A man who knows his limits

Whenever the 4th of July rolls around, I remember living on Racing Circle, and the anticipation of the Harmon's fireworks display. Bob Harmon was a legend in our neighborhood. He would stockpile boxes of fireworks leading up to the 4th, which was when the families in our circle would have a "block" party.

During the day, the families would bring grills out on their driveways, and have a progressive. We'd spend the day roaming from house to house, eating and drinking, playing volleyball and kickball. It was heaven for the kids. And the adults too, I am sure. One year, the Brown's had a karaoke machine. That's not exactly true. They had a machine that had canned music on it with what seemed like hundreds of songs on it, but there wasn't the traditional monitor with scrolling words. It was a blast either way.

One of the last block parties we had in the circle before my parents divorced, I got good and drunk. So did my dad. I was 18. Growing up, my dad had this rule: we could drink, as long as it was in our house, or with him around to supervise. He didn't want any of his children to drink and drive. While I don't think I will be following this Fosco tradition, I believe my dad succeeded at a couple of things. I didn't really drink much before college, and I never got behind the wheel after drinking.

I can count on one hand the amount of times I've seen my father drunk. That last block party was one of them. He was drinking scotch most of the day, and I noticed that he left the party and went inside. When I didn't see him after a few minutes, I went to check on him. I wandered the house, yelling his name, looking in rooms, trying to find him without luck. Finally, I went into his bedroom and flipped the light switch. He was there, passed out on his stomach, face buried in a pillow. Being that I wasn't of sound mind, I immediately thought he was dead. I started yelling at him.

"Dad! Wake up! Dad!" He didn't respond. "Oh, no!" I shouted, "You're dead!"

My father looked up at me and said, "I'm not dead, you moron, I'm just drunk." He kicked me out to let him sleep it off.

Good times, good times.