When I was in first grade, my dad, a police officer, always made me lunch when he got home from working the night beat. One morning, he came home as usual and packed me something I loved: a tuna salad sandwich. But a short time after he went to sleep, he woke with a jolt and the frightening thought that he had forgotten to put a drink in my lunchbox. So he stumbled out of bed, half-asleep, to the darkened breezeway, where my family keeps the pop, bottled water, juice boxes, +c., grabs a drink, and tosses it into my lunchbox. Presumably, I wake up, eat some cereal, have my mother give me a hairstyle (my younger brother always threw a tantrum if she just left it alone), and take my lunch to school.
The next day around lunchtime, my father receives a telephone call from a woman he knows at the principal's office.
"Do you know what you packed your daughter for lunch?"
"Uh, a tuna sandwich, some carrots, and probably a cookie or something."
"Oh, a juicebox."
"That wasn't a juicebox," she says. "That was a single-serving box of red wine."
Dad's first response: "Red wine with tuna?!" After realizing the magnitude of the event, he offers to come pick it up.
She laughs and says, "It's already been taken care of."
Can you imagine such a scene happening in our modern era? If my father hadn't known the school faculty so well (he volunteered for the Chili Festival, shifts at the school cafeteria, room parenting, and a lot more to embarrass me, or so I thought at the time) and if this happened today, the school would have called Child Protective Services.
So if you've been lucky enough to witness the way I handle an alcoholic beverage or even to get iced by me, this should explain a few things.