Demon Rum

“I’d rather have a bottle in front of me than a frontal lobotomy” - Dorothy Parker

My 35th anniversary of sobriety is December 26th of this year. Not ready to take a victory lap yet. It's one day at a time although there's no desire to drink. Can remember my last cocktail. In a bar with two friends from high school that recently married. I was in the wedding party, so we were close. But all it took was one libation and I slurred my words. Was on the verge of blackout. A first-rate performance. Probably more embarrassing for my companions than me because the details are foggy. My friends drove me home and the next day, I entered an outpatient facility for alcohol abuse. One's too many, a hundred's not enough. That was me to a T.

This had been coming on for five years. I was ready for it, but kept it to myself. Back in those days, about one in ten had substance abuse problems. Plus, there was much more of a stigma attached to it. Now it's one in five because of the opiod epidemic and lackadaisical attitude about chemicals in some circles. Cancer is the same way. Everybody openly talks about it now. I've experienced both, but being at an advanced age, tend not to bring it up. Old habits die hard. N'est-ce pas.

"Life Is Like High School with Money." - Frank Zappa

I had a tight-knit group a friends in high school. The popular clique. Because it's a college town, Ithaca High had blurred divisions for all the social factions. Jocks. Nerds. Dramaramas. Even the greasers. A blended collective. My secondary education era was the 1970's, so there's a mixture of Rock, Soul, Funk, Disco and Heavy Metal. Not just the music, but a mosaic mindset. Anything goes. I'm not sure what it's like now, but if it's anything like current musical tastes, there's probably rigidity in the segmentation. People enjoy either Country or Rap or Pop or Electronica or Folk. Very few concentric circles like days of yore. Or so it seems. I'm OK – You're OK. Works with me.

Relationships ebb and flow through the years. Sometimes they get lost at sea. But I'm very grateful and fortunate I'm still in contact with my inner circle from The Class of '77. Missed a couple reunions early on, and somewhat lost touch. My parents never went to reunions, and they were class officers. It rubbed off. Could picture myself at the beer and bull sessions drinking bottled water while old associates were having a few cold ones. My world had been turned upside down. Better to let things simmer. Or so I thought. Temperance is a never ending process. In the past fifteen years, I've reconnected, and it's been great.

When you get older, one of the more unfortunate things that happens, is nature begins to thin out the herd. Some of it's from 'lifestyle complications', which is code for overdose. But the majority of it comes from natural causes such as cancer and cardiac arrest. I've lost friends. Six members of my high school football team have already passed away. Two from my inner social circle. I was in both of their wedding parties. As a groomsman and as Best Man. Yes, one was with me the last time I consumed alcohol. He died of pancreatic cancer recently. He and his wife moved to Atlanta years ago and found religion. I don't know which way he leaned politically. It didn't matter. He was my friend.

I remember him from football. Pound for pound, the strongest guy on the team. Punched above his weight, too. They said he battled cancer, but people always say that. You really don't battle cancer, you try to contain it. Nevertheless, he put up a good fight for two years. Countless rounds of chemo and surgeries. Kept a stiff upper lip, too. His wife stayed by his side every step of the way. Lots of people lift weights and think they can play football. It's not as easy as it looks on TV. All hat, no cattle. You've got to button your chinstrap and put a hat on somebody. My buddy, he could play ball.

During my first reunion, I wondered if I'd come across as a party pooper. I tend to speculate if my sobriety bothers people. Most don't notice. At the reunion, some classmates came three sheets to the wind. We used to drink together, and they took a dim view of me. Buzzkill. It was just the whiskey talking. Like water off a duck's back, I let it go. However, my old gang accepted me despite my faults. That's what friends are for. With all the drinking we used to do, somebody had to fall through the cracks. Unfortunately, it was me. For the past three years, we've had an annual weekend cookout on Cayuga Lake. Most come from all over the country. I'm looking forward to next year.