We received a call on Sunday, Easter Sunday.  Its my dad.  First its odd because we intentionally limit our calls.  And then its even odder because we are going over to my parents house to have dinner in just a couple hours.  Hes talking to my daughter, asking her if I am bringing over any beer.  My father doesn’t drink.  But he does use my beer to pay off his neighbor for mowing his yard.  Guess I need to do some bottling. 

The premise here doesn’t seem to odd until you understand the history.  My father was born in 1930.  Prohibition had been going for a while.  As well as the great depression.  Dark times, not quite the best time in life to lose a father.  My grandfather was an alcoholic.  In 1939 he was drunk and drowned in the Delaware river, leaving my father who was only 9 to help take care of his family. 

While growing up, alcohol was not a normal part of our life.  There were only a couple times when my father actually had any around and usually that was at social functions.  My first taste of beer came at one of his work parties.  I vaguely remember it as him drinking a miller and letting me taste it (I have a 50/50 chance on guessing what it was really at this point). 

My parents next door neighbors have been really helpful with them over the past couple years.  They mow my parents front yard and shovel their drive way when needed.  They have even made the efforts to help them with their kitchen sink when its had issues.  So my dad now uses my beer as a way of saying thanks.  Its his way of showing support for what I do. 

Time for a pint… 

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