A Memory That Came Up

 My First Time at a Bar

Let's preface this a bit. I would have been about 10'ish in age. Parents were separated, if not divorced by this time. I lived with my Father. Dad worked about 30-45 minutes away from where we lived. I was alone  many times: before/after school, school breaks, etc. I had things to keep me busy during those times. I had chores. I also raised rabbits in the 4-H program. Household stuff, too, since it was just Dad and I. I got an allowance, as well.

So, I think it was during the summer of my 10th year. I'm guessing, but it 'rings right' in mymemory, which somehow showed up today.

I had finished the chores of the day I needed to do. School was not in session, so I was pretty much free to do whatever. Kirklin is a small farm community, or at least that is the way I remember it. People know everyone, blah, blah. I had saved up my allowance and probably had about $20 in ones and change. I decided to "go out on the town".

Now Kirklin then was small. Had the one blinker in town, flashed green for 421 (the Michigan Road) and yellow for State Routes 38/39 (combined through town). That was a 24/7 light. One of those 'blink you missed it' type towns. But they had a few amenities.

That day I walked the few short blocks up to the Rexall Drugstore (on the corner - and they used to do the shakes there too) bought some penny candies, and stepped back outside. I was about 10 (stated before) and was pretty familiar with the layout of town, but maybe not all businesses. The General Store (Hanson's) held nothing for me. Though, I remember back in the day getting butcher cuts (I think?). Coming out of the Rexall, I decided, I was old enough, and a man, like my dad, I was going to the bar. Yes, there was one there in that small town.

I don't recall the name of the place, yet I can probably point it out where it would have been if we drove through town today. The building is long gone. It was one of them old ones, from years before my time, that had to be taken down to either make room for something new, or just to keep from hurting anyone, I'm sure.

I walked in and with the confidence of my 10-year-old self, climbed up on a barstool in the middle of the bar. There were a couple "old farmers" down the way from me, but I didn't care. The female bartender, with a smile on her face, asks me "What will it be?".

"I need a beer. My Dad has one to relax every now and then, and I think I been doing a good day's work, that I could use one about now," I replied.

"Do you have a preference?" she asked.

I had no clue, so I said "Whatever the special is."

She walked away, to get my 'special' and I looked over at the two older guys at the end of the bar, who were giggling. No idea why they were, but they weren't making me look bad. The bartender comes back with a brown bottle, pops the top, and sets in it front of me. I nod.

"That'll be a buck," she says. I lean to my side, pull my "wad" out of my pocket, pull a dollar off, stuff the rest back in, and slap in on the counter. She smiles at me, and takes it, ringing it up as a sale. I take a sip, and ohhhhh... that's some good root beer! No wonder Dad likes to have one every now and then. This one tastes colder than any we bought and put in the fridge!

The bartender comes back and start talking to me. "So, who's your daddy? Do I know him?"

"I'm sure you do. His name is *** and he was a cop here in town til not too long ago." I say as I take another drink.

She doesn't say anything, and gets a weird look on her face. Them two older gents quiet down, their laughter going away.

"Oh, really," she says. "And does he know you are up here?"

I looked her dead in the eye, and said, "No, Ma'am. In our house we raise men that don't blab about stuff that don't need to be talked about. I'm taking a break having this beer. What's that got to do about my Dad?"

She guffawed. Might have been the first guffaw I ever known about. And them two older men, they was damn spittin' up their own drinks. By this time I was pretty close to finishing the bottle, and was scowling, because I didn't understand the humor that everyone else was having, at my expense. I drank down the last it that was left, and jumped down from the barstool.

"Ya know, most people leave a tip for the server," the bartender said to me. So I reached into my pocket, feeling the prolly $2.50 in pennies I had in there, and grabbed a small handful. I pulled it out and put it on the bar. 

"There ya go. Have a good 'un," I said and walked out the door. I dunno I gave her fifty cents, or more. I know it weren't a dollar, because I didn't use a full handful. And I heard laughter from all three as I walked out the door.

Later that evening, after Dad and I had fixed dinner and were eating, Dad asks, "How was your first beer?"

I froze. How'd he know I was at the bar? How'd he know I ordered a beer? HOW???

"Tasted like a good A&W. No wonder you like to have one every now and then," I said. Dad was smiling. He chewed his bite of food, then set his fork down.

"Don't ever go to the bar again without me," he said. "And whatever you do, never ask for the special. If you want a beer, you can ask me anytime."

That truly was the last time I was in a bar, until my teenage years. But by then, I was more 'world-wise' and wasn't there for a drink, but to collect on a newspaper delivery tab. I never got to 'share' a beer with my Dad, as he passed away enough years before I was of age. But I think back to that small-town community thinking...where everyone knows everybody, and every says whatever. I know that is how my dad knew about that day, and when I mentioned his name, they knew if they did something wrong, he'd hear about it too. Least, that's what I figure.

** That memory popped up tonight while I was out with a buddy at the pub. I don't know what triggered it, but I was glad it did. It is one I am saving back in notes, but I felt like sharing.

PeacE