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I used to play a handheld video game on long road trips with my family. The only time that I was able to beat the game is when I was drinking mello-yello. So that soft drink had to be good luck for me.
Now who's to say that I outgrew it, at my wedding we had a fountain flowing that beautiful yellow nectar.
One of the saddest moments of my life, and the pivotal moment that ended my childhood innocence and started me on a life as a bitter cynic, occured the morning after one of my parent's parties.
It was early on a Sunday morning, probably in the fall of 1964 or 1965. There had been one of my parent's parties the night before. My father was an executive in a construction company, and often held parties to which he would invite clients and business friends. When my younger brother and I came downstairs to the family room in the finished basement, there was the usual collection of empty beer bottles, filled ash trays, rumpled paper napkins and such. Our parents were still asleep upstairs. We knew not to try to swig the leftover beer from the bottles (my brother had found a cigarette in one after the last party). I had always been fascinated by hard liquor, in particular by scotch. I had gotten the idea somewhere that scotch must taste like butterscotch. Perhaps I assumed that because of the evident gusto with which some of my father's friends drank the stuff. At any rate, I decided that this morning was the time to taste scotch for myself.
Taking the half-empty bottle from the ledge which served as a bar, I removed the cap and took a large drink directly from the bottle.
Of course, I immediately spit what was left in my mouth out across the room in a fine spray. The portion I had already swallowed was rapidly searing a path through-not down-my esophagus and boring a deep hole in the pit of my stomach. I couldn't breath, I couldn't talk. I could only choke and gasp, trying vainly to convey to my brother that I was in the process of dying.
When I could finally catch my breath and utter comprehensible sounds, I told my brother that "Dad must have put kerosine in this bottle!"
Well, that was it. The moment when I realized that childhood fanasies were just that-fantasies, with no basis in reality. Reality was sharp and bitter and stung and burned. Scotch did not, of course, taste at all like butterscotch. Grownups drank the stuff not because it tasted good, but for some other horrible, yet to be determined but undoubtedly evil, reason. So it would be for all my naive childhood perceptions. They would all have to be abandoned or at least re-evaluated in light of this painful new experience.
My dad used to bring me a cup of earl grey tea before he went to work each morning. I always thought it was normal tea that tasted funny because my Dad had dropped some of his aftershave into it by accident. Now I know its just poncy tea!
When I was about 6 I remember our whole family going to the house of friends of the family. My older brother was drinking this black liquid with his friend. I wanted to try some. They told me that it was a drink called Aloc Acoc and that is was poisonous to me. Of course I was mystified by how they could drink it and looked up to them both....until I discovered the empty Coca Cola bottle......I was a simple child!
My broher told me that people who pushed the wrong bubble (on drink lids from fast food resturants) were forced t eat bugers if anyone caught them. I believed him for the longest time and always pushed the right one after that.
My Grandmama always told me that if I drank coffe it would rust my gizzard. I never drank coffee because of her telling me that, and today I still haven't drank any although I know that we don't have gizzards!
I used to believe that glasses "sweated" like I did. When I sweated, the water inside of me came out. So when my glass of water sweated that was the water in my glass leaking. Then one day I realized that I was drinking coke and the sweat was clear! I was so embarassed.
My dad told me that if I drank coffee, my feet would turn black.....I wonder if that had anything to do with me never acquiring a taste for the stuff?
One hot day, as a thirsty child, I stopped at a store to ask for a glass of water. The counter clerk gave it to me, but as I was about to drink it, he yelled, "Stop! You have to wait for the bubble to disappear. If you drink it the way it is, with all the bubbles you'll die." I waited for the bubbles to disappear and then drank. For years I believed him and always waited for all the bubbles to disappear before drinking a glass of water.
I believed when adults said they didn't drink that meant they didn't drink anything. Not even water! How thirsty those poor adults must be!
My mother was going to have a friend over who was a recovering alcoholic. The day before, she warned my father, "Whatever you do, don't offer her a drink." The next day, my father wasn't home. When the firend arrived, my mom asked me, "Won't you get Mrs. X a nice glass of lemonade?" and I immediately responded: "But mommy, you said we weren't supposed to let her drink anything!"
when my mother said someone 'didnt drink' that this referred to everything, not just alcohol. I dont know how they survived...mabye they were some human version of a camel.
When I was little I always wondered why the water at McDonald's tasted so strange. My dad told me that it's because McDonalds used old dishwater.
For years I pictured McDonald's employees, mad that I didn't buy a soda, scooping up used water out of a dishwasher.
(Now I know it's because the water comes out of the same tap as pop.)
When I was 3 years old my best friend and I would sit in the grass behind his house, overlooking a pasture with grazing cows, and drink from our juice bottles. He told me that the foam resulting from our shaking the bottles was cow dung that somehow magically transported itself into the bottle. I don't know about him but I believed it. Oddly enough, it didn't discourage me from drinking it. On the contrary, we both thought it was really cool!
Many drinks had the words "not from concentrate" on their label. After seeing this label on every container of orange juice I ever looked at, I was convinced that concentrate was the name of a really bad brand.
I use to think you only got orange soda from a happy meal and that the only type of drink you got with a happy meal was orange since that is the only time my mom would let me have it.
One day at a restaurant, my brother misunderstood our family discussion about snorting coke (we thought it was a funny concept).
He tried inhaling his Pepsi through the straw into his nose, and then proceeded to sneeze pepsi-snot on the tablecloth!
I was watching TV and I saw this lady stumbling around. I asked my mom what was wrong and she told me that the lady was drunk. I avoided drinking water for years after.
My friend used to believe that Pepsi naturally came from the ground like water and it too had to be bottled at the source. She was 17 when I tried to convince her that she was wrong.
My childhood in the 1970s was marked by high gas prices and inflation. In particular, I remember coffee prices being very high and my parents often reusing the coffee grounds. To entice customers to eat out, restaurants would often advertise a "bottomless cup of coffee". In my naivity I used to believe that a "bottomless cup of coffee" meant you could drink as much coffee as you wanted before it ran out of the 'bottomless' cup.