The following story comes from 1989, when I was 12 years old. If you're offended at a story about a 12-year-old accidentally getting drunk and it kind of being her dad's fault: STOP READING.
OK. When I was 12, I shot my first deer, and so my dad told me I could have a shot of whiskey. Right of passage or something? So he left with the three-wheeler to go and get the deer and I stayed at the shack and had my shot of whiskey, and maybe another one. And maybe another one. I have no idea how many because that was over 20 years ago. I do remember I was smart enough to replace the missing whiskey from the bottle with water so that he wouldn't know. Jeez. Anyway, I suppose I was curious. Whatever.
He came back with my deer and then he informed me that we had to go back out and hunt some more. I was like, "WHA...?" Because I thought I was done hunting, maybe forever. Nope. Anyways, I was pretty shnockered but I didn't want him to know that! So I did my best to pretend I wasn't a completely drunk 12-year-old while we walked like what seemed to be 16 miles through the woods (and by the way, I was probably wearing my brother's boots and wool pants which were way too big), and finally we sat down on a downed tree. You were supposed to be very quiet when hunting, and so in my mind I leaned over and barfed to the side so stealthily and so silently that there was no way my dad, sitting right next to me, would ever ever find out. I wiped my mouth and looked straight ahead, and then heard my dad laughing.
He laughed some more and said, "You went and got yourself drunk, didn't you?"
I couldn't BELIEVE he found out! How could he possibly have known, with how quietly I barfed one foot away from him? I was busted though. "BLAaaaaaaaaaaaaaah. I don't feeeeeeeeeeeeel gooooood." He put his arm around me and said, "Now isn't this fun? Isn't drinking wonderful? Let's quit hunting and go back to the cabin and have some more. I'll pour you a glass. We can drink ALL day."
Now that's good parenting.
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