It's a talk with my daughter that I don't look forward to. My two-year-old will be a teen, and I'll be 80 or 90, at least in her eyes, dressed in fashions from a previous century and using slang from TV shows she never watched. We'll be on the porch or at the kitchen table, the atmosphere outwardly casual yet tense, when I'll mention, out of the blue, that I once drank too much and that it taught me some things I'd like to share with her. She'll lift her lovely, clear eyes and ask me, "What things?" At which point,...
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