I wasn’t sure how to respond when my teenage daughter told me that some of her best childhood memories are from the times that we spent together in bars.
That’s the kind of statement you’re grateful no one is around to overhear. Serafina hasn’t turned 18 yet, and she has had multiple experiences in bars. Plural.
“What kinds of memories?” I asked.
She fondly talked about the Golden Eagle Saloon in Ester, Alaska, outside of Fairbanks, where the bartender would bring a crockpot of homemade soup every Sunday. Local musicians would bring acoustic guitars and hand drums and jam on the wide front porch. There was one guy with a washtub bass who let Serafina try it out. She was small enough at 7 years old that she had to stand on the washtub to play. Dogs and kids ran around outside while adults grilled burger patties provided by the bar.
At Ursa Major Distilling, not far from the Golden Eagle, Serafina recalled meeting a litter of sled dog puppies with all of their wiggles and kisses. At HooDoo Brewing Company, she got to meet Silver, a lead dog who had won the Yukon Quest race.
Our local watering hole became more to us
When our family moved to Hawaii, my husband and I found our local watering hole, and Serafina found her place there, too
Courtesy of Lisa Sparrell.
Objectively speaking, Tsunami’s was a dive. Sure, tourists popped in there because it was right on Kuhio Avenue, a dark relief from the blazing sunshine of Honolulu. The after-work crowd, however, was decidedly local and done by 7 p.m. each night. Serafina, around 9 years old at the time, quickly learned how to order a Shirley Temple. It became her drink, and new bartenders were trained to always give her a side of maraschino cherries. We made new friends there. I became part of the “moms’ club,” four moms in our 40s who gathered for drinks and support.
When Serafina’s dad died, Tsunami’s hosted his wake. There was no formal reservation, no shutdown of the space. They just said yes to us and let us gather friends, family, and guitar players.
Tsunami’s closed permanently two weeks after the wake.
As Serafina and I began to rebuild our life as a family of two, she talked me into taking aerial acrobatics classes with her. After our Saturday aerial class, we’d often go next door to Honolulu Brewing for lunch. The wait staff got to know us and always asked Serafina about what she was reading.
We found a community
While someone might hear the word “bar” and recoil at the idea of a child frequenting them, we’ve found community. We’ve found people who have laughed with us and people who have helped us through difficult times.
I also see that my daughter has learned to have conversations with people she may not have much in common with. She’s seen examples of people drinking responsibly and those who don’t. She’s learned respect for people who work in the service industry. She’s learned to meet people where they are — without judgment.
Courtesy of Lisa Sparrell .
And, with all of this exposure and experience, she is not at all interested in drinking alcohol. She’s been around it. She’s smelled it. She’s watched people using it. Her only interest in it is whether it will actually cook out of recipes that call for it.
Bars aren’t her only form of socialization. She was a Girl Scout. She briefly played soccer. She’s been in school theater productions. Her after-school hula program was its own close-knit social group. But, some of her favorite childhood memories are from bars, and looking back, I can say I’m grateful for that.
