I just dropped off all my empties at my friend Ed's place. Ed is a retired gentlemen, who walks the neighbourhood to stay in shape. He's sure to stop and chat with you if you have the time. He always seems cheerful, and can recount an impressive amount of detail from previous talks. He's a great neighbour.
Ed's had a pretty hard life, as far as I can tell. He was forced into early retirement due to an injury, used up his pension and savings, and now survives off a pretty meagre income. Yet, I've never really heard him complain. Moreover, when Leia made his some lasagna, he quickly brought over a bag of apples to express his gratitude.
Ed is collecting empties to save up enough money to get to BC to visit his only family, a sister. The amount he is attempting to save isn't much, for most of us, anyhow. Undoubtedly, the empties I walked over cost much more when they were full than what Ed is trying to save. So grateful is Ed, that he immediately asks how he can repay me. Of course, I want nothing in return other than a friendly chat, and the opportunity to deliver more bottles at a later date. He insists, and tells me when he starts painting again, which he intends to do, that I'll get one of his watercolours - and a picture and a letter from BC, should he get there next summer.
I grew up in a dry home, where alcohol was the gift Dad got at Christmas from clients, and was only used as part of a marinade for steak or some other such use. In part, my folk's decision to abstain was social - they had many friends and family members who had suffered the ill-effects of alcohol-abuse. It was also religious. I understand my parent's position, and mostly respect it. I'll admit to a few sips from the flask the occasional visit home, but I purposefully do not partake in their company. To their credit, my folks are not concerned about what I consume, but about who I am as a husband, a father, etc. When I was showing my Dad around our house recently, as he was watching the girls when we went to Vancouver in May, he articulated his position on my fondness for the brew when he saw my beer cabinet in the basement: "It is not what goes into a man that defines him, but what comes out!" I immediately observed that such a sentiment doesn't help me much, but I appreciated it nonetheless.
I've always enjoyed having a selection for guests - I used to have a massive selection of tea (45-50 varieties), and once had a Pepsi fridge with a range of sodas.
Another reason my family historically has abstained was for religious reasons. I grew up Pentecostal, a part of the Holiness Movement. Alcohol was associated with a host of other nefarious activities, such as dancing, smoking, gambling, playing pool or cards (even for fun!), going to the movies, and so on. The idea was that one need to remain absolute pure in spirit and in action, per chance that the trumpet should sound. If one was found with a pool cue or drink in hand when the Lord returned, well, eternal damnation awaited. Although this hardline approach hasn't held its grip in many mainline Evangelical churches, there are still remnants. Alcohol, at least in the tradition I was raised in, remains forbidden fruit.
For most of my life, I didn't drink anything. I had my first beer at age 23. I was on a study tour of the theologian Dietrich Bonhoeffer, who I wrote my Master of Theological Studies dissertation on, and my supervisor purchased me my first beer in Berlin. I deliberately chose that time and the company I was in. The rest, as they say, is history.
Tonight, as I was unloading my empties in the garage at Ed's building, I was struck by something he said: he claimed the empties were his salvation.
I found that to be an interesting juxtaposition with my upbringing. Alcohol growing up meant damnation, yet now my consumption is considered by Ed to be his salvation. If that is the case, I happily embrace damnation, knowing I've helped Ed out.
I'm not quite sure why I was compelled to write this particular blog. Perhaps it is simply the way Ed's phrasing struck me. Whatever the reason, I'm glad that I know Ed, and empties have assisted me in that process. Sure, we would have chatted on occasion on the street, as he walked by, but the empties made me leave my front porch and walk over to his. It made Ed less of a passerby, and more of a neighbour. He's one of the reasons why Leia and I love this neighbourhood so much.
Maybe I wrote this blog so I could end it with this: I want to help Ed get to BC to see his family. One of the ways he is saving money is by collecting empties. If you'll consider saving yours, I'll pick them up and deliver them to Ed. I know he'll appreciate it beyond words, so let me know.
My next trip to Ed's won't be with empties - Ed will have to sip his way to salvation!
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