Last night I dreamed I was a boy again. I was walking down the road with my big black dog. I had a beer in my free hand. I was trying to hide it from the beer police. But how the fuck can a ten year old kid hide a beer walking down the road?
There were children playing in the streets and their parents were pushing lawn mowers, trimming hedges and waving chainsaws around recklessly like movie killers. I met up with my mates at the neighbourhood park where we decided to walk to the forest a mile or two away. Children can find consensus much faster than adults.
In the forest we killed some bugs, threw stones at the crows, examined empty squeeze tubes of glue, picked berries and climbed trees. We scampered up the old cedars like we were running up stairs but were cautious climbing down. We were sensible little motherfuckers.
(That forest is gone now. It has been replaced by several hundred grow-ops.)
When I got home my mom was sitting at the kitchen table having a smoke. In front of her was a glass and a bottle of wine. She was listening to Rick Honey's show on the radio. Listening to "Up, Up and Away" on Rick Honey's radio show got me on the road to becoming a punkrocker about the same time Black Label did.
"Mrs. Manitoba says she saw you walking down the road with a fucking beer."
"I was having a beer in the basement when Ruckus started bugging me to take him for a walk. I guess I forgot it was there," I lied.
"Where did you get the beer from?"
"From dad's beer room."
"How long have you been drinking anyway? I've lost track." She eyed me quizzically from behind her powerful glasses. I figured I must look about fifty feet tall once I was magnified by all that glass.
"Since I decided I liked beer better than pop. Haven't you noticed my clean sheets when I get checked out by the dentist? I would not worry about me drinking beer until I start driving mom. And by then I'll be smoking weed too. That won't be for at least six years as long as dad doesn't leave the keys to the wagon laying around when he is passed out."