As a naive pre-teen suckling the teats of adolescence, I always wondered why after knocking back a few Rollin’ Rocks, my dad would start belting out Joe Cocker songs at the dinner table and recollecting the time his college fraternity built a pool out of large sandbags.

I found it equally odd when, after finishing off a bottle of Chianti, he persuaded my classmates to hold a chair-throwing contest at my high school graduation party. Similarly, I could not fathom why eggnog drove my mom to perform interpretative dance to the “Twelve Days of Christmas” every year at the family holiday party.

It took a mere semester of college (and many, many late night fraternity parties) to realize that my parents partake in the same shenanigans as many university students: drinking.

At first, such a discovery troubled me.  My freshman year drinking exploits had always felt deliciously sinful, and nothing killed the debauchery quicker than the realization that my parents have shared the same hobby for the last thirty years.  It was awkward, watching my dad down gin and tonics and pretending I had no idea what tipsy felt like.

Luckily, time was on my side.  By the time I hit 21 (okay, 20), my parents allowed me to partake in the ritual Bacchanalia.  This time, as father belted out “You are so beautiful,” I joined in merrily, a glass of Merlot in my hand.

Almost immediately, I was able to conclude: drinking with your parents is really weird.

When I drink with my friends, there are certain rituals we enjoy upholding.  We like to talk about the last time we were drinking and how wasted we got.  We like to play drinking games.  We like to dish/flirt/make out with attractive members of the opposite sex and blast 80’s music while dancing around the common rooms of our High Rise South apartments.

These rituals are particularly uncomfortable with one’s parents.

Inevitable difficulties arise right away: do you admit that you have been wasted before or that you know the rules to multiple drinking games or have listened to Billy Idol on repeat for hours on end?  Do you bust a move in front in front of the dishwasher?  And flirting with your parents?  Gross.

Admittedly, I was skeptical to pop the parental-intoxication cherry, yet as I continued downing Yuenglings, my father’s stories seemed to take on a life of their own, and for once, I stopped judging his tales, and started enjoying them. 

His face lit up like the Philadelphia skyline and he gestured extensively.  Accounts of days past revealed a youthful idealism tinged with the wisdom of Grandmother Willow from Disney’s Pocahontas.  I was absolutely entranced.  I felt proud to be born of a man whose drunken ramblings rivaled even the most hilarious of fraternity clowns.

Looking back, the experience with my father seemed a proud moment.  Yet I couldn’t help but wonder what it was like for him.  Curious, I decided to do the unthinkable: I decided to interview my father about drinking with me.

Not surprisingly, the interview made me feel like it was my first time all over again.  Our conversation mirrored the clumsy progression of our initial inebriating experience; at first, my dad stammered and coughed, yet as he continued, his thoughts became clearer.

“It was initially awkward,” he told me, between stutters, “because I thought you would be immature about it.  What is she going to do? I wondered.  Guzzle down her beer and say I want another one?” he recalled, excitement pouring forth in his retelling.  “Then I saw that that wasn’t happening, and I realized that maybe you‘d developed half a brain.”

(This seemed like a bad time to mention all the times I had guzzled down beers and reached for seconds, so I kept quiet, and let my dad continue.)

He began to wax philosophical.

“[Parent/child drinking] makes the parents realize that their kids are no longer kids; they’re adults,” he said.  “It also lets the kids know that their parents aren’t serious all the time.”  He smiled.  “We can have fun too.”

I couldn’t agree more.  Yuengling is always fun, and drinking with your parents is an important part of growing up.  It improves your relationship with the people who raised you, and allows you to get to know them as people, rather than as parents.  And while my mom and dad still persist in their parental duties (insisting that I “get a job” is their favorite), popping my intoxication cherry allowed me to see them as friends as well.

This summer, I can’t wait for Bracaglia family happy hours.  And while I will still have to censor some of my Spring Fling stories (such as the time I drank half a handle of Banker’s Club and threw up in the sink), I know the experience will be nothing but enjoyable.  Besides, at Mom and Dad’s house, I don’t have to worry about losing the keys to my High Rise apartment, and my parents never buy Banker’s Club.