Tuesday, May 10, 2005

The son becomes the father and the father becomes the son

Years ago, roughly 1989, my father carried me to my bed after a night of heavy drinking. it was after my friend, John Flynn's 21st birthday party that i became sick. After .75 Ltr of Rumple Mintz i was very drunk and quite sick. I punked in John's nice new Mustang, and I puked on my front lawn. John brought me to the side door of my house. My father answered and said only "Oh Dear." He carried me to my bed, laid a towel and a bowel next to my bed for the rough night that faced me. He undressed me, and gave me a glass of water. All he said to me was "What the hell were you drinking?" I answered "Rumple Mintz". Although i'm sure it sounded more like "rum...plllll minsssssstt.....(puke)". All he said was "Ah now; don't you know that clear stuff is all sugar? it's sure to make you sick! stick to the brown liquor or beer." Drunk as I was. I remember that to this day, and I probable always will.

As the years rolled on; my father helped me to bed after a night of drinking, as I helped him. Tonight, was a rough one for the old man. After I finished a six of Sam Adam's and a six of Blue Moon, he helped to finish a ltr of Merot and half a ltr of Sambuca with my uncle Mike; we were all pretty fucked up. The diffrence is, I'm not a 62 year old diabetic. at about 11:00pm he got a strange look in his eye, one i've seen before; he needed to puke. He motioned to me that he needed help off of the couch, it's a deep couch and he suffers from these danm weak Seery knees! I help him up, he stagers, sways wildly, and drops fairly dead in my arms. Not sure what to do, I take him to the nearest bathroom where he has himself a good healthy vomit. I picked him up, undressed him, gave him a glass of water, and put him to bed. Before I left the room, I place a bowel and a glass of water next to the bed.

Not 15 minutes later, my mother called me. I left the portch where my uncle still was, and returned to my father's bedside. She had been fast asleep, and didn't hear me putting him down for the night. She was surprised when he started making these dry-heaving noises. I knew what it was and used the bowel I had placed next to the bed. He puked up this vile smelling combination of Sambuca and steak marinade (we had rib-eye steaks that night for dinner. they were really quite good.) After a bit of that, I gave him the glass of water, emptied and rinsed the bowel and refilled the glass. He gave he the most sincere thanks I've ever gotten from him. Like the thanks you'd get from a man on death row getting a last repervie from the governor.

And now that he's fast asleep, snoring, blissful, and pissing off my mother; all I can think is: I can't wait for my son to put my drunken ass to bed.


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