Summary

The author reflects on their childhood experience serving cocktails at their grandparents' sophisticated parties, contrasting it with the modern approach to child bartending and changing societal attitudes towards alcohol and sobriety.

Abstract

The author nostalgically recalls their youth spent serving drinks at their grandparents' elegant cocktail parties, where they were enchanted by the glamorous attire and the candid conversations of the guests. They reminisce about their purposeful role as a child bartender, which provided them with a sense of belonging and aspiration. The narrative transitions to the present, where the author encounters a new generation of child bartenders at a family reunion, who are more professional and even offer non-alcoholic options. This evolution prompts a family debate on the appropriateness of child bartending, with some viewing it as a potential normalization of drinking and others seeing it as a harmless job that teaches responsibility. The author, now sober for over two decades, supports the concept of child bartending but emphasizes the importance of the children's ability to discern their tasks, such as distinguishing between alcoholic and non-alcoholic beverages.

Opinions

The author fondly remembers their childhood role as a bartender, viewing it as a rite of passage and a source of valuable life lessons.
There is an appreciation for the elegance and sophistication of the past, particularly the fashion and social dynamics of their grandparents' era.
The author holds a positive view of the modern child bartenders' professionalism and the inclusion of non-alcoholic drink options.
The family's opinions on child bartending are divided, with some concerned about the potential for normalizing alcohol consumption and others appreciating the convenience and educational aspect of the role.
The author, being sober, does not see child bartending as a direct path to alcoholism but acknowledges the importance of children being able to perform their duties responsibly.
The author endorses child bartending under the condition that children are adequately informed and capable of distinguishing between different types of beverages.

DEVIANT SOBRIETY

The Booze of My Youth

Should kids bartend?

When I was little, my grandfather was a Mad Man. Not the kind who got locked up in a sanitarium, but the kind who drank cocktails, sold advertising, and hung around beautifully made-up, tall women, with high arches.

My grandparent's cocktail parties were classy. Elegant women sashayed around in their muted pastel or ivory slacks. Golden and jeweled necklaces tangled together over silk blouses.

I couldn’t wait to get old enough to own my own flowy polyester slacks, colorfully patterned silk blouses, and gold rope belts. Don’t even get me started on my plans for my future shoes and jewelry.

The men at the parties donned Brooks Brothers khakis with lightly colored button-down shirts with arm sleeves unbuttoned and carefully folded up, exposing Florida and golf-tanned forearms.

Occasionally, one of the older businessmen showed up with a platinum blond he’d recently met in California who’d just finished her first year at some California State school.

I wondered how I could become her. I was pretty sure my transformation would require a full gut remodel since I lacked any of her original parts. On the other hand, maybe she started out as short and dark-haired as me. You never know.

My job was to serve cocktails. Job is too small a word. Purpose. Raison d’être.

I was somewhere between 6–9 years old. I knew how to make a decent G&T. I seldom forgot to slip a petite lime wedge onto the lip of the cup. I could pour wine without spilling. I knew which wine glass was for red and which was for white.

Just kidding.

I knew the difference between a wine glass and a fork.

I loved bartending. It gave me a chance to interview the guests and fondle their expensive jewelry. My unrealized dream was the bejeweled divorcées would find me irresistible and offer me up their gems.

My favorite women were the ones who talked viciously and endlessly about their ex-husbands. They said things like that prick got his comeuppance and I was well compensated for being married to that asshole. These women were delicious.

The women who I sidled myself up to tossed around words like vile or delicious. They were like Bond women. The ones who told me I was their favorite were also my favorite.

The ones who were tipsy without being sloppy rattled on about their regrets and beach condos in Sarasota. I loved them too. I imagined looking out into the aqua ocean from my own one-day salty-scented balcony.

My absolute favorites were the ones who started with the sentence, “I shouldn't be telling this, but — ”

My grandparents had a bar built into the cabinets of their den. I love the word den. It’s so decisive. I couldn’t wait to be old enough to enjoy an early evening drink in the den with my husband and live this lifestyle that was already fleeting.

By the time I had a family of my own, women were not talking about their lovers anymore. They were competing over who could best carve a watermelon to look like a muppet. They were drinking kale smoothies and oxygen water. An era had ended.

At a recent family reunion, I was reintroduced to child bartenders. They were more sophisticated and professional than I ever was. They designed actual menus with drink choices.

They also served non-alcoholic options, something unheard of from my own child- bartending days. When I was a child, no one had stopped drinking yet. Sobriety was a terrifying myth and considered deviant anti-social behavior.

Watching my youthful flaxen pony-tailed Danish cousins collect drink orders brought me back, but it turned out not everyone approved.

I started interviewing my relatives on how they felt about child bartenders. Generally, there was approval. The alcoholic servitude meant none of us had to get off our exhausted post-5 pm asses.

My family does a lot of activities. By dusk, we had already played soccer matches, pickleball tournaments, white-water rafted, mountain biked, and swam laps. By the time we sat down to eat, we wanted the children to bring us drinks.

My anti-child bartending relatives theorized it was normalizing drinking, that it was a gateway to alcoholism. My pro-child bartending relative nodded.

“Sure. Some of these kids might grow up to be alcoholics, but I can’t imagine passing out La Croixs and beers will turn them into drunks.”

Sobriety is more acceptable now than it was when I was a child bartender. I, myself, haven’t drunk in over 20 years. Unlike the “Mad Men” days, not drinking isn’t considered a mental illness.

The young child bartenders did mistakenly end up bringing me a vodka lemonade instead of a limonata La Croix.

The error wasn’t because the child bartenders were drunk. It was because lemon Vodka comes in a can now and looks exactly like limonata La Croix.

So, yes, I am pro-child bartender. It’s important for kids to have a job and learn to socialize — but only the ones who can read cans.

Thanks to Debra G. Harman MEd for editing and publishing.

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