Surreptitious Mickey

I recently came across the logo for Seagram's Five Star whiskey for some reason, at the bottle depot I believe it was. I remember being disappointed that the bottles no longer had the plastic star emblem glued to the bottle like I remember from my childhood. How many kids made ersatz sheriff's badges from that recycled trinket?  But it also reminded me of a New Year's Eve from four decades ago, and I thought I should write it down, confabulations and all, before the memory eludes me completely. (I look forward to re-reading this blog in my dotage and being surprised (and hopefully delighted) by all the things I have by then forgotten...)

This would have been when I was 14 or 15 I believe - no longer swimming competitively or perhaps in my final season before getting involved in different extracurriculars. My closest mates were other Leduc Otters, one of whose father had worked with my dad in air traffic control prior to passing away a couple of years prior. 

We got together most weekends to hang out and play a frankly astonishing number of role-playing games and a fair bit of Intellivision, but just generally enjoyed each other's company. Our parents' had each others' phone numbers, and we didn't get into too much trouble, so we earned quite a bit of latitude.

My recollection is that one of the swim coaches was having a New Year's Eve party at his house, and we had all decided to go. I'm a little surprised that I decided to go along - I was generally shy in such situations but presumably wanted to hang with my chums, and certainly wouldn't have had any other offerings in play.

I may have had my learner's permit but definitely not my license at this point, so the group had swung by to pick up, probably in Larry's mum's station wagon, which not only seated the most but had an atypically ferocious engine - a 351 Windsor, I think - that Larry was perpetually marveling about. "What if I pulled out the seats and the spare for weight and dropped some methyl hydrate into the carburetor? No one would see it coming if you challenged them to a race!"

The gang pulled into our long driveway in Willow Park and came to the back door to collect me, exchanging pleasantries with my Mum and Dad. I imagine they were heading out later but couldn't say for sure; I just can't imagine them missing an opportunity for a party and there was no additional traffic at our house. Maybe it wasn't even New Year's?

Regardless, Dad stayed in the kitchen to chat while I laced up my shoes and put on my jacket. As we prepared to depart, he held a finger up to indicate I should wait, then trodded off down to the basement. He returned a moment later and then walked purposefully across the floor to where we stood by the door. Was he coming to hug me goodbye? It didn't bother me but seemed a little out of character in this context.

Stopping a short distance away, he actually tossed a look over both shoulders to make sure no one else was in sight, reached into his back pocket and passed something to me. 

It was a mickey bottle of rye whiskey, and I want to say it was Five Star. This would have been a glass bottle as was the style at the time, and I took it without a word and more than a little stunned. I looked up at Dad quizzically and he raised his finger aloft again, with this sole pronouncement:

"If you touch a steering wheel tonight, I will kill you."

And with that, he turned and walked away. I think I said, "Thanks...bye!" but couldn't testify to it.

Obviously, my friends were all impressed with my father's largesse, as was I. I'd had the occasional sip of a drink before, but never one to my own, and had certainly never been responsible for the disposition of an entire bottle prior to this point, even a 13 oz. one like this.

I wish I could recall more of the party, but I know the fogginess is due to the passage of time and not the impedance of alcohol because by the time you spread that amount across five to seven sturdy lads, there is not enough to get anyone into any sort of trouble.

But I recall surreptitiously pouring a measure into a plastic cup filled with Pepsi and then passing it along to a friend to do the same, and I don't even know if it made its way back to me. 

I do remember how my friend laughingly toasted my father, saying what a cool guy he was. And while I loved and respected my dad an awful lot, this was certainly the first time in my adolescence I can recall thinking of him as "cool."

And I am so grateful for that memory.