Highballs

I’ll admit it. There was a time when I liked drinking alone. I don’t like doing it anymore. I enjoy company when I drink. I only have alcohol at my place because V and I drink here when we are not drinking at the bar.

My father’s favorite drink was a highball made with blended Canadian whiskey and Seven-up. My current favorite drink is a Maker’s Mark and ginger ale highball. I probably would have been a highball drinker sitting in the bar all my life, but I did not want to admit that I was like my father. I now know what was going on during a part of his life he thoroughly enjoyed.

I’m sorry, Dad. I should have been more understanding. It is ironic. One of the last things you said to me was not to let the drinking take over my life as it did yours. I wish there was a god, heaven, and lots of immortal souls populating it, souls such as yours. The thought of you laughing at me as I sit in a dark bar drinking highballs feels good. You deserve some sort of revenge for me being such a bad son. But one of the other things you said shortly before you died was that after this life there was nothing but the grave and oblivion. I agree with that, but I did not learn it from you.

I’d love to be sitting in a dark bar drinking highballs and watching baseball on television with you right now. I’d even tell you I love you, always did, and always will.

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Published in: on May 27, 2008 at 2:25 pm  Leave a Comment  

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