The taste of a date

Years ago, I had what could be called "a bit of a problem" with alcohol. It could also be called a "big, big problem." The problem was that I wanted to drink every day and once I started drinking I just couldn’t stop. It cost me a lot over the years in terms of losses I needn’t and shouldn’t go into here. What’s important is the fact that about 13 years ago, with the help of a fellowship of sober drunks, I finally got it. I quit. And I haven’t had a drink since then.

More than once since I was diagnosed a friend or acquaintance has asked how I’ve been able not to drink in the face of this cancer.

It’s funny. The idea of drinking hasn’t even entered my mind…at least not as a serious possibility. Why on earth would I want to make the time I have left miserable? Even if misery wasn’t guaranteed, why on earth would I want to make my days muddy and distorted by alcohol?

This morning, I went to the grocery store. I go almost every morning to get something Lynne and I have decided we need. Little Debbie cakes spring immediately to mind. Or flowers. I know the experts say that’s the wrong way to shop for food. I know going shopping every day means I’ll make more impulse purchases than I should. I don’t care.

This morning when I was shopping I got a couple of pounds of coffee, on sale. I grabbed a box of generic imitation sweetener for my wife and a loaf of fresh Cuban bread. I bought some Irish butter. It’s so creamy it’s worth the extra money. After I put the butter in my cart, I walked through the produce section. In an open refrigerator display I saw little plastic boxes of strawberries, blueberries, even sliced mango and apple slices with caramel sauce for dipping.

I’ve eaten all those things. My mother used to make the best caramel apples in the world, I think. And strawberry shortcake. Suddenly, I saw a display of ripe dates. Now, I’ve never tasted a date. I don’t know why. As a consequence, in my mind dates are shrouded in mystery. Perhaps because they sound Biblical. Though dates are not mentioned by name in the Bible, I think Noah carried a couple of date palms, probably in his cabin on the Ark. He and his wife ate dates late at night while the rain fell and fell.

Anyway, this morning I decided I wanted to eat a date. I wanted to eat a date simply because I’d never eaten one before. So, with the connivance of a supermarket employee who has seen me every morning in the produce department, I did. She slipped me a date. And it was wonderful. Kind of like an apple made out of honey.

I’m glad I ate it.

If I’d been drinking, I wouldn’t have been in the grocery store. Hell, if I’d been drinking I wouldn't still be married. And I never would have the chance to taste a date.

It sounds silly doesn’t it? Tasting that date is what makes it easy for me not to end my life in a bottle.