Beer Cans

You Heard Me, Beer Cans!

I was obsessed with beer as a child.

Well, not the actual beer. Then and now, I couldn’t stand the stuff. But I loved the cans.

Beer cans were my first real collection, and though I can’t recall the reason that all started, I suspect it had something to do with my dad liking beer. And my uncles. And you know, pretty much everybody back in those Great Lakes beer drinking days of the 1970s.

There was no IPAs, no gourmet hops, no sippy beer cafes with a piano player. In Buffalo back then there were gin joints or taverns. Period. My great-uncle owned one when he first came over to this country. They still exists in Buffalo, in various shades ranging from comfortable and inviting, to oh-my-God-don’t-go-in-there.

There’s one right around the corner from my sister’s house that sports an amazing animal diorama and offers a tasty weekly fish-fry. Next time I’m there, I might write about them.

Anyway, beer cans. I loved the art, the graphics and design. There were specialty cans. Some were sold as a series, in different colors. Sometimes they were sold to commemorate sporting events. Or, remember Billy Beer?

My dad found this interest of mine amusing and was happy to donate toward my odd obsession. He drank the beer. I collected the can. Easy bonding, right? But things began to get out of hand.

You see, I learned that other cities and other states had their own beer and thus cans. I wanted those. So, he began drinking beer for me on trips, or asking his friends to bring home the cans. Then I learned that keeping the can intact - meaning, don’t pop top them - was preferable to collectors. So now, he began carrying a triangle can opener around, opening the can from the bottom and drinking it upside-down for me.

Finally, as the collection grew, he built me a series of beer can sized shelves in the basement.

His final great sacrifice came on our one and only trip to Disney World when I was, maybe 11 or 12. We took the train both ways.

As it turned out, there were many, many different types of beer brands available in Florida that weren’t available in western New York. So my dad and uncle basically became Florida beer connoisseurs. We’d stop at a super market, I’d walk through the aisles pointing at cans I wanted, they’d buy them, take them back to the hotel room, open them from the bottom and drink up!

At the end of our trip, my dad had to explain to the puzzled train conductor why I was carrying two shopping bags full of empty, clanking beer cans in each of my hands. Then, since alcohol wasn’t allowed on the trains, he further had to explain why the cans were technically not opened, and yet, had no beer in the them, while I stood there grinning!

He really was a cool dad.

How about you? Did you have a weird collection growing up?