Not the point of the story though. See, while we were talking, my friend's seven year old daughter comes waltzing in, cute as pie. She can't sleep yet, because she hasn't kissed daddy goodnight (naturally, who could?). She kisses him, and then pulls back a little, looking at him with a grown woman's eyes.
"Are you drinking beer daddy?"
That's all she wants to know, this seven year old. And I think shoot man she caught us. They start out young, these women. Crafty.
But my friend just smiled and said "no honey, it's better than that."
Her eyes got real big. You could see the straining going on in that pretty little head, the cogs twirling at a hundred miles an hour. Finally she gets it.
"You're drinking root beer?"
Because, after all, we as an advanced form of human life know that the logical step on the scale of goodness begins with beer and then proceeds straight to the pinnacle of delicious and coveted beverages, that being root beer and only root beer. It's logic people.
What's happened to us, as we've grown up? Since when did we stop thinking root beer was the only answer to the question of "what's better than______"? Since when did we stop considering it astounding that a grown man would drink root beer late at night, not because it's bad for the teeth but because, heaven help us, you're allowed to enjoy something as good as root beer on just an ordinary Tuesday night? Since when did we commit to our memories our every pain and heartache, noting down the things that've burned us that we might not make the same mistake twice? I watch my friends daughter as she goes running around the hardwood floors, knowing that she's going to slip and bang a knee because I've seen her do it not ten minutes ago. But when she falls, it's like falling for the first time. She can't believe that a slippery floor could yield so much resistance when met with a bare knee, and astounded, as if personally affronted, the tears well up. I could've told her not too. I remember running on hardwood myself.
But that's the problem. We remember. We remember when we've fallen, and the older we get the more calculated our every move is to avoid the repetition of such a stupid mistake. Me, I remember the last time I loved a girl. She ended up falling out of love in quite a boring fashion, so now I wait for love to come hauling back around and hit me like a bus. I remember the last time I was generous with a friend. Think he ended up just forgetting to thank me, and here I sit feeling like a fool for ever giving up my effort. I remember the last time I let my family down. Couldn't seem to meet their eyes or expectations, and now I just keep it so no soul ever depends on me for anything. Because it's safer this way. Hell, if you remember the answers to the quiz, why would you study the questions? You know the outcomes, so choose to defer involvement in the game.
And so we grow. Up, old, into adults, and ever so boring. But not me. No, I think I've made up my mind. If we live in a world of kids vs. adults, then I know where my loyalties lie. I'd rather choose the team where running on hardwood is recommended because it's slippery and fun as heck, not cautioned against because these knees can't take it anymore. I'd rather choose the team where root beer is the apex of delight, why? Because it's a damn good beverage and should be enjoyed for that purpose alone. I'd rather choose the team that chooses to forget the pains and heartaches, not because they didn't happen, but because they aren't worth slowing down for.
So there you have it Lilia, my little pink pajama-ed friend. Yes, we're drinking root beer. But don't tell mom.
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