I don’t know how old I am. Young. But old enough to walk.
It is dark outside, only the glow of the street lights to shine on the figures milling around the backyard. I don’t know in who’s backyard. I sense my mother is near by somewhere.
I approach, without any fear, a table with adult males sitting around and loudly conversing. One of them I know. He gestures for me to stand near him and I am thrilled he has acknowledged my presence. There is the smell of something familiar on his breath. Red and white cans clutter the table. I don’t remember speaking but I am wanting something...
“You want to try? Sure, I’ll let you try.” He laughs as he gives me a taste from the red and white can. It is offensive to my mouth and senses and I quickly flee from the table as a loud roar of laughter echos behind me.
That is the only memory I have of my father.