Tuesday, March 11, 2014

Whiskey Bottles and Half-Pint Militants

I used to take my father's whiskey bottles and throw them in the trash. I remember conspiring with my younger brother one night. We went out to my father's car and we found a bottle of whiskey in a paper bag underneath the passenger's seat--Well actually, my brother found the liquor. He showed it to me, and I decided what we'd do with it. 
You see, when I was younger, my father drank a lot--I mean, he drank an awful lot. At times, he would slip up and drink more than he could handle. So, I used to get all "covertly militant," and I would find out where he would hide his drinks, and I'd trash them... 
I wonder if he ever knew what we did... He couldn't have known, I think... He would've beaten us if he had.
Eventually, he stopped drinking so much--thank goodness. And soon, he stopped drinking altogether. I even want to say that drinking made him more docile... but somewhere, I know that's not entirely true...
That night before heading inside, after my brother gave me the coveted bottle and I threw it in the garbage, he looked up at me with worry in his eyes. And he said, "What are we gonna do when he finds out?"
"He won't find out," I said.
"He's gonna know something--" my brother nervously insisted. "What if he starts pointing fingers?"
"Then tell him I did it," I said. "Blame me."

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