An Excerpt from Hard Knocks: Chapter 5 of Memoir of a Small Moment (wipfandstock.com) due out in late summer/early fall

I started drinking when I was nine, and became an alcoholic by the age of ten. Not full blown of course; it takes a long time to drink into that state of mind and body where every thought, every small moment, is fueled by thirsty neurotransmitters, which once resolved, even with only a thought, a plan, brings relief and sometimes joy. Simple modeling. My parents’ liquor cabinet held a full stock, and Rheingold beer was abundant. The company sponsored the German Bicycle Sports Club, of which my dad raced as the only minority member. He knew how to get along with people and almost never lost his temper. During summer parties in the back yard, I studied the men who gathered around a garbage can full of beer and ice. They would chug down beers and become happier and louder. As the evening wore on, they would retreat into lounge chairs, drink cocktails, smoke cigarettes and cigars. Then I’d make my move, slowly toward the can, then swiftly grab as many beers as I could, slip to the side of the house and chug them down as fast as I could, copying the men. I didn’t get sick. I felt the effect the very first time and loved it. It made me happy, just like my parents when they drank. It helped me forget about my troubles at school. 

My childhood alcohol consumption personal best occurred at a sports club party at the club president’s home. An unguarded fridge in the kitchen, filled with Rheingold, called to me. It provided easy access. As I already learned, the key to success as a childhood drinker … timing. One waited until the adults became drunk before making a move. I drank nine beers that day. No one noticed, and I didn’t get sick, although I felt a little queasy on the ride home.

            “Do not get drunk on wine which leads to debauchery.” Ephesians 5:18