Dad’s had his ‘Phil’ of Mixed Drinks

When I was just a pup, I idolized my parents. They could do no wrong - after all they decided to keep me relatively flea-free, EVEN after the ‘Lemon law’ was enacted. I was born into a household of small-town traditional values like “Eat or be eaten”, “Do unto others”, and “It takes a village … idiot!” I was lucky though as compared to others in my family tree. Not only did I always have a roof over my head – but for the three of us, that REALLY was a fairly roomy Cadillac.

Fortunately for me however, the family shunned their heritage and I lived in Denver, Colorado during my entire early life. Yes we may have flew the coop like chickens but mostly it was because my father loved his drumsticks. You see my Dad was a professional drummer in a dance band and if you wanted to work without being on the road every day, you had to live where the eardrums were.

Now invariably as a jazz musician, to practice his craft, my father had to navigate daily, the difficult waters between family life and his job with the orchestra. His commute would have been so much easier if we had never lived on that stupid island. I think those were the early beginnings of my Father’s life-long drinking affliction and genuine love for mixed drinks. So many nightclubs, dance joints, and Mitzvahs held at BARS as well as fancy hotels. At some point no matter how strong, BOTH the deodorant, and a man’s resistance – will eventually wear thin.

Over the years the drinking has gotten worse and worse. Yes it may have started with a benign orange and cream soda mixture, but soon two flavored pops weren’t enough. Suddenly with ‘maybe a splash of root beer here’ or an ‘innocent spritz of cola there’, my father’s suicidal concoctions have taken on new dimensions of all their own. Now everything is stronger, bolder, more daring, with 4, 5, and even 6 soda flavor combinations. They freely fizz, sparkle, and shamelessly comingle their caramel colorings in my Dad’s overflowing, ‘senior –sized’ McDonald’s cup.

All those wasted years of perfectly good soda being mixed and defiled again and again, day in and day out. Clearly, no matter how hard my Mother and I try, nor how much love my Father has for us, our spirits are powerless and flat. Alone, we are no match to the siren’s song of the ‘multi-spigot soda dispensing beverage station'. It’s clear (and bubbly) a professional intervention is in order. That’s why we have engaged help from a hugely successful, television ‘Pop’ psychiatrist sensation from Texas – the famed Dr. Pepper.