I was 12 or 13. I drank my grand dads moonshine. When I say moonshine it was moonshine like you see in the old time movies. He went to the northern part of the state and bought it in the clay jugs. The rest of my extended family were teetotalers because they blamed the alcohol and not the person. By the time I found his stash he had learned how to keep those trash humans from finding it. Most of them could have used something offset their shitty outlook on life. My grandad never was a mean drunk but his brothers had been. The rest just grouped him in with them. A few years later he showed me how to drink it properly. I’m sure my abusive dad would have been mad but I never told him. That asshole never had a drink in his life and still managed to be a complete abusive prick. I drank as a palliative for the abuse I suffered for years but quit several years ago. I didn’t intend to. I just… quit. I went no contact with those fake holy rollers. My life and mental state improved. I don’t need it anymore just like never needed them.
I’m sure they will still be around.