Some Other Time

What if your kid asks to be an alcoholic when they grow up? Rumi. Wendell Berry with a special appearance by Amanda Petrusich. More Smog on the playlist.

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A couple of weeks ago, while half-heartedly scribbling through his homework at our kitchen table, my 8-year-old son, out of nowhere, looked up and asked us a question. “When can I become an alcoholic?” My wife was at her work desk, and I was on a small recliner in the kitchen, also on my laptop. We looked at each other, then at him, and said—well, who knows what we said. There wasn’t any definitive answer we could give. My first instinct was to say, “Great news!” but I thought that would only confuse him. I don’t remember how we moved on from that conversation, but one of us promised him we’d discuss it some other time. Maybe it was me.

We’re not the type of parents to shield him from hard things. We may downplay the horrors of the world, but if questions are asked, then they are answered. When he becomes aware of a disturbing news story—say a shooting—I try to explain that the world is an ugly place sometimes because of the people who live in it, but that’s what also makes it a wonderful place, too. I don’t want to turn him into a nihilist at such an early age, even though I sometimes wonder if that’s for the best.

This past Tuesday, after a night of restless sleep, he and I both woke up at 5:30 a.m., and I decided it was as good a time as any to tell him that I identify as an alcoholic and what that meant for him and our family. I realized a little too late that I wasn’t very prepared, that it was a difficult question to answer, one I couldn’t explain to an adult, let alone my 8-year-old son. I know there are definitions I can Google, some made-up facts about our genetic predisposition, but I didn’t want to go there right away—or maybe I should have?

I eased into it, reminding him about the “becoming an alcoholic” question he had asked a couple of weeks prior. He didn’t remember it, but I still moved forward with the discussion.