... and a bottle of wine

I grew up in an extremely socially conservative household; one that is governed by the rules of the Catholic Church. I don’t have any complaints about those rules, I never have. I respect them, just like I respect my family. I have bent the extent of those rules over the course of my adult life, so much so, that despite my evident conservativeness to the world, I’m liberal by my family’s standards. We don’t typically discuss politics or the role of religion in American society; mostly because it’s a fight I can’t win, and it leads to days of not communicating. On rare occasions I say something for the mere pleasure of pissing off my mother and brother—my dad is usually closer to my side, but he tries to stay out of things. As I’ve matured, I’ve learned to pick my battles, and now, after years of saying things just to piss people off, I hold my tongue.

The problem with a bad day in a household run by religious precedent is that for me to sit down, with my bottle of wine, blanket and movie, I would violate the code that mandates drinking only in moderation. Sure, a glass of wine with dinner, maybe two, isn’t a sin, but to indulge further, which is what my current state leads me wanting, would be unseen in my family.

I will admit that I’ve hid my drinking patterns from my family, mostly to avoid judgment. It doesn't matter how many times my mother tells me I’m an adult that is free to make my own decisions; I know how upsetting it would be for her to know—especially after she found an old hotel bill of mine. So I keep it a secret. I keep my deepest thoughts and desires hidden from the person that I know can read me and understand me better than anyone.

It’s frustrating to be in that situation; to be stuck between honesty and growing up. If my brother had been more rebellious I’m sure it would be easier for me, but of course, I have the older brother that’s never been drunk before, that went to one high school dance—prom—because my parents made him and that recently moved back home because he doesn’t know what he wants to do with his life. Of course I had to be the one to move across the country months after graduation, it was I that had people reporting on my activities while in college, and it’s I that intends on remaining on the opposite side of the country forever. My independence has aided my development, but has it also separated me from my support system? My desire to be different than my family, to set myself apart, has really created a gap: one that I don’t think I can fill.

Only a bottle of wine and some honesty would tell.