I have known fathers that drank wine

Let’s not think about alcoholics, that’s another subject, but I have known fathers that would only sit down if there was a bottle of wine on the table. They had control of it and would pour it for themselves then a drop for the kids too. It was ages ago, today they would be ‘degenerates’, to report to social services, but not those. The ones I knew were affectionate, cheerful, maybe sometimes just a little bit touchy. As the lunch would continue, the bottle would begin to empty, the mothers would object, I’d wink to my brothers or cousins. A great atmosphere would evolve, I can remember it like yesterday. The fathers that drank wine wanted to know everything. From about how school was going to what our friends were up to and then the day to day issues and state of health of friends and relations. Some of the older fathers would tell the same usual tales, that I still loved to hear over and over, maybe the same adventure and I knew how it ended, yet still I hoped the finale would take a different turn.

I have no idea how the fathers that didn’t drink wine were, but these others I knew profoundly: including one that one evening, not quite sober, when he undid his trousers to go to bed, fell on the floor and the whole house vibrated, we laughed about it with him for years to come. I have to say they seemed happy fathers. Some are no longer with us, some are, but they have all lived long lives. 

I have to confess, I am a father that drinks to remember.