It has long been a custom of mine to end a day of hardship and mischief with a cold brew. I can think of no better way to end a day then to throw back a Tucson Soda, or any other of my beloved barley beverages. This brings me to think, when did I have my first beer? Was it the day I graduated high school and went streaking inebriated with a beautiful female? No. Looking back deep into my memory I begin to remember an exciting event of my childhood. My first memory of drinking beer.
My father, like me, also indulged in the ritual of a cold beer at the end of the day. It appears the apple has not fallen far from the tree. I can close my eyes and see him, sitting back in his recliner in front of the T.V, sucking down a cold 32oz beer. As a youngster I followed, watched, and mimicked my father’s every move. It is no surprise that I would emulate this action in the future. Hell, I’m literally drinking a beer right now as I write this. This brings me to my first memory of drinking my favorite fermented libation.
One fateful evening, my dad is enjoying his customary 32 oz. beverage after a hard day at work in the coal mines. He typically drinks until his eyes close, and drifts off to sleep. Watching my father fall asleep, I notice he left his bottle open next to his chair. I proceed to walk over, put the bottle to my lips, and ingest. The flavor was shocking. Most people don’t like beer on their first attempt. Not me, not me at all. Safe to say I’ve loved beer since the very beginning.
– El Tiburon