Turning 21 has it's perks. Most notably is the privillege to walk into a restaurant and/or bar and order an alcoholic beverage that bears a funny name and the ability to make you feel funny all over. Except my mother had different plans.
When I brought home my first bottle of wine, a birthday gift from a dear friend, my religious-fanatic and holier-than-thou mother had a fit. Her house was a Godly house, and "smuggling" a bottle of wine through the threshold was committing a mortal sin. Which was odd, since she had a bottle of merlot displayed in the wine rack in our kitchen, that was given to our family as a house-warming gift from our dearly departed neighbor, Barbara. Why was it ok to have Barbara's wine in our home, but not mine? Was it because Barbara had passed away and throwing away a gift from the deceased was just bad luck? Or was it something else?
I would have investigated into the matter further, but was stopped abruptly when I discovered my mother threw away my bottle of wine and a bottle of malt liquor that I had been saving for over a year and a half to drink after I turned 21. Her reasoning?
"Alcohol, in any shape or form, is a sin against God and indulging in it, is a sure fire way to get yourself kicked out of heaven."
It was pretty out there, and though the quote would qualify any human being as being borderline insane, I could totally respect my mother's wishes to not drink in her home. But the fact that I never got a chance to defend my helpless bottles of bubbly and that my mother took matters into her own hands, made me very upset. I tried using every argument point I could think of, such as Jesus' first miracle was to get the party started and Ben Franklin once said, “Beer is proof that God loves us and wants us to be happy,” to no avail. My mother wouldnt budge on her firm decision. Not even after I lied and told her the malt liquor was from Bianca, hoping to use the deceased factor in my advantage. So I did the next best thing I could think of...the silent treatment.
A whole week passed by, and not once did I acknowledge my mother's pressence or even so much as make a sound when around her. Until early Friday morning when she said, "David. Your friend is gone and so is your alcohol. Stop crying about it because you're never gonna see them again."
It was the final straw. I realized, I would not get anywhere with my mother. I tried having an adult conversation before the silent treatment, but in my mother's eyes, I would never be an actual adult. I would never find the steps to walk off the high pedestal she had built for me. And no matter how many times I would try to get my point across, I knew we would never see eye to eye on the whole alcohol issue. So I decided to end the fight.
ME: You know what, mom? I'm through fighting with you. I dont wanna keep being mad.
At least that's what I wanted to say. Instead a weird air bubble got caught in my throat, ending my proposed sentence at the word, "through", which my mother took as an opportunity to state her own opinion.
MOM: I'm through with you too. You can leave my house if you want to. I dont care.
It was the sentence heard 'round the house, as I felt a million and one poison-tipped arrows shoot through my body, causing it to numb to a state of lonliness, forming an ugly knot that twisted inside my stomach for what seemed an eternity. What the hell happened? Wasnt I supposed to be the victim in all this? How had I turned into the bad person?
A dark cloud settled over my head, as I headed off to work, with my mother's words still stinging the fresh wound. After I got to work, I realized everyone else had their own dark clouds, hovering above their heads. Some darker than others, but nonetheless, still there. Ashley, who replaced Wendi, who replaced Ashley after the school semester started in August, was having issues with her recently divorced parents. Each parent was fighting for her love, trying to up the other, putting Ashley in the middle of an unfair battle. And Alice, was battling her own issues with her husband, Azten, who had not come home since last night, leaving Alice to believe something horrible had happened.
There was only one thing to do. Go out for lunch at Cafe Poca Cosa, and get stinkin' drunk.
When the lunch hour arrived, we remembered Ashley was still two years away from the legal age, and so Alice and I promised her we'd drink in her misery as well. We toasted to the fact that love sucks and drank several margarita's when Alice's phone rang. It was Azten. Immeadiately, Alice walked outside, and through the window, I could tell from her facial expressions that a very heated argument would ensue later that afternoon.
When she came back in, she took a long, hard drink and explained that Azten's partying had somehow landed him in Phoenix and had added another strain onto their stressful marriage. One lunch and a highly caloric mousse for dessert later, Alice was feeling much better and oddly enough, so was Ashley. Her mother had called to apologize for her immature behavior, and soon everyone's dark clouds began to fade away. Everyone but mine.
When I brought home my first bottle of wine, a birthday gift from a dear friend, my religious-fanatic and holier-than-thou mother had a fit. Her house was a Godly house, and "smuggling" a bottle of wine through the threshold was committing a mortal sin. Which was odd, since she had a bottle of merlot displayed in the wine rack in our kitchen, that was given to our family as a house-warming gift from our dearly departed neighbor, Barbara. Why was it ok to have Barbara's wine in our home, but not mine? Was it because Barbara had passed away and throwing away a gift from the deceased was just bad luck? Or was it something else?
I would have investigated into the matter further, but was stopped abruptly when I discovered my mother threw away my bottle of wine and a bottle of malt liquor that I had been saving for over a year and a half to drink after I turned 21. Her reasoning?
"Alcohol, in any shape or form, is a sin against God and indulging in it, is a sure fire way to get yourself kicked out of heaven."
It was pretty out there, and though the quote would qualify any human being as being borderline insane, I could totally respect my mother's wishes to not drink in her home. But the fact that I never got a chance to defend my helpless bottles of bubbly and that my mother took matters into her own hands, made me very upset. I tried using every argument point I could think of, such as Jesus' first miracle was to get the party started and Ben Franklin once said, “Beer is proof that God loves us and wants us to be happy,” to no avail. My mother wouldnt budge on her firm decision. Not even after I lied and told her the malt liquor was from Bianca, hoping to use the deceased factor in my advantage. So I did the next best thing I could think of...the silent treatment.
A whole week passed by, and not once did I acknowledge my mother's pressence or even so much as make a sound when around her. Until early Friday morning when she said, "David. Your friend is gone and so is your alcohol. Stop crying about it because you're never gonna see them again."
It was the final straw. I realized, I would not get anywhere with my mother. I tried having an adult conversation before the silent treatment, but in my mother's eyes, I would never be an actual adult. I would never find the steps to walk off the high pedestal she had built for me. And no matter how many times I would try to get my point across, I knew we would never see eye to eye on the whole alcohol issue. So I decided to end the fight.
ME: You know what, mom? I'm through fighting with you. I dont wanna keep being mad.
At least that's what I wanted to say. Instead a weird air bubble got caught in my throat, ending my proposed sentence at the word, "through", which my mother took as an opportunity to state her own opinion.
MOM: I'm through with you too. You can leave my house if you want to. I dont care.
It was the sentence heard 'round the house, as I felt a million and one poison-tipped arrows shoot through my body, causing it to numb to a state of lonliness, forming an ugly knot that twisted inside my stomach for what seemed an eternity. What the hell happened? Wasnt I supposed to be the victim in all this? How had I turned into the bad person?
A dark cloud settled over my head, as I headed off to work, with my mother's words still stinging the fresh wound. After I got to work, I realized everyone else had their own dark clouds, hovering above their heads. Some darker than others, but nonetheless, still there. Ashley, who replaced Wendi, who replaced Ashley after the school semester started in August, was having issues with her recently divorced parents. Each parent was fighting for her love, trying to up the other, putting Ashley in the middle of an unfair battle. And Alice, was battling her own issues with her husband, Azten, who had not come home since last night, leaving Alice to believe something horrible had happened.
There was only one thing to do. Go out for lunch at Cafe Poca Cosa, and get stinkin' drunk.
When the lunch hour arrived, we remembered Ashley was still two years away from the legal age, and so Alice and I promised her we'd drink in her misery as well. We toasted to the fact that love sucks and drank several margarita's when Alice's phone rang. It was Azten. Immeadiately, Alice walked outside, and through the window, I could tell from her facial expressions that a very heated argument would ensue later that afternoon.
When she came back in, she took a long, hard drink and explained that Azten's partying had somehow landed him in Phoenix and had added another strain onto their stressful marriage. One lunch and a highly caloric mousse for dessert later, Alice was feeling much better and oddly enough, so was Ashley. Her mother had called to apologize for her immature behavior, and soon everyone's dark clouds began to fade away. Everyone but mine.
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