As a teenager on the cusp of manhood and for most of the 90s while an undergraduate at Ohio University, Big Beer and I were in a pretty serious relationship. Exclusive, if I had to label it. We spent so much time together that it was practically my college roommate. We were inseparable. A codependent relationship, if ever there was one.

But it didn’t last.

Somewhere around 2010, it ended. There was no clear endpoint; it just sort of fizzled out, slowly losing its bite over a few years. By 2012, I was well into my craft beer phase, and Big Beer was just a distant memory.

I still don’t know exactly what happened to us. I guess we just grew apart. A slow, painless separation. Nobody’s fault. It just happened.

About 10 years ago, I drafted an open letter to Big Beer. A sort of breakup post-mortem, but really more of an inside joke I told to myself. I was looking for closure, trying to make sense of the split. Naturally, I posted it on my blog, because that’s what one does with such letters.

Today, I’m 51. The blog has been dead for over a decade, but writing the letter was cathartic and revealing. I recently unearthed it from deep within the recesses of my hard drive and thought, what the hell, it’s still worth sharing.

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An Open Letter to Big Beer

(As originally published on 03.20.2015)

Dear Big Beer,

Guess who.

You probably didn’t expect to hear from me, did you? I know I’m not great at keeping in touch, but it’s not like you tried very hard either. Let’s call it a draw. So how’ve things been? What’s it been now, 10, 15 years? Fuck, we’re old. You’ll always be older than me, though.

I’ve heard through the grapevine you’ve been having some trouble lately. That’s part of why I wanted to reach out. Believe it or not, I still think about you once in a while. I’ve even been guilty of stalking you on Facebook. Is that creepy? Sad? Looks like you’re still up to the same old shit. I don’t think you’ll ever grow up.

We had some incredible times together, you and me. I’m not exactly sentimental, but lately I’ve caught myself reminiscing about us. I was so young back then. Seems like a lifetime ago. Looking back, I can see why some people thought our being together was “problematic.” I’m sure it was the age thing. Didn’t matter to you, though. You never seemed to mind. You and I really tore it up.

That night at the Bryan Adams concert at Richfield Coliseum. Damn. It started out so smoothly, but by the end of the show—sometime around the Cuts Like a Knife encore—you were all over me. I remember smelling you on me the next day. And all those mornings I’d meet you at that little shithole bar in Wellington after my shift at McDonald’s. I don’t even remember the name of the place. I just knew you’d be there.

But I’m not here to relive the glory days.

Not that you care, but things are going well for me. After college, I met a wonderful woman. We got married in 2000. You’d probably like her. She has some friends who remind me of you. We moved around a bit—Maryland, Texas—but eventually wound up back in Cleveland. Once a CLE, always a CLE, right?

My life is very different now. The crowds I spend time with wouldn’t really suit you. I don’t mean that in a bad way. You just seem more comfortable with people who are a little more middle of the road. I’ve tried to figure out where things went wrong. It would be easy to say we just grew apart, but it feels more complicated than that.

Maybe it’s that you never wanted to try new things. You always wanted to hang out in places you knew I didn’t really like—sporting events, frat parties, county fairs. I went because you were there. You made it feel right, even when I knew it wasn’t. Maybe I just grew up. People change. Tastes change.

You were always ready to party. You never took yourself seriously. You’d show up anywhere, with anyone. I’d hear stories about you being at every gathering in town. I think we both moved on. At least I have.

Believe it or not, I still worry about you sometimes. I hear things about how you’re losing friends left and right, how you’re trying to pick fights, how you’re buying new friends to replace the ones you’ve lost. That doesn’t sound like the you I remember. Then again, it’s been so long, I think I’m more familiar with your memory than with who you are now.

You used to be something. People really loved you. Everyone around you seems to be changing. Why aren’t you?

I hope you don’t take this letter the wrong way. I just wanted you to know there’s still someone out here who wishes you well. For all your faults and imperfections, I believe the world still needs you. Just because I don’t understand it anymore doesn’t mean it isn’t true. We have a history. Maybe I’m biased. But I do mean that.

I don’t know who you are now or where you’re headed, but I hope it works out for you. I probably won’t be contacting you again. That doesn’t mean there won’t be days I want to reach for you, to feel you in my hand once more. I just can’t let myself do it. It wouldn’t be good for either of us.

Remember this: we will only be together in the past. It’s not all bad. We were good together in that time and place.

And we’ll always have Bryan Adams.

Good luck and goodbye.

Yours once,
Me

Not long after I wrote this letter, a much younger me was inspired yet again to revisit the world of craft beer. And this time I did it seventeen syllables at a time.