My parents didn't drink very much at all, but some summer evenings, they'd send me - age probably five - to the local tavern with a nickel-plated beer bucket. The 'tender would fill it with draft and I'd carry it home. That's how well everybody knew everybody in neighborhoods back then. I never took a sip.
About that same time, Dad visited somebody down the road on the tractor, with me riding along by standing on the spreader bar at the back. The neighbor gave him a bottle of beer as we left, and Dad ave me a big swallow. I vividly recall having something of a hard time staying on the spreader bar on the bouncy ride home!
