"Don't smell it. Drink it.
It'll make you a man."
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"Have a shot boy." "What the hell is this?" "Don't smell it. Drink it. It'll make you a man." The fire hit my mouth, throat, eyes, and stomach in an instant. Then the amber liquid flew back up and made an Irish Stew mingled mess on the floor. "Great creeping Jesus, what in the hell are you doing feeding a pipe bomb to the boy?" Digger and I were in Charlottetown, PEI. It just happened to be his 19th birthday, I guess that made me 13. Memories have a funny way of distorting the time line of the last 20 years. Our family and friends from South End, invited us downhome, and since Digger could drive, and we loved to drink, we loaded up in Al's Plymouth Volarie for a mid winter road trip. Rolling out at 0645 when I was supposed to catch the school bus, would get us underway without mom and dad canceling the trip. We would call from the ferry slip to tell mom that I wasn't going to be home for dinner. "Don't smell it. Drink it. It'll make you a man." The fire hit my mouth, throat, eyes, and stomach in an instant. Then the amber liquid flew back up and made an Irish Stew mingled mess on the floor. Three weeks worth of skipped school, alcohol poisoning, and a broken nose later, I arrived back home. Digger and I were banned from the Northumberland PEI ferry for pissing off the top deck. I was grounded "from now until you die," but I knew the words to "Oh Canada," in both English and French and could dance a jig to "Rocky Road To Dublin." "Great creeping Jesus, what in the hell are you doing feeding a pipe bomb to the boy?" |