First Beer

The year I went to Estes Park and Wind River Ranch just me and Dad, we arrived at our final destination at the ranch and as always my aunt, uncle and cousins had arrived well before us. I had always looked forward to seeing them again, and spending time with my cousin David was a big highlight of the trip. The previous years had always been a fun-filled 10 days hanging out, playing cowboy with David, and the rest of my cousins. We arrived at the ranch to find out that certain plans had been made for me and my Dad, we were to break tradition, separate the family units and share a cabin with David. Well, I thought this was a great idea! Bunking up with Dad and David the whole stay seemed like the best idea in the world and I enthusiastically embraced this new situation while Dad and David appeared somewhat amused by this concept and my reaction. So this is how it was for the entire stay and it turned out to be an interesting and fun sleep-over atmosphere filled with late night conversations about "guy stuff" and quality time reading Mad Magazines and comic books.

So one night after a particularly satisfying day of hiking and being men, Dad, David and I were hanging out in the cabin and decompressing from the excitement of the day. David and I were feeling energized and adventurous and convinced Dad to let us each have a beer from the ice chest to celebrate. The beers Dad kept were those mini 7 oz. cans of Olympia, intended for women or lightweights, but Dad kept a supply of these in his ice chests mostly because they fit better in the chests, and I think he liked the cute size of the cans. But these were perfect size cans of beer for children, especially for kids attempting their first full can of beer solo. Dad was somewhat reluctant to let us drink a can of beer ourselves, not so much because we were minors and the potential damage it might cause, but probably because it depleted his precious supply of beer, especially those hard to find 7 ounce-ers, and he didn't like the idea of buying more. But with some amusement Dad agreed and handed me my first can.

I recall having trouble opening it, this was before the current push tabs we see on beer and soda cans, and for some reason beer cans still required an opener, or "church key" to open the can, so the task of popping a hole on one side of the can to drink from, and a smaller hole on the other side to let air in proved somewhat difficult to me. This just frustrated Dad and caused him to further rethink the whole letting me drink a can of beer myself concept, but I insisted and was finally able to open the can adequately. Once open I proceeded to drink the whole beer down robustly, like a man. It wasn't entirely pleasant but not too bad of an experience. Dad cautioned me about drinking it too fast but laughed at the attempt, David too found it amusing and encouraged me to chug-a-lug like a pro. After a few minutes I thought I was feeling tipsy, although I really think it was wishful thinking, and I proceeded to jump on the bed and act drunk, David too thought he felt the effects but was a lot quieter and refined about his drunkenness, I on the other hand wanted to take full advantage of getting smashed and became the life of the party, singing and jumping on the beds.

It wasn't too long after that that the real effects of the beer started to take hold, and I started to not feel too well, which then I immediately ran to the bathroom and threw up. I don't think I was feeling sick from the alcohol so much as from the speed at which I drank the beer and the foam that accumulated in my stomach. The little amount of vomit that came out was bitter and foamy like the head of a glass of beer, and very unsatisfying. Dad and David laughed hysterically and made fun of me not being able to hold my liquor as I crawled into bed miserably. While Dad was thoroughly amused he was also a tad bit annoyed at me for being so irresponsible and wasting a can of his beer, I almost think he actually wanted me to pay for it out of my own pocket to teach me a lesson.

Dad called it a night and all of us turned in, but for the rest of the trip, and many years after that I was constantly reminded about how I can't handle my beer and should probably stay away from it all together.