When I was growing up, a typical day involved going to school, coming home, working on homework or playing in our rooms, and waiting while Mom made dinner. Dad would get home from work, come in the kitchen to get a beer, and head back to the living room to read the paper and drink his daily dose of Budweiser.
I can probably count on one hand the times I saw him drink more than one, but I can count on the other hand the number of times he skipped having his after-work, before-dinner, beer. Occasionally the brand would change, and once in a while, he would have wine with dinner, but it was very seldom that he would have what my mother called a “drinkie” – a cocktail.
Today, while Jeanne was visiting Dad in his new Assisted Living residence, he offered her something to drink. She let him know she was not thirsty, but when she asked if she could get him something, he asked for a beer. When she told him there wasn’t any there, he seemed disappointed. When she was leaving and asked if there was anything he wanted her to bring tomorrow, he again mentioned wanting some beer. I figure at this point, he can have whatever he darn well pleases. I guess I need to stop at the store on my way to see him tomorrow night!