I’ll Drink to that
Tracey Spicer for Sunday Magazine, news.com.au, 8 February 2013
It was a Sunday morning much like any other. My sister and I were lazing on the lounge after having one or two wines the night before. Actually, it was six or seven. But who's counting?
We stumbled upon a brilliant strategy to cope with five small children while our husbands were away. Just like in the film Freaky Friday, we'd swap roles for one day - the adults would be kids and the children would run the house. It was plan so cunning you could put a tail on it and call it a rat. The kids would do the laundry, cook dinner and entertain us, while we put our feet up and relaxed. Sadly, it wasn't to be.
"Now I'm an adult, I can drink beer!" my eight-year-old son proclaimed. "Cheers." "Mmm, I might have some wine," added my six-year-old niece. Suddenly, I felt as if I was in that 'Kids Absorb Your Drinking' ad on TV.
How could this have happened? Were we turning in to our parents? In the heady days of the '70s, alcohol was the perfect accessory for any occasion: going to a party, tough day at work, lost a loved one. Like many kids of that era, I thought cask wine was one of the five food groups. We used the empty bladders as pool pillows, inhaling the fumes for a cheap high. It was never seen as a problem. Everybody did it. But, of course, all good things must come to an end.
Mum was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer, caused by a genetic predisposition exacerbated by lifestyle factors. The doctor held up an X-ray and pointed to dozens of dots decorating her organs. "As you can see, the cancer has spread to the lungs here, here, here and here." Ever the humorist, Mum responded with, "Well, I'd better go outside for a smoke. No point giving up now!”
After her death in 1999, Dad no longer drank for fun; he was self-medicating. One day, dozens of ulcers ruptured in his stomach: in the words of Tex Perkins, "The honeymoon is over, baby, it's never gonna be that way again.”
That was six years ago. Dad hasn't touched a drop since. Instead, he's addicted to buying toys for the grandkids. I couldn't be more proud. But it makes me wonder: "Am I sending the same message to my kids?”
Mum and Dad were wonderful parents. But a drinking culture creates a new generation of alcoholics. While we always have a glass of water with dinner, every weekend is a series of barbecues, parties and events at which we inevitably imbibe alcohol. Enough is enough.
Which is why, as you might have heard, I'm off the grog this month as part of the Cancer Council NSW's Quit for Cancer campaign. It's either that or reciting the words, "My name is Tracey and I'm an alcoholic." I don't think I'm there yet.
It's fair to say we would advance Australia by breaking our bond with booze. This nation was built on a currency of rum. Our biggest sporting event, the Melbourne Cup, is a celebration of drinking and gambling.
Last year the "demon drink" - as my grandmother calls it - claimed one of my best friends. She left a teenage son. In her memory, let's raise a glass of alcohol-removed Edenvale Sparkling Cuvée. Sure, it won't make you feel squiffy. But it might break a bad habit.
The bacchanalia of the festive season is over. It's time for reflection. I've taken a long hard look at the Drinking Mirror app and I don't like what I see.
There's nothing wrong with sobriety, like everything, in moderation.