating flu, sick for weeks, also in withdrawal as I had simply stopped drinking cold turkey, not smart. Guess the cough syrup helped get thru it, not really sure, maybe it was dumb luck. 

Reopening another unemployment claim, I eventually moved and ended up across the street from Los Angeles City College on Vermont, taking psych classes, then their whole Counseling Curriculum. Never returned to alcohol. Very fortunately I got a great job in the field, my life got back on track again. 

Part 3

Today, I can enjoy alcohol beverages, but only rarely. A single shot of good tequila, or rum, or whiskey can be a very nice occasional pleasure after dinner. Also, love to try sweet liquors and wines, like Muscats, or silky smooth sauternes and such, I guess goes back to that first taste of grape Concord at the table with my father. 

Lucky and grateful my early episodes with alcohol didn't destroy me or derail my life forever, could have happened.