Drinking Again

I've been thinking a lot about my mom lately. It's not surprising at this time of year. Her birthday was Christmas Eve and my dad's was the day after so every year the four of us--mom, dad, Max and I--would go out for a special dinner to celebrate their birthdays together Now that I think of it, our annual birthday dinner was a good excuse for getting into the Christmas spirit without sacrificing our Jewish principles.

The most memorable of those faux Christmas outings was a trek over the bridge to Zaberer's, a popular, upscale dining room that catered to groups and families. I remember we had to wait a while for our table to be ready and, in the spirit of the holidays, my mother drank a large martini rendering her a bit tipsy. Nothing messy, I remember, no tripping or spilling but just a lot of giggles. But nonetheless, I felt absolutely humiliated, convinced that everyone around us was witnessing my mother's descent into a disgraceful, drunken state. I was probably about 12 at the time with little tolerance for parental indiscretions--not that there were ever any to worry about from either of them. For years afterwards, Max and I teased my mom about getting "zaberized." It became a standing family joke but I wonder, like so many children looking up to and harshly judging their parents at the same time, we were really sending them an urgent message--Please, don't do anything to embarrass us.