Who Has a Kegger on Christmas Eve?

Garrett and I spent this last Christmas in Kingman, Arizona with my parents and brother. With our own adult-age children scattered across the country, our empty-nesting Christmases come in all varieties these days. This year brought us to my parents’ home with me being back to being the kid in the family equation.

Perhaps it was this status that led me back to thinking about the keg party I went to on Christmas Eve night in 1983. Then again, the stack of kegs I found myself next to this Christmas Eve likely had an impact too.

After a late lunch with my parents and with my brother, Matt, spending the night with his girlfriend’s family, Christmas Eve night found Garrett and me flying solo.

What to do, we asked ourselves? We decided on checking out the Downtown Kingman breweries.

After calling to double check hours, we found two of the new downtown breweries were open for business. Although not a typical way to spend Christmas Eve, it is a very typical outing for Garrett and me. We enjoy trying different local craft brews and hearing the origin stories of the breweries.

The beer selection was exceptional, with impressive brewery atmospheres. All felt like our typical new normal date nights but not exactly like Christmas. And then I saw the kegs next to me.

Flashback.

Like it was yesterday I could see my dad’s stern face asking me this (very good) question Christmas Eve night thirty-eight years ago.

“Who has a kegger on Christmas Eve??”

Looking at Garrett and then at the kegs, I felt a little ashamed. Just as I did that cold Christmas Eve night as a sixteen-year-old. Just coming home from a beer party. A kegger.

I went on to tell Garrett my memory of this story.

The night of 12/24/83 began with our traditional Christmas Eve celebration at my grandparents on my mom’s side. My mom baked her famous wreath desert. Her siblings towed their kids and side dishes through the midwestern winter night for us all to celebrate together. Missing this year was my oldest brother, Matt, who had just graduated high school and was serving in the Army. Based in Germany, this was the first Christmas my own family was not together.

My other brother, Mark, was a senior in high school and I was a junior. Our grandparents were living in town by then, so we were able to walk home when the family festivities ended (or once the clock got to the point where we could be the first to leave without issue). Typically, Mark and I enjoyed our time with our extended family, but this year we only had visions of keggers dancing in our heads.

Living in a small farm town with larger families, it was common for a family to have 3-4 kids in high school at the same time. The family hosting the Christmas Eve kegger lived in town and close to our home. They had four kids in high school in 1983 and their house was a headquarters for parties. This was very convenient for us. Equally convenient were other friends who lived nearby that we could say we were visiting (was it really a fib if these friends were going to the party too?).

My recollection of that night was that my brother and I really wanted to go to the said party. We told our parents we were going to stop at another friend’s house to say Merry Christmas on our way home from Grandma and Grandpa's. Instead, we went to the kegger together.

I hung with my brother and drank some keg beer and then we walked home. Together. Dad was waiting for us. In a small town, word gets out. Did someone tip him off to the antics the teens of Remsen, Iowa were up to that night? He sure was ready and waiting when we walked in the door.

“Who has a kegger on Christmas Eve??”

I vividly remember this question that demanded an answer.

I don’t remember who answered or what we said. But I do remember feeling immediate shame for leaving our family celebration early for beer and for lying to my parents.

But as memory is a fickle beast, I was very curious what my dad and brother remembered on this event burning in my brain.

I asked Dad first, eager to hear his side and who ratted my brother and me out. The tattletale will likely never be known as Dad didn’t remember there ever being a kegger on Christmas Eve, let alone waiting for us.

Second guessing my memory, I next asked my brother, Mark, about it.

He remembered not an instance of ‘a party’ but an annual party every Christmas Eve at this house. It would start with a family party and then later move to a full-fledged high school kegger. Mark recalled that once the adults would get to the point of toasted after gift opening, fifty or so extra teenagers would show up at their house, spilling into the basement and out to the garage.

In retrospect, my dad probably noticed the many cars parked in front of our house with kids walking in the direction of the party house. It wouldn’t take a detective to figure out what was going on a couple of blocks away.

Mark had no specific recollection of the party in 1983. He just remembered the annual parties in general and going in more than one year. He kind of remembered going with me one year. Maybe. But he definitely doesn’t remember dad waiting for us that year.

An odd Christmas memory for me to remember, but I do believe we form memories for a reason. Even when the details may be a bit off.

I don’t remember a single detail about the kegger itself. I couldn’t specifically name a person there, other than my brother. For me it was detail of going with my older brother that felt special and going home to my quiet home.

Although a year apart, Mark and I didn’t hang-out socially together. Not in high school. That came later, post-graduation. And then we became good friends. I remember how I felt that night, scheming with my brother and being included as his little sister. And then walking home together. Only in a small town would this memory include a kegger.

I am second guessing my memory of dad waiting for us. Did it really happen? What I know was true was the happiness I felt in arriving at my quiet home without a kegger in the basement. We were never a fancy family nor a partying family and were not the hang-out house. But I cherished my home and family and the feelings of safety and love I had growing up.

Thanks, Mark, for letting me tag along. And thanks, Dad, for caring.

I harbor no guilt for reenacting a Christmas Eve kegger this year. And if given the choice again, time traveling back to that cold Christmas Eve night in 1983, I likely wouldn’t change a thing either. We will also stick with my uncorroborated memory on this one. The real story isn’t in the details. Keggers are gone by morning and memories sketchy over days and years. But how we feel during those moments in the past? That sticks with us for a lifetime.