Raise your hand if you're going to need alcohol to make it through your Thanksgiving weekend. (Hand raised). I'm headed up to Lexington, Kentucky today where my two hellion boys under the age of three will be melded with my twin 1.5 year old nephews. Yeah, four mobile boys under the age of three? It's like a symphony of squeals, a cacophony of cries. This is no exaggeration -- every waking moment will be filled with loud yelping of some sort. It's like an infant version of D-Day. We're only spending one day storming the bluegrass of Lexington because any more time with four boys under the age of one qualifies for post-traumatic stress.
"You're only staying one day?" my mom asked, disappointed, when I told her we were driving up and back quickly.
She asked this because women are impervious to screaming children. It's innate, the same biological instinct that sees a window and thinks, "Good Lord, these windows need treatments." (Yes, we're doing window treatments again in my house. Silly me, I had no idea our windows were so sick. I'm contemplating hooking up an I.V. bag to one. Next time she mentions treatment, I'll say, "No worries, got it covered. I've got some saline dripping on the downstairs windows.) Men, sadly, are not immune to screaming children. My dad, the most optimistic man on the face of the Earth, took one look at last year's quad-infant Christmas melee and said, "It's only going to be worse next year."
Well, worse is here. The holidays are back.
My brother-in-law, a doctor at the University of Kentucky who used to hook himself up to an I.V. to cure hangovers, knows the pain. I'm confident he understood why we were only going to be there one day. (Also, why I asked him to bring home I.V. bags from the hospital).
When surrounded by children over the holidays many men -- and women too -- do what generations of our forebears have done. Drink to dull the screams. Hell, even Civil War doctors gave soldiers whiskey as they sawed off their arms.
See, alcohol makes everything better.
What's the modern day equivalent to having your arm sawed off? Listening to Verne Lundquist call a Thanksgiving Day weekend worth of games.