Please Bless the Refreshments

It's no secret that I grew up in a Mormon family. We went to church every week, read our scriptures, and had Family Home Evening. We didn't shop on Sundays, we paid our tithing and we supported our church leaders. We were the epitome of what a Mormon family should be.

One Monday night when I was about 10, my dad said he had something special for the "treat" part of Family Home Evening. We excitedly made our way through the typical program: Opening Song, Prayer, Testimony, Lesson. Then Dad disappeared into the kitchen.

A few minutes later Dad yelled from the kitchen. "Close your eyes, you birds, and don't open them until I say so!" I sat there on the couch with my eyes closed as Dad came in and handed me a cool glass of liquid. "Don't open your eyes yet, just drink it," he said.  As I lifted the glass to my lips I immediately smelled something unpleasant. I wasn't about to drink some stinky mystery drink, especially one my prankster dad just gave me, so I opened my eyes.

There in my hand was an ice-cold glass of beer. "Take a drink!" my dad said. "No! It smells gross and it's beer!" "It's just O'Douls, there's no alcohol in it, just drink it!" So I tentatively took a sip. A strong bitter yeasty flavor rolled over my tongue and I thought I was going to barf. "Ew! This is gross!" "Come on! Take a few swallows!" "I can't! It's going to make me throw up!" This went on for several more minutes until Dad finally gave up. We'd tasted beer and hated it. Just as he'd planned.

The remaining bottles of beer sat out in the garage for months before they were finally thrown away. It would be years before I'd have the nerve to try beer again. Dad's plan worked, as unconventional and crazy as it sounds. Although, this story doesn't even compare to the time he gave us hash brownies.

Ok not really. But he probably wanted to.