Good story. Even if they'd have thrown the book at gramps these days. ;O)
My dad and grandpap used to let me have a little jigger of beer when I was a kid, but got my first buzz when I was around 12 or 13.
Friends of my parents invited us down for supper. The ol' boy had come here from Italy prior to WWI as a kid, served in the US Army during that war, fetched him back a French war bride afterwards. Those two always argued over who was the better cook, but either could put together a first class meal.
He quit hunting in his 60s, but always liked some venison or other game, if we coughed any up in his direction. He could make a tasty meal out of anything.
That night it was Italian cuisine and Tony insisted I have a small glass of wine. Dad thought the glass was too big, Tony insisted I was a big boy and could handle it.
Whoo whee! Got most of it down and the room began to move a bit, but I held my own and survived it. Thought I was pretty cool. Mom said I fell asleep in the back of the car about 15 minutes after we left and they had a helluva time waking me up when we got home.
