My first taste of alcohol was in 1953 when I was allowed to eat the cherries from my dad's Rob Roy cocktails which were served straight up at the Imperial House restaurant on St. Petersburg Beach. The burning of the liquor on my tongue combined with the sticky sweetness of the cherry made an exciting, exotic combination for this seven-year old kid.
I don't really remember my first drink or drunk. I vaguely recall a few beers with a high school friend in his car parked on the beach. I certainly did not have the experience of alcohol being "the answer" for me. It was more like a rite of passage sort of thing.
I do remember that throughout my life I often felt shy and confused. It was like I was dropped into Act II of a stage play where everyone knew the lines but me. I was always guessing what to do, what to say and how to act and often getting it wrong. Criticism followed and finally self-hate. No doubt that alcohol offered relief from these feelings. Unfortunately the feelings would always return. Throughout the years I kept increasing the dosage and frequency until at some point I crossed the line and alcohol began eroding my soul...
Today I try to connect in compassion with the still suffering alcoholics. They remind me clearly what it was like and how it could yet be again.