I arrived back from my father’s house this morning to find George busily cleaning his laundry room. His guest/lady friend was standing in the doorway to the house smoking a cigarette and directing.
“Do you need a hand?” I asked George, walking up onto his carport.
I said hello to Lisa. The orchestrator. She looked three sheets to the wind.
“Take the stuff I am pulling out of the laundry room and put it up at the road to be thrown away,” George told me very thankful for the help.
George now keeps his beer hidden in his clothes dryer as someone was stealing them off his carport. I chuckled at this new revelation.
“Sit down and have a beer with me,” George said as we finished the task at hand.
Lisa took a seat and cracked open a beer herself.
I was just honest with George today. I was the confessor.
“George, I was just an incorrigible alcoholic for decades and haven’t had a beer in 6 or 7 years. I just can’t drink the stuff without getting into serious trouble.”
George apologized for all the times he asked me to have a beer.
“I drink too much beer as well,” he confessed to me as I bid him adieu.
I know myself well. One beer would have turned into a six-pack. A six-pack would have turned into a twelve pack and I would have blown the past 5 years of trust I have built up with my father. Many of my freedoms like the debit card would be taken away.
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