My life hasn’t been the same

since Lone Star stopped printing riddles on their bottle caps. I love wearing my soft gray Lone Star shirt, parodying my unavoidably Texan self. When I was a kid, my dad only partly sober, his Guinness obsession and accompanying merch were both silly to me. I didn’t see a hurt hurting man. He died at 51. I’m not even halfway there but I’ve stopped drinking so many times. I wish we could hurt together. I wish I could drink and be fun without needing to ward off his best parting gifts: addiction, bipolar, affinity for that which burns on the way down. What is the point of defending the National Beer of Texas if there’s nothing to puzzle out? If I am my father’s child anyway.


Also by SG Huerta

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