Page 224 - The Big Book of Alcoholics Anonymous

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OUR SOUTHERN FRIEND 209
man,” said he to me, “do you ever take a drink?” I hes­
itated. Father had never directly spoken to me about
drinking but he never drank any, so far as I knew.
Mother hated liquor and feared a drunken man. Her
brother had been a drinker and had died in a state
hospital for the insane. But his life was unmentioned,
so far as I was concerned. I had never had a drink, but
I had seen enough merriment in the boys who were
drinking to be interested. I would never be like the
village drunkard at home.
“Well,” said the older boy, “do you?”
“Once in a while,” I lied. I could not let him think
I was a sissy.
He poured out two drinks. “Here’s looking at you,”
said he. I gulped it down and choked. I didn’t like it,
but I would not say so. A mellow glow stole over me.
This wasn’t so bad after all. Sure, I’d have another.
The glow increased. Other boys came in. My tongue
loosened. Everyone laughed loudly. I was witty. I had
no inferiorities. Why, I wasn’t even ashamed of my
skinny legs! This was the real thing!
A haze filled the room. The electric light began to
move. Then two bulbs appeared. The faces of the
other boys grew dim. How sick I felt. I staggered to
the bathroom. Shouldn’t have drunk so much or so
fast. But I knew how to handle it now. I’d drink like a
gentleman after this.
And so I met John Barleycorn. The grand fellow
who at my call made me a hail-fellow-well-met, who
gave me such a fine voice, as we sang “Hail, hail, the
gang’s all here” and “Sweet Adeline,” who gave me
freedom from fear and feelings of inferiority. Good
old John! He was my pal, all right.