Who would have guessed that reminiscing about a 2017 trip to Legoland would trigger my revelation that I’m an alcoholic.
As I was telling a dear friend about an upcoming visit I commented on the taco truck that is on the roof of the nearby Wegman’s. Then I went into the beer selection and exactly which beer I had. I didn’t mention it was the only time Mary was ever able to join us there. I didn’t mention this picture, one of my all time favorites. I didn’t talk about the hours of fun we all had that day. Or how amused Mary was with the little rock band setup. We met friends that day, built, played, and squeezed every ounce of fun out of that place.
Mary was home sick the next time we visited. She’d be gone days later. It’s tough to pull into that parking lot. At least one of my sons feels guilt about us not being home that day. I do too.
All of that, and more, was available to me to talk about, but I chose to focus on the one beer I had.
My friend is the wisest and most perceptive 30-something I know. Without knowing any of the other stories I could tell, she called me out and got me to face why my brain had chosen that as my Legoland memory. It’s a painful weakness to own up to. I’m still reeling from it.
God bless,
Jason