Taming of the Dude: One man's Journey with Jesus

Chapter 9 Roll out the barrel

Chapter 9 Roll out the barrel

The expression the hair of the dog, for an alcoholic drink taken to cure a hangover, is a shortening of 'a hair of the dog that bit you' comes from an old belief that someone bitten by a rabid dog could be cured of rabies by taking a potion containing some of the dog's hair.

Alcohol was a pretty predominant substance in our house. It was not taboo or something that you kept hidden as the family little secret. Our family had no secrets, but if there were some secrets, alcohol was not one of them. In our family, one's credibility was established not by one's wealth, fame or integrity, but by how much alcohol you can consume. If you could not hold your liquor, then you were a wimp. No one wanted to be a wimp. We took pride in the amount of alcohol we consume, and we consumed a lot of alcohol.

I remembered the first time I met my wife's sister. She was a bit of a boozer or at least she thought that she was. It was in a bar, we were a bunch of young adults chilling. We had just finished a hard week of caring for handicapped kids, and we were taking time to ourselves. I do not know what possessed my wife's sister to boast that she could drink anyone under the table. I do remember laughing and saying that I would take that bet. The poor girl had no idea. As the night passed and we matched drink for drink, the poor girl started well but did not finish well. She passed out, and when she was conscious, she was slurring her words and not making any sense. I have to admit, I did feel a little tipsy by the end of the night. We took her home, and I apologized to my future wife and said that it was a drinking challenge. I could not say no but had to put her sister in her place. My wife was not pleased with either myself or her sister. We did not talk about it again.

The thing that my wife's sister did not know was booze was as readily available as water in our house. Now, to be honest, we kids were not allowed to help ourselves, but we also were not forbidden from buying our own and drinking it. I remember the very first time that I really, and I mean really, got drunk. In fact, I do not think I have ever been as drunk as I was that night. I think the main reason I got so drunk was that I was mad, and I wanted to get back to my mom. Unfortunately, my plan did not work. If anything, I think she saw it as my right of passage into our alcoholic family, and it was a lesson learned about how to recover from a hangover.

Let me start from the beginning. I was in my teens, probably between 15 and 17 years old. I know that I was not of legal drinking age. My mom and my grandmother went to Niagara Falls, New York to visit my aunt. I came along because I have a cousin that is about the same age as me. He taught me how to ride a motorbike, and on that night, what it meant to have a bush party in the country. We arrived in the afternoon. My cousin was getting ready to go out. I did not think much about it, but I knew that I did not want to spend my evening with his friends. I do not play nicely with others, and when I am nervous, I get really sarcastic and can be pretty biting with my comments. It is a defense mechanism that I learned over the years from my brother and sister as we coped with life and mom's boyfriends. My humor is something that either makes you laugh out loud or make you want to punch me in the face. In a lot of cases, it is usually the other person who wanted to punch me in the face especially if they did not know me. It made me look like a snob, but in reality, I was just a scared, small person worried that you wouldn't like me, or would make fun of my cousin asked me to go out with him. I protested, but my mom called me a bunch of names and said that I was just a big baby and that I was too scared to go out and have fun.

As you might guess, I went, but I went under protest. Since I went under protest I was a little put-out and bitter. This always led to someone getting upset with me and wanting to punch me in the face. It was no surprise that one of my cousin's friends wanted to punch me in the face, but it was his fault. He irritated me because he said that I talked with a funny accent, and asked where I was from. I told him to Canada, and he asked me where was that. Come on, really!!!! We were the second-largest country in the world. We were 45 minutes from where he lived. Needless to say, I would not let it go. He totally wanted to punch me in the face. Fortunately, he was too drunk and too lazy to get up to do it. After a few beers there, my cousin said that it was time to move. We all hopped into our ford trucks with the newest gun racks and headed out. We went to a bush. I do not know all the requirements for a bush party but I do believe the following is needed: bushes, booze, a lot of underaged teens and a sense of hopelessness for the future. There must have been over 50 teens at the bush party. I think we stayed until the booze ran out. I thought the party was over, but I was mistaken. The party moved back to the Ford truck and the local convenience store. In the US booze is available 24/7 and you do not need to be of drinking age to buy it. I should mention that I did manage to annoy more of my cousin's friends to the point that they wanted to punch me in the face. Sober Kevin was bad, but drunk Kevin was the worse. He absolutely had zero filters and was usually on the hunt for morons. We left the convenience store, found another bush, and started partying again. I am not sure how long the drinking went on, but by the end, I was drunk. I believe it was still the drunkest time in my life. We drove home, I was helped out of the truck, and I staggered to my room. The room was spinning, which made it hard to sleep. Besides the spinning room, I felt sick to my stomach. I spent the next four hours puking and trying to stop the room from spinning. It was the worst I have ever felt.

The next morning, I thought my mom would be pretty disgusted with me. I figured she would not have approved of the fact I was drinking underage, gambling, bought booze being underage, and in a truck driven by my drunk cousin. Unfortunately, her only disappointment was how hungover I was. I think it was a poor reflection on the family's reputation. She simply looked at me and said that I looked rough but she had a cure for my hangover. She went to the fridge, reached in, got out a beer and handed it to me. This is the best cure for a hangover, "the hair of the dog that bit you". I notice that everyone else at the table was drinking too. I guess that dog was busy last night. They must have a lot of wild rabid dogs in the country. I vowed from that day on that I would never get drunk. I would drink, but I was never going to get drunk. The vow was broken within weeks. It is a funny thing about alcohol, you might not think you are drunk, but you are too drunk to know that you are. Most of the time I found out that I was drunk by the bruising on my face. Some people just do not like a good joke.