Band Saw

If you're going to learn from a guru, then you have to understand the relationship between yourself and the ones who raised you. No way around the bend if there's a rock slide ahead.

My father is alive and well. For that, I have many people to thank, including his medical staff he keeps on retainer, as well as my wonderful mother and caring sister. My father also thrives because of his friends and university co-conspirators.

My father taught me many lessons, especially when I wasn't listening especially close, little tidbits that seep between the cracks and open up spaces between my own inspired thoughts (or so I lead myself to believe I'm self-inspired; I know better but have to pretend I don't).

The best lessons we pick up in the after-taste. You didn't want to go to that restaurant that your friends raved about until you were leaving the carpark and noticed a smoky, well-worn flavor that seemed exotic and yet domestic.

I like warm food and drink. Ice is not my friend. Freezing temperatures numb my tongue and hide the currents flowing through the still-living substances resting on my lips and taking a log flume ride down my throat, registering their identity at the Tastebud Checkpoint, flagging colored warnings in a post-9/11 world (yes, even my body belongs to the state, my name and number a fixture others say I can't do without...enough of that precomposted-modernist social referential crap! On with today's show!).

My father handed me a beer at a small German restaurant not far from Abingdon, Virginia, a go-cart ride from the Martha Washington Inn, basement home of Dad's gig as a state engineer for the Virginia Tech extension office.

"Son, this is a real beer. It is not refrigerated [okay, time for a future joke. Q: What do American beer and sex in a canoe have in common? A: They're both fucking close to water.]. Dark beer is the only beer that real men drink. Substance, son. That's what this world is all about. We don't have time for alcoholic water with two drops of artificial flavoring that distinguish an overpriced diet soda pop from a discount light beer."

I hold the glass in my hand. Murky. Reassuring. Like a trusting dive into the ol' swimming hole back home, where rocks hide and only those in the know can hit the water and resurface unharmed.

The bratwurst, pan-fried potatoes and sauerkraut will have to wait. I'm about to become a man.

I raise the grail to my face and smell the bitter aroma. So this is what a man feels when he's about to inherit the kingdom?

I take a sip.

"Drink it down, son. This is your first woman, not a preteen double-date."

I drain the glass. At last. The second Realization. I'm Paul Bunyan, Jeremiah Johnson, Daniel Boone, Davy Crockett, Big Bad John, Casey Jones, John Henry. It's settled. Suburban life won't do.

"Son, what do you think?"

"Great stuff, Dad! Can't wait to have another."

"In time, son, in time. Beer is just the beginning. Whiskey's the taste you're after. And when you've reached that plateau, I'll introduce you to others who have what both men and women are really looking for. For now, finish your lunch. I've got to get you back home so I can get some work done."

I'm talking about my manhood here but this is only a metaphor. Every one of us reaches a state of realization that takes us to the next one. Many of you will miss the point, I know, assuming that the yin and yang of man and woman is the ultimate level of understanding because you like a simple life where sex occasionally leads to babies but more often leads to temporary euphoria. I don't plan to change that. My life is different. I have a longer road to walk. My father's advice was just the beginning to a journey he knew I had to take, starting with birth and reaching the way station of beer and whiskey. The only path to move our species forward is to experience our species' joys and sorrows, eventually leaving them behind. With time, you, too, will understand.