Patiently Growing Sobriety Muscles

I remember bringing my dad beers on the Saturday afternoons of my youth. In exchange for my courier services, he would give me sips. I don’t remember what it tasted like, but I do remember how it felt. It wasn’t about a buzz from alcohol back then, it was about the comfort and love of bonding with my dad.

I remember finding a six-pack of beer hidden in the branches of a tree back in middle school. My two buddies and I each had two, and they were magnificent. I still don’t really remember the taste. I do remember the buzz. It came both from the alcohol and from the mischievous intent. We were doing something forbidden. If either our parents or the high schoolers who hid the beer caught us, we would have been in trouble.

I remember buying beer in high school. I had to wear a tie for my job at the music store in the mall. When I loosened my tie and went to the liquor store at 5:30 or 6pm, and I rubbed my brow as I walked in like I needed relief from a long day of work, I looked old enough to buy beer without an I.D. The only thing that felt better than being a beer-buying hero for my friends was the alcohol warming me from the inside out.

I remember alcohol becoming the center of my universe in college. Sure, the parties on the weekends were the highlight, but I loved drinking a few beers on weeknights after pretending to study for a…