And from other sons and daughters—
When I was old enough (seven), my job was to fetch Dad a beer and have it opened by the time I got to his recliner. The ritual stopped as I got older, when the beers arrived to Dad’s chair with increasingly less contents.
—anon
One of my fondest memories is when we were in Ireland together. We shared quite a few pints of Guinness and had some great conversation while taking in the beautiful scenery and relaxing in the pub.
—anon
He was a steelworker in Pittsburgh and drank beer daily after work. He now drinks all the microbrews and craft beers. He says that as a young man in the mills, him and his buddies would have turned their collective noses up at wheat beer, imperial stout, winter ale and the like. He marvels today at the variety of beers and wonders why brewers were not more creative in the 40s, 50s and 60s. This Christmas, in what has become a tradition in the family, he received over 60 different beers from my mother, sister, wife and grandkids. The beer will be gone by March and we’ll repeat the process at Father’s Day. He is not too keen on sharing.
—anon
My father loves brewery tours. We lived in Houston and went to Anheuser Busch monthly. When he retired, he moved to Schulenburg and then Shiner Brewery became our monthly meet. It still is.
—anon
Dad had a friend who was a long-distance truck driver. A couple of times a year he would get a case of Coors before they shipped over the Rockies. You would have thought it was the nectar of the gods.
—anon
After my father entered a nursing home for the final stage of his life, he glowed when seeing my brother or me bring a little cooler when we visited him. He knew we had a beer for him in there, and he enjoyed every sip til his last day. Those smiles from him will stay with me forever!
—anon
He would drink Pabst in a can. I remember one of the good rear end spankings I got. It was when he told me to go get him one. Well I did and shook it up real good. The rest, as the say, is history. Or a good ass beating!
—anon
On special occasions, he would have Beck’s Dark with fresh ground black pepper, which was the first taste of beer I ever had. I’ve been hooked on German dark beers ever since.
—anon
A ritual in our family was for my dad to bring my brother and I to the corner bar a few times a week to have a cold one (we had Coke) and share some camaraderie with the other patrons.
—anon
Instead of my father being a beer lover, I actually introduced him to beer. My dad never drank anything when I was growing up. It was on the return trips home from NYC to Winston that I started introducing my dad to more interesting beers. He, by this time, had rekindled an old love affair with wine. But, slowly, he has warmed up to craft beers as brewers have gotten more creative; and I think I have won him over with the argument that the very best in the beer world can be had for a fraction of the price of a bottle of wine. So I guess you could say that my dad and I have bonded over beer: it is something we can talk about besides the financial crisis and Wake Forest basketball (the latter, however, is a topic that never gets old).
—Rich Grogan
My dad died just last Nov. (a year after my mom died), and many of my memories of both of Mom and Dad have beer as a significant part. Dad always had some good beer on hand, both more nationally known brands such as Sam Adams as well as locally brewed beers. He lived in Asheville, NC. which has several excellent breweries, as well as several places where beer figures in prominently in their menu. He was a regular at the Asheville Biergarten, where he had gone often enough to be friends with John the brewmaster. (You can’t go wrong at a place that has a beer menu that is about 20 pages long!) He even had monthly meetings with retired clergy (he was a retired Episcopal priest) there, so they could all enjoy and compare while they solved the world’s problems.
—anon
Part of a very large family, and we all lived in the same town: 11 aunts and uncles and roughly 30 cousins. Many nights, my dad and his brothers and sisters would get together at my grandparents house and share their stories over a cold beer. It was like having a family reunion almost every weekend, getting everyone together aunts, uncles, cousins and grandparents. It was a special day when I turned 21 and was allowed to enter the “circle” out on the back porch, and share a beer and my stories.
—anon
My father was not a big beer drinker, but I do remember being able to taste the Piels, Ballantine or whatever he had at dinner. I found out later when I read his WWII diary that he fell in love with Belgian beer while he was there. Ironic!
—anon
When my brother was very small, he wanted to emulate my dad. When my dad had a beer, my brother would beg for one too. So my mom poured a tiny bit of beer in a glass in front of my brother—then filled the glass with water, behind his back. My brother proudly sat next to my dad and they drank their beers together.
—anon
I grew up on a farm and remember as a teen baling hay and unloading the wagons in the barn, then my dad, brother, and I each enjoying a bottle of dad’s current brand.
—Doug Kepner
He wasn’t a heavy drinker, but back then at the Legion in town, which was dry, you had to buy your beer and mark the bottles with your initials so you were being served your own beer.
—anon
Once I started drinking, I would make it a point to bring home a new brew for both him and I to try together whenever I went over to the house. Before long, he was even surprising me when I showed up at the house with something new and interesting to try! These pints and the words shared over them have become one of my most cherished memories between my father and I, and I hope they continue to happen for a very long time.
—Pete Dickson
Back in the 1950s, we moved out to the country, and he built a huge garage out of cement block, which he would work on after or before his shifts at the steel mill. His “helper” for the project was his favorite beer: P.O.C., which stood for “Pride of Cleveland.” Dad would get up on the scaffolding, take some gulps from his can of P.O.C., lay a few blocks, finish the can of beer, then drop the empty can into one of the blocks’ holes. My brother used to say that “Dad and P.O.C. built that garage!” We had no idea how many cases of P.O.C. went into those walls!
—anon
When I was a kid, every Memorial Day, Independence Day, and Labor Day my father would have a cookout . He would get a barrel of beer and while he prepped the yard and food we would go clam digging. Later in the afternoon, we’d have steamers, chicken and steak with the adults enjoying the beer. Some of my favorite pictures of my father are him with draft beer in hand in front of the homemade grill (1/2 of a 55 gallon drum)!
—anon
My dad was a home-brewer the moment it was legal back in ‘78, but he got away from it and the equipment went into storage at my grandfather’s home until the brewing bug bit me. I now use the same fermentation lock and capper that my Dad had used. My first all-grain was also the first all-grain my Dad had done, and we did it together (a roggenbeir). We were just novice brewers, way in over our heads. Beer has now become a staple in our house. We read articles about beer, we go out in search of the brews we haven’t tried, and we make the beers we can’t find. Beer is a great bonding agent.
—Jacob Wachholz
My dad was not the only significant figure in my life that loved beer. So did Santa. Every Christmas Eve, we left out a chocolate chip cookie and a bottle of beer for Santa. Every Christmas Day there was an empty plate and bottle of beer and a thank letter signed by Santa.
—anon
One of our favorite stories involves Dad and his beer. My mother was changing my brother on the changing table and told my father to come over because it was time he learned how to do this. Stein in hand, he reluctantly walked to the table for his diaper-changing lesson. My mother unpinned the diaper and my brother released a stream of urine that arced perfectly…right into the beer stein! The next diaper change my father participated in was that of my son! It took him a long time to get over that.
—anon
Even though my tastes are more on the hoppier side, I still think of my dad when I have the lighter pilsners and the times we would sit in the garage and watch the rain storms, with cans in hand.
—anon
My Dad loved his Rheingold Beer. I can still hear the pop of the can, his first sip and his “Ahhhhhhh.”
—anon
My dad has always been a beer drinker and lover. He loves beer so much that he made his own kegerator out of an old refrigerator we had. Once I got a little older, I remember how cool all my friends thought my dad must be because he was the only person they knew with his own kegerator. It later impressed my husband on his first visit to our house and he and my dad have bonded over beer ever since. My dad passed on his love of beer to us this year by purchasing us a kegerator of our own for our first house.
—anon
I lived in Salzburg, Austria a few years ago, and when my parents came to visit, my dad, a huge lover of beer, had learned one German phrase: Ein mal bier, bitte! Which translates into, “One more beer, please!” I’m happy to report we used that phrase many times during their visit,
—anon
During my early years my father would always drink what my grandmother called “weird beer” i.e. whatever craft beer my father was drinking at the time, not Bud, Miller or Coors which is what my grandparents were used to. As I became older, I started to taste these “weird beers” that my father drank and because of this exposure, I have become an avid homebrewer and craft beer lover. Thanks Dad for instilling in me the love of “weird beer.”
—anon
On the eve of my 21st birthday, he took me out to a local pub and bought me my first legal pint of beer. It was a Bass Ale. It is a moment I will never forget as long as I live.
Paul Minarik
—anon
On warm summer nights, I remember being on the swing set and my dad sitting on the picnic table drinking his first PBR of the evening.
—anon
On payday he would go to the bank to cash his check and then make rounds of two or three bars. On weekends he would go to a club that he and some friends set I guess to have an excuse to play cards or cheat play bocce and of course drink beer.
—Barry Smith
