When I first went away to college, my dad, Mr. White, sat me down and had a talk with me. A youthful wild hair does run in the family, and he knew I was gonna party.
He told me, "We Whites can drink all the beer we want, but we can't drink whisky." Of course it went in one ear and out the other.
I went off to school, and come the first big fraternity party, I found out what whisky can do to "us Whites".
I'd been drinking beer all afternoon and early evening, but when the band started playing, one of the guys started giving me shots of bourbon. I killed a whole pint, and really made a fool of myself. In addition to dancing myself into a frenzy to songs like "Gloria", I had to be walked around the parking lot, and then hung my head out the door of the car all the way back to the dorm. My fiancee was so disgusted, he left me there, and the guys that got me drunk had to take me back to the dorm.
I ended up being taken to the hospital, having a gawdawful hangover for 3 days, and having to face Dean Dickey, dean of women, old maid, and retired Baptist preacher the next morning. She didn't like my Yankee attitude, and put me on disciplinary probation.
That's the last time I drank Bourbin for many years. But I did develop a taste for Scotch...Chevas Regal, which I drank on the rocks. I won't bore you with details, but I found that Scotch made me crazy.
My dad was right.
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