Set 'em up, Barkeep!

I was in my early twenties when my mother was very ill and was hospitalized a number of times. One time I stopped at the hospital on my way home from work and my dad was already there, feeling worried and sad and helpless, as we do when a loved one is ill and there’s nothing we can do about it.

When visiting hours ended and we were on our way out to the parking lot,  I suggested that we meet somewhere for a drink before going home. I thought we could both use one. Dad agreed, and we went to a local restaurant that had a nice cocktail lounge.

We sat at the bar, and Dad ordered scotch for me and beer for him. I don’t recall what we talked about, but between the booze and the comfortable companionship, not to mention my father’s irrepressible sense of humor, we were able to relax and simply enjoy each other’s company.

The first drink was so good, we ordered another round. “This one’s on me,” I said, getting out my wallet and putting some bills on the bar.

“Oh, no,” the bartender said, slightly alarmed. He leaned over the bar toward me and said in a hoarse whisper, “You let him pay!”

He was serious, and my dad was delighted. For long afterward, he would smile to himself whenever he remembered the bartender thinking he was capable of picking up a young girl.

It made me smile too. Still does.