Two weeks ago, as dance class was wrapping up, Dr. Love (so our instructor likes to be called, though I'm 99% sure he is NOT a doctor) gave us a preview of another routine we would be learning later in the session. He said it was to a song called "Crown Royal" which made me beam uncontrollably. I didn't know the song, but I'm guessing if anyone saw my ridiculous grin, they probably would have imagined it was my favorite song of all time. It wasn't the song, but the liquor that had me smiling from ear to ear. The mere mention of that specific beverage was all I needed for my own little moment of personal serenity that Monday night.
Crown Royal is very significant in my family, and no, not because we're a bunch of alcoholics. In fact, I'm not sure there's anyone who actually enjoys drinking it. Out of my immediate family, at least, my husband is the only one I know of who will pour himself a glass on a weekday night, usually after a hard day of work and usually when there's no beer or wine in the house.
It was a holiday recently, maybe our engagement dinner at my mom's house last year that I ventured out and bought my first bottle. It would have to have been a special occasion for sure, because that's the only time our family drinks it. And we drink it on special occasions because my grandpa drinks it on special occasions, or most accurately, drank it on special occasions.
Without fail, every Thanksgiving, Christmas Eve, and Easter, we were always at Grandpa's, indulging in a loud, large potluck with all my aunts and uncles and cousins in attendance. Aunt Beth would always bring the betty salad. A sports game was always on the television in the living room. We'd always hold hands around the kitchen table, all 40 or so of us, and recite our prayer together. And all the men would always gather in the kitchen for their favorite ritual, a shot of Crown Royal while the womenfolk took pictures and cheered for them.
Most of the time, I was in the basement playing with my cousins during this event, though saw plenty of performances of this ritual while passing through to get another glass of Mountain Dew or to sneak a cookie before dinner, but it's not like I understood what was going on anyway. And when I was old enough to understand, I still didn't find it interesting enough to ask anyone why they bothered with it.
When I was finally at the age that was legal for me partake in such beverages, it hadn't occurred to me to ask to be involved in their ceremony. Even as an aspiring feminist, I didn't even bother pulling out my equal-opportunity card, questioning why it was only men and why couldn't the women join in. I just accepted that it was always done this way and I never had the motivation to mess with the tradition.
Then my cousin Jamie married Courtney, and she threw a big wrench right into the tradition. I thought it was a Christmas Eve, but it would have been any such holiday occasion that the men got up to do their ritual shot of Crown Royal and Courtney got up off the couch to go join them. No one had asked her to go, not that I noticed anyhow, but she was a spontaneous, outgoing kind of person, so I wasn't surprised that she would include herself. In fact, if my husband's family had had a ritual like this, I probably would have hopped up and partaken just as Courtney did, whether I was asked to not.
On her way to the kitchen, however, she turned back to me and said, "Come on, Jenny, let's go." I don't remember if I even bothered putting up a fight or making an excuse. But eventually, I ended up in that kitchen with a shot in my hand, surrounded by all my uncles and the patriarch of the entire Gotha establishment, toasting each one of them and entering a rite of passage my brother hadn't even had the privilege to experience yet.
(My brother was absent that night, the reason now escapes me--hell, the specific holiday and specific year escape me, so what did you expect?)
In hopes to be able to write more extensively on the subject of the Crown Royal tradition in what hopes to be my book, I turned to my mother for answers on all the questions that surrounded this age-old ceremony. Come to find out, my mother had the exact same mindset as I did; it never occurred to her to ask why it happened, it was just the way things were done. But she said that Crown Royal was more expensive than Seagram's or Canadian Club, so it was only reserved for holidays and Friday night card games. My grandparents were quite the frugal pair, but still knew how to have a good time.
It is funny to think back on the tradition and how it evolved over my lifetime, how my cousins eventually got old enough to take the shot, how their wives eased into the ritual themselves, how I, the baby of the family, finally got my chance at it. At my wedding, we handed out Crown Royal shots and my grandfather got up and told me he loved me, and we all had a shot together, aunts, uncles, cousins, in-laws, everyone. It is a moment I will never forget.
At his funeral, towards the end of the night when most people had cleared out, and with the undertaker nowhere in sight, good old Courtney grabbed a stack of Styrofoam coffee cups and we all filed silently out of the back door into the parking lot, where my brother revealed from behind his back the majestic purple bag. We passed it around, splashing some into our cups, and I raised my glass, swallowed hard, and then said, "To Grandpa."
And we all brought our glasses to the center and then downed the potent liquid. We all shivered, but smiled proudly with our mouths open to let out some of the sting so that it might float up to heaven.
When Chris returned from the NASCAR race in Bristol with his dad, we presented me with a gift of a Crown Royal t-shirt that he had bought from the Matt Kenseth trailer. I almost broke into tears. To think, I didn't think there was anything he could bring me back from the NASCAR race that I would enjoy, and here he brought me the most perfect gift of all.
It's a shame "Crown Royal" the song has nothing to do with the whiskey. In fact, I'm pretty sure it's a song my grandfather would not approve of. Dr. Love designed all the moves around the words of the song, so he is constantly reciting all the vulgarity over and over again while he is showing us sequences. There's a high school boy in the class, and after one such explicit lyric, the boy said, "That's nasty!" And we all chuckled.
But just knowing what the song is called makes me smile at dance class anyhow. And I told Dr. Love I would be sure to wear my shirt next week so I would be dressed for the occasion.
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