The other night, I bought a root beer. This is a simple act for many, but I try not to drink a lot of soda. It makes it far more special when I finally drink it. My taste buds were close to overpowered by the sweetness. Ordinary root beer was not on the menu, I wanted something special. Real sugar was what I wanted, not high-fructose corn syrup.
If you have been living in a hole, this stuff is bad for you! Worse than actual sugar.
This is not a rant on the evils of HFCS, but a thought on my family’s root beer habits.
It amazed me how sweet the root beer was. The past few times I’ve had one, it has seemed somewhat off. As a child, I drank root beer as if it were water. My mother could not keep it long in the house as I would guzzle it quickly. The drinking habit slowed down later in life. What I discovered a few months ago was the love my brother and I share for this beverage. It is also matched by my nephew.
My brother is my half-brother. My mother is his step-mother. From what I reckon, she was the opposite of an “evil” step-mother. She was very loving toward my brother, supplying him with root beer. When my nephew visits, he is given this same drink as well.
I thought of all this as I left Food Pyramid the other night with my root beer. I also had six kinds of ginger ale for Sam. She has been throwing up lately and wanted ginger ale, but I wasn’t sure what kind to get her. She has yet to drink any – soda is something she doesn’t like. Including root beer.
Which makes me wonder – a rather silly wonder – if my children will share my love for root beer when they are young. Will this root beer cycle begin anew? It is a mystery to me.
When I was growing up, root beer seemed to be the main beverage for my friends and me. We all drank it. These days, many kids I meet do not even like it. I am not shocked or appalled, but it is surprising. The younger youth today are very different from my younger youth and friends. Everyone seems to be allergic to peanuts and hates root beer.
I wish I had a point to all this, but I don’t. I just found it to be an interesting memory. Sitting around on a hot day drinking ice cold root beer. My feet were filthy, and I didn’t have a shirt on. I miss those easy breezy days. And I’m really not that old.