I’d be a braver man but first I need a little drink

Liquid courage; that’s what they call it. It’s the shot the hero takes just before going to the gunfight; it’s the bracing belt that allows the shy nerd to approach the high-school hotty; it’s the pourable antidote to nervousness that precedes the bosses inquiries into your dubious expense account.
I’d be a braver man but first I need a little drink is how it’s sung. I’m not alone in the sentiments. Winners may celebrate with spray of champagne followed by a toast to themselves but the losers of the big game find solace in other, less noble beverages. Over a few drinks they analyze their mistakes and explain them away. The other guys cheated. They have deeper pockets, therefore can afford better players. We had an off day. With the help of a few drinks the “victory challenged” can buck up the courage to face their guilt and shame and prepare for the next game.

Thankfully, for me at least, it’s not a problem. I don’t rely on alcohol to make me any braver; I have learned to deal with my fear in other ways. My lessons came the hard way: my mother was an alcoholic. I was in my early teens when she became a member of the “Canadian Club.” That was her drink of choice: Canadian Club in a 26 ounce bottle. I think the trigger was the purchase of our large suburban home. I can remember her talking to my father about the size of the mortgage and how we would be able to afford it. Then, over time, the discussions became arguments, then unreasoned moments of panic and terror. The more she became consumed by her membership in the “Club” the more depressed she became. Her work suffered; our home life suffered. Rather than bolstering her courage to face the day, rather than finding strength in a little drink, she fell into a self-defeating, downward spiral of fear and dependency.

Being a first hand witness of her descent, I could see the insidious power of alcohol addiction. It plays on one’s weakness; for someone like my mother, who had a natural pessimistic streak, it only makes things worse. With every sip of whiskey things grew bleaker in her sight. At the same time she became less and less able to do anything; the alcohol not only threw her into depression, it also lessened her ability to function physically. She staggered; she slurred her speech; she was uncoordinated. It was painful to watch, but it was also a lifelong lesson that I have never forgotten. Being the son of an alcoholic, I know full well that I have many of the personality traits that put me at risk of alcohol abuse. While I am not a teetotaller, I am extremely careful and drink only in carefully controlled conditions and rarely drink anything stronger than wine.

My mother fell victim both to her own nature and to societies depiction of alcohol. There is a story about one of my great heroes, Philo T. Farnsworth, the inventor of Television, that illustrates how alcohol is often depicted as a source of strength and courage. Early in his life, as he was first trying to finance his research he had an important meeting with some influential, well financed backers. He and his business partner set out on their journey “” The story is a perfect illustration of how society has long viewed alcohol; it is an aid that can help you do what you might otherwise not do. Reality is far different, as my own experience with my mother reveals. In fact, I can’t think of a single time when alcohol made me, or anyone a braver person. They might have thought they were braver, but to the outside observer, reality belied their belief.

In spite of the truth, and a result of one of the greatest delusions society has ever perpetrated upon itself, many folks continue to believe in the merits of a drink as a way of being a better them. As a result they use liquid courage as a crutch, as a way of dealing with a reality they cannot face otherwise. But alcohol isn’t actually an answer to anything. I have seen its effects on my family, in my own mother. There is no strength in a bottle of whiskey, no courage in a beer, no bravery in wine. Yet there is a perception that a good stiff one will somehow help us face a challenge or overcome our fears.

Chemically, there is no such cause and effect. Alcohol does not make us braver. Any perceived increase in derring-do is strictly an optical illusion. When you get up off your seat to go face the dragon at the door it is not courtesy of the liquid courage that just burned its way down your throat; it is the strength that was in there all along. Like the Wizard of Oz’s cowardly Lion, all the bravery we need is already within us. He didn’t need a medal; he only needed to recognize that he was bravery than he realized. We only need to stand up for ourselves with strength, confidence and without wobbling. Alcohol doesn’t help with the strength and confidence; it only makes us wobbly, and that is not a sign of bravery. The bravest thing to do is to face our fears as best we can, sober in our thoughts and conduct and ready to stand without wobbling by our convictions. I’m as brave as I can be without a little drink. How about you?