Christmas. Snow. Deer in the yard. A picture pretty house. And of course alcohol. These were parts of my American dream when I was living in Pakistan.
Here I was in small town America, not many Americans have heard about, a place called Piqua.
This was my first Christmas season in the United States of America, two months after I landed at the JFK dead drunk in celebration, consuming half bottle of J&B Scoth Whiskey I purchased during transit at Manchester Airport. I kissed the U.S. soil upon landing.
I was living with a nephew and niece at Campbell County, Kentucky. This was a momentous time of my life. I applied for a job at the Piqua Daily Call and after passing an English and news writing job, got the job.
So it was time to celebrate even more. And that year, the first year of the new millennium Christmas and Eidul Fitr – the “Muslim Christmas” of most of my family – were falling on the same day. This meant a visit to the student bar some blocks from where my hosts lived would be a good way to begin my celebrations for the upcoming start of my first job after my first all-American Christmas.
I was new to the freezing snow, the freedoms and of course the booze.
Drinking in Pakistan had lot of drama about it. You went to buy booze illegally from a liquor shop that under law could sell alcohol only to non-Muslims. Plainclothesmen would be lurking in the shadows and as soon as you got out from the shop pounce upon you to snatch your bottle and all the money you had in your wallet.
They would then go drink the booze with other cops to celebrate.
Here I was in the land of the free and home of the brave. I could bravely, and freely drink as much I wanted even if I was staying at the run down Red Carpet Inn in Piqua. I went to the convenience store and remember asking a cop on patrol duty December 24, a Sunday, if the bars in downtown Piqua were open.
To my chagrin, he said bars closed early that day because of Christmas.
It sucked.
As my 12 th Christmas in the U.S. draws close, I am so happy I quit drinking nearly five years ago and am clean and sober. I do not wake up in the dead of night to throw up or wake up the next morning with a terrible migraine. I do not call up my friends, acquaintances and colleagues at an unearthly hour to give them a piece of my mind. I do not feel the guilt or shame of what I might have said or done the night before.
I am at peace with myself and the rest of the world. And though I am not very religious nor fond of winter, I can still say, “It’s the most wonderful time of the year.”