After stumbling upon an article about fathers and sons, memories flooded back about the time I decided to introduce my son to the world of beverages.
So, we ventured to our local pub, a mere two blocks from home.
Optimistically, I ordered him a Guinness. Alas, he wasn’t a fan, so I graciously took care of it.
Thinking perhaps the taste was too robust, I got him a Worthington’s. To my dismay, he rejected it, and once again, I came to the rescue.
Hoping for success, I thought a local lager might suit his palate. Nope. I ended up savoring that one too.
Undeterred, I considered something sweeter. A Woodpecker cider was the next attempt. Shockingly, he dismissed it, leaving me no choice but to polish it off.
In a last-ditch effort, I went for a single malt. He flat-out refused. What’s a father to do but take one for the team?
By the time I acknowledged that my son simply didn’t fancy the art of drinking, I found myself in a tipsy predicament, struggling to push his pram back home. The quest for the perfect drink turned into an unintentional bar crawl of parenting proportions!