As I thankfully continue to move through the decades of my life (now in my 50’s, for those of you at home keeping score), I’m amazed at the amount of knowledge and “wisdom” that continues to present itself to me on a day-to-day basis.  I’m talking about the kind of know-how and “facts of life” that no one can really explain to you – but is acquired only through personal experience.  Call it life’s “dirty little secrets” file – we all share the situations, yet no one really talks about it.

Today I’m going to focus on drinking.  Now, I’m not talking about water and lemonade, but I’m specifically referring to beer, wine, and other spirits.

First, I’ll start in my twenties.  Now, for the record – and since we’re all friends here, I will say that in my youth, I drank a fair amount of alcohol – beer to be exact.  Anytime and anywhere – many times to excess.  I was single, and my friends and I would drink beer in crowded bars, at backyard parties, and in cramped apartments.  It was a real “last man standing” type of lifestyle.  We would drink while doing other outdoor activities, like playing golf (a beer a hole, which I will confess eventually produces negative returns on one’s score), camping, boating, or other events.  We created games just to consume beer.  We’d sit around tables, playing card games like “Pyramid”, or “Up the River, Down the River”, where the penalties involved swallows of hops and barley.  I used to be one hell of a “quarters” player, instinctively being able to bounce a twenty-five cent piece off of a table and into a glass of almost any height.  Ahhhh, youth.

The consequences of these long nights of debauchery were almost negligible.  I can recall putting down a half-empty can or cup at 5:30 AM at some random party and coming into work to start my shift at 7:00 AM on more than one occasion.  It wouldn’t be the best of days, but I did show up – and by noon, I’d generally be fine – – – a little sweaty, but fine.

Then, as I moved into my thirties and forties, things began to change.  Now I had a wife, and a job that was turning into a career with responsibilities.  There were bills to pay, errands to run, and yards to mow.  Granted, my younger self tried to hang on for a while.  My neighbor and I had season tickets to the Orlando Predators (indoor arena football), but we never saw the end of a single game for several years.  Instead, we stood in the concourse and drank beer for the entire second half of every home game.  I had also purchased a home kegerator, so there was always draft beer at the ready – in my house.  With the arrival of kids; however, this free-wheeling lifestyle slowed down considerably, and my body began giving me signs that as an older person, I may want to tap the brakes a bit.  I know it’s portrayed on TV that the middle-aged professional comes home, has a cocktail or two before dinner, wine with his evening meal, and maybe an after-dinner drink, but let me tell you something – that guy is not functioning worth a damn by 8:00 PM.  He’s gone off the rails and is feeling all Pink Floyd’s ‘Comfortably Numb’ before his pot roast is even finished.  That’s why all the drama on those shows happens AFTER dinner.  Jerry’s in no shape to talk about your feelings now, Phyllis.  He is also most certainly not thinking about how his newborn daughter will be up at 2:00 AM, looking to be fed, changed, and played with until the sun comes up.  Try that once and as they say around here – you’ll have done it twice – the first and last time together.

Now, I’m in my fifties.  The kegerator is gone, I routinely nap on the weekends, and a second bottle of wine with dinner means I’ll be up all night, dreaming wildly and not being able to control my body temperature.  The blanket is on and I’m burning up – it’s off and I’m freezing cold, flopping around on the mattress like a fresh-caught bass on a pond dock.  The headache on the morning after cannot be described in words, and a hangover (God forbid) will last until the sun goes down.  These days, if I have a few beers after work with friends, I’ll be home and blissfully asleep in my recliner by 7:30 PM.  Sentences now come out of my mouth like “do you want to split that beer tasting flight?” or “why do these barstools have to be so high?”  It’s embarrassing.

“Young me” would shake his head at “old me” in bitter disappointment.

But don’t worry, “old me” won’t tell “young me” what’s coming in the years ahead, just out of spite and the sheer enjoyment out of watching “young me” hit the wall. 

“Young me” wouldn’t listen, anyway.