Sadly, My Tolerance Never Really Got Much Better

Zak has one of his little friends over for a sleepover tonight. The basic agenda doesn't seem to have changed much from when I was a kid -- eat, play, eat, play, turn a movie on, eat, talk about how you're going to stay up all night, then promptly fall asleep.

I remember my last sleepover. It was sophomore year of high school, February break, Kevin Alvaro's house. We were probably too old for sleepovers in the same way we were too old for trick-or-treating, but that didn't stop us from ending up with bags full of candy on Halloween. Simpler times.

I had volleyball practice early the next morning but my dad agreed to pick me up and take me on his way to work, so I was in. It was the same quartet of us that had been hanging out together since third grade -- me, Kevin, Tommy Sand (of monster ball fame) and Jim Bourdeau.

We spent the night down in Kevin's basement, like we had for years. But this time there was one extra ingredient -- some of Kevin's dad's beer.

Yep, we were pretty cool. I think I polished off an entire half a can all by myself before passing out deciding to go to sleep.

When I woke up the next morning for practice I was NOT feeling well at ll. I somehow managed to get myself together, gave Kevin's mom a mumbled decline on breakfast and made it to my dad's car when he arrived.

He must have noticed the lovely shade of green I was wearing, because he asked if I was all right. I assured him I was fine -- just a little tired. He didn't press the issue, and we drove the remaining few minutes to the high school in silence. He had a pretty big grin on his face when I got out of the car, though.

I practically sprinted to the locker room, threw open the door to one of the stalls and emptied the contents of my stomach into the toilet. As I knelt there clutching the bowl our coach came in. He put a hand on my shoulder and simply said, "Sucks, doesn't it?"

I spent the entire practice just lying on one of the locker room benches. I was supposed to see some movie called The Breakfast Club with a few friends after practice, but that was definitely out. So one of the other players gave me a ride home. But not before insisting I roll my window down and stick my head outside the whole way.

And thus ended my sleepover career, in less than glorious fashion. That was one of the last things the four of us did together, too. As we got older we made new friends, developed new interests and so on. But we had more than our share of good times before we drifted apart.

Zak may only be seven, but I still make sure he sleeps in the family room for these events. And I don't keep my beer in the basement, either.

I wonder if that Breakfast Club movie was any good...