Drunk at 13?

During our first trip to Spain in 1968, I was 13 years old and didn’t speak Spanish yet.

I so wanted to have Spanish friends, but it was obviously hard due to the language barrier. 

I will never forget when a classmate of mine invited me to his birthday party.  This was huge for me.  The day before the party, my mother and I went out shopping for his gift.  It had to be just right, I wanted the gift to be something that would impress him.  We ended up buying a 1/25-inch model of the Apollo capsule – the space race was on, and I wanted him to know that the U.S. was going to win and get to the moon first. 

It was a large box with what seemed like a million parts.  We didn’t have enough wrapping paper to completely cover the box, but that was OK, he would see it soon enough anyway. 

I will never forget his name, Javier Almenar.  A great guy too, he tried to speak English, and I tried to speak Spanish, but we started to understand each other more through our hand gestures than the spoken word. 

Out came the birthday cake and, unbeknownst to me, a 1-oz glass of Sherry.  I know, seems strange to me now, but back in the late 1960’s things were very different!  I didn’t know that it was an alcoholic drink, I never had one, certainly not at 13 years old.

Glass of Silky Smooth Sherry

It tasted good to me, very sweet and figgy.  I liked it and drank the glass and then helped myself to more, much more.  When Javier’s mother realized what I had tapped into the bottle, she thought it best that I go home before I got sick or passed out. 

As I staggered across the street, I could feel Mrs. Almenar keeping a watchful eye on me until I reached the front door where my mother was waiting for me.   

After a few cross words, mom tucked me into bed and let me sleep off my first drunken escapade, with full knowledge that I was simply happy I had a new Spanish friend.