There is a sacred, time-honored tradition of a father taking his son out for his very first drink—but timing, as they say, is everything.
After reading a heartwarming article about the deep emotional bond between fathers and sons sharing a drink, a sudden wave of guilt washed over me. I realized that in all our time together, I had never once taken my own boy out to a bar.
Determined to correct this milestone immediately, I marched him down to our local pub just two blocks away to kickstart his education in fine spirits.
I started him off with a heavy pint of Guinness. He absolutely hated it, so I drank it. Next, I ordered a Killian’s, followed quickly by a crisp Harp Lager. He wouldn’t touch either of them, leaving me with no choice but to finish those as well.
Thinking he might prefer liquor over beer, I stepped it up to a shot of smooth Jameson Irish Whiskey. Still, no cigar. In a final, desperate attempt to please him, I splurged on the bar’s finest top-shelf selection: a 25-year-old Glenfiddich scotch. The boy wouldn’t even lean in to smell it.
What was I supposed to do, let premium scotch go to waste? I downed that one, too.
By the time it finally clicked that my son just didn’t have a taste for alcohol, the damage was already done. I was so utterly plastered that I could barely push his stroller all the way back home.
