Some history...
Chris' Story...
This may take a couple of postings but we'll see what leads where. I basically shy away from the classic drunk-a-logues and war stories, though of necessity there will be one or two in this story.
I guess that I was "doomed" from the beginning. Family legend has it that my first word was "gin". My grandfather would pick me up when he got home from work and, as he held me in one arm, he would mix a martini with the other. I guess he would describe it as he mixed it, "First, a little bit of giiiiin...".
Growing up in the fifties was not exactly "Leave it to Beaver" but it wasn't so bad either. My Mom and Dad were divorced when she ran to NYC to become an actress and we quickly adapted by joining forces with the family who lived downstairs. There was an extra door cut between the units and all the boys lived upstairs , the girls down. We were seven kids and three adults. It was as traditional as it could be. It was pretty highly structured in order to be manageable. Dinnertime was inviolate and everyone was to be there. Before dinner we would all hold hands and either sing or say "grace". We were all expected to share something from our day while everyone was gathered together. We were also taught 'good manners', for which I am grateful to this day. The neighborhood was an ethnic hodgepodge of second generation immigrants in a western suburb of Boston. There was a ton of kids and we all played together -all year round. I have many happy memories of growing up. The only problem was with me. I was fat (not obese, but fat enough) and was teased mercilessly about that. I was always the last one to be picked for whatever team, for whatever game, or most anything else that was going on. I was not really interested anyhow in things that the other kids were. I was different. I liked to read. I liked to write. All in all, I was fairly introverted; it was much easier to cope that way.
All during my childhood, there was not one drop of alcohol in out home - not even cooking sherry!! As it turned out, the woman who raised us had watched her grandfather and father die of alcohol related causes and vowed never to touch a drop in her life. "Red" Lester is still alive and kickin' at 87 and still an important part of my life. Despite my introverted nature, growing up was pretty good. I was happy with the whole 'family' situation. We were all very close in age and follwed each other through school. Fortunately or not I was the leader and of course the teachers used me a measuring stick for those that followed. Since I was a 'goody-goody', the others had some tough times. This was something that also set me apart and made me feel different from the others. I never got into fights or trouble of any sort. I never lost my temper. I was a patrol-boy, a choir-boy, and a cub scout. As I got older, I became a Sunday school teacher, an Eagle Scout, master councillor in DeMolay, the head of the percussion section in the High School orchestra, and the drum major for the band and the cheerleaders at the football games. I only had a couple of real friends and this story is supposed to be about alcohol so I'll move on.
When my father re-married in 1965 I had to get used to a whole new family. It was also the first (but not the last) time that I ever saw my father drink alcohol. It was a very difficult time for me. I was fifteen and completely lost with all of the changes going on, both in my life and in the world around me. It was also at this time that I realized that I was gay but that wasn't the word that was used then. Looking back, I now see that I actually knew long before that but just didn't understand it. At any rate, the fact that I was a 'little queer' made me all that much more different from everyone else. See -- my thinking was strange even before I picked up the first drink!!
That happened in 1968,when I went out with a couple of guys the night that marks closed for our Senior year. I had 1 1/2 bottles of Lowenbrau Dark and don't remember a thing after that. That was to mark the pattern of my drinking from then on. The summer of Woodstock was an amazing time of my life. I drank freely and experimented with drugs of every variety. I was 19 and the king of my world - and nobody understood me -so I drank til I blacked out, every night. I'm leaving a great deal out here as I try to move on to the actual recognition of my alcoholism. As I recall, I had a major amount of fun in the sixties (which, for me lasted until 1978).
I'm going to cut this off for now. It's the end of summer in 1969, Woodstock is a blurry memory and I'm off to what was to become a three year odyssey of drinking and drugging my way through southern parts of Europe and North Africa. As we said in those days, I was trying to 'find myself',- I was trying to fit in, actually with not much success. Right now, I have to go share my ES&H at a 9:30 meeting at the local hospital. I'll continue here in the next day or so. Love and Peace from Key West and from Chris.
This may take a couple of postings but we'll see what leads where. I basically shy away from the classic drunk-a-logues and war stories, though of necessity there will be one or two in this story.
I guess that I was "doomed" from the beginning. Family legend has it that my first word was "gin". My grandfather would pick me up when he got home from work and, as he held me in one arm, he would mix a martini with the other. I guess he would describe it as he mixed it, "First, a little bit of giiiiin...".
Growing up in the fifties was not exactly "Leave it to Beaver" but it wasn't so bad either. My Mom and Dad were divorced when she ran to NYC to become an actress and we quickly adapted by joining forces with the family who lived downstairs. There was an extra door cut between the units and all the boys lived upstairs , the girls down. We were seven kids and three adults. It was as traditional as it could be. It was pretty highly structured in order to be manageable. Dinnertime was inviolate and everyone was to be there. Before dinner we would all hold hands and either sing or say "grace". We were all expected to share something from our day while everyone was gathered together. We were also taught 'good manners', for which I am grateful to this day. The neighborhood was an ethnic hodgepodge of second generation immigrants in a western suburb of Boston. There was a ton of kids and we all played together -all year round. I have many happy memories of growing up. The only problem was with me. I was fat (not obese, but fat enough) and was teased mercilessly about that. I was always the last one to be picked for whatever team, for whatever game, or most anything else that was going on. I was not really interested anyhow in things that the other kids were. I was different. I liked to read. I liked to write. All in all, I was fairly introverted; it was much easier to cope that way.
All during my childhood, there was not one drop of alcohol in out home - not even cooking sherry!! As it turned out, the woman who raised us had watched her grandfather and father die of alcohol related causes and vowed never to touch a drop in her life. "Red" Lester is still alive and kickin' at 87 and still an important part of my life. Despite my introverted nature, growing up was pretty good. I was happy with the whole 'family' situation. We were all very close in age and follwed each other through school. Fortunately or not I was the leader and of course the teachers used me a measuring stick for those that followed. Since I was a 'goody-goody', the others had some tough times. This was something that also set me apart and made me feel different from the others. I never got into fights or trouble of any sort. I never lost my temper. I was a patrol-boy, a choir-boy, and a cub scout. As I got older, I became a Sunday school teacher, an Eagle Scout, master councillor in DeMolay, the head of the percussion section in the High School orchestra, and the drum major for the band and the cheerleaders at the football games. I only had a couple of real friends and this story is supposed to be about alcohol so I'll move on.
When my father re-married in 1965 I had to get used to a whole new family. It was also the first (but not the last) time that I ever saw my father drink alcohol. It was a very difficult time for me. I was fifteen and completely lost with all of the changes going on, both in my life and in the world around me. It was also at this time that I realized that I was gay but that wasn't the word that was used then. Looking back, I now see that I actually knew long before that but just didn't understand it. At any rate, the fact that I was a 'little queer' made me all that much more different from everyone else. See -- my thinking was strange even before I picked up the first drink!!
That happened in 1968,when I went out with a couple of guys the night that marks closed for our Senior year. I had 1 1/2 bottles of Lowenbrau Dark and don't remember a thing after that. That was to mark the pattern of my drinking from then on. The summer of Woodstock was an amazing time of my life. I drank freely and experimented with drugs of every variety. I was 19 and the king of my world - and nobody understood me -so I drank til I blacked out, every night. I'm leaving a great deal out here as I try to move on to the actual recognition of my alcoholism. As I recall, I had a major amount of fun in the sixties (which, for me lasted until 1978).
I'm going to cut this off for now. It's the end of summer in 1969, Woodstock is a blurry memory and I'm off to what was to become a three year odyssey of drinking and drugging my way through southern parts of Europe and North Africa. As we said in those days, I was trying to 'find myself',- I was trying to fit in, actually with not much success. Right now, I have to go share my ES&H at a 9:30 meeting at the local hospital. I'll continue here in the next day or so. Love and Peace from Key West and from Chris.
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