I Look Like I Can Use A Drink

My experience with alcohol as a Mexican American

My little cousin would bring her teacup set everywhere when she was a little girl. The tea party I remember the most was the one at my grandma’s house in Mexico in 2012.

We were sitting in a circle inside the house, and my little cousin went around serving us whatever she could find in the kitchen from her teapot. We clinked our tiny cups and took a sip. I was expecting the taste of apple soda to meet my tongue, but instead was shocked by the taste of something bitter and acidic.

I had my first sip of alcohol at the age of 11.

“It’s all I could find,” she said as we questioned her with squinting eyes and the aftertaste of Michelob Ultra in our mouths.

Growing up Mexican-American, there was alcohol everywhere. There were always bottles of tequila and cases of beer at every festivity, even 3-year-old’s birthday parties.

The legal drinking age in Mexico is 18. Alcohol is entwined in Mexican traditions, celebrations, and religion. Around 9.5 percent of Hispanics will have alcohol dependence at some point in their lives. The average number of drinks per week is 15.9 for Mexican men and 9.5 for Mexican women.

“People often go on vacation to all-inclusive resorts in Cancun or Acapulco because of the bars at every corner,” my dad said. “They dedicate an entire day to solely drink alcohol along the beach or by the pool.”

It feels like alcohol is essential to have a fun time in Mexico. Even Americans want to be “invited to the cookout” because they know about the surplus of alcohol at Mexican parties.

Growing up, my uncles would jokingly ask me if I wanted a beer whenever I dug through the ice chest full of beer bottles looking for soda. They would then laugh when I said no at the age of 12.

I remember we would not leave a party until 3 a.m. sometimes when I was growing up. I would take a nap on a plastic chair next to blaring speakers waiting for the dancing adults to finish partying. I would go up to my dad asking when we could leave, and he would say “just 10 more minutes” with the scent of beer on his breath.

I have seen most of my family members drunk.

One family member would try to eat candy, missing her mouth entirely as she was telling us how much she loved us.

One family member was carried out to her hotel room in a wheelchair one time when we went to Cancun.

One family member took his phone and wallet out of his pockets so that he could be thrown into the pool by his brothers.

Whenever I am in the room with someone that is drunk, it feels like they are having more fun than me. They laugh more. They dance more. They smile more.

“I drink alcohol because it gives me liquid courage,” said my 18-year-old brother. “I become more social.”

Like my brother, I have this dangerous idea that alcohol will help me have more fun or give me liquid courage. Whenever I am not having a good time at a party, I drink because of what I saw growing up.

In my freshman year of college, I remember drinking five cups of mystery jungle juice back-to-back because the party was so boring. I woke up on a bed on the floor with vomit all over my shirt, a prick on my finger, and a wristband with my blood pressure of 68 written on it. The sober center employees then said I could be released if I signed a form, since I was still legally intoxicated when I woke up.

The sober center was on 12th street, and my dorm was on 21st street. On my walk of shame, I was holding back tears. It was so scary not knowing what had happened the night before or how I got to the sober center.

I crawled into my lofted bed and cried to the song “Be Yourself” by Frank Ocean.

Usually, people go out with their parents on their 21st birthday to damage their livers. I have been doing so since the age of 17. My dad preferred that we drink at home so that we get an understanding of how much we can handle.

I don’t think it worked. My uncles and aunts have the same thought process, but I know some of my cousins have blacked out as well when they are at the club or at parties without them.

Before I got to college, I thought it would be other people that would be throwing up in the corner of frat parties and being passed out on the street. I figured that they were the ones that did not know how much they can handle since they typically were not exposed to alcohol growing up.

Am I a product of my environment?