The High Ball – Remembrance of a cocktail

My parents entertained frequently as I was growing up in the 60’s. On many a Saturday night, I was put to bed early while my father and mother hosted festive soirées for the gang from The Presentation BVM Parish Society. These were not the composed and level-headed “cake and coffee” socials of friends well met through their church congregation. No, these were Roman Catholics who appreciated gospel stories where the operative metaphor was the miraculous transformation of water into wine. These Faithful accepted as Divine Revelation that Jesus himself enjoyed a party, savored the spirit of the grape, and even knew, but did not always hold to, the etiquette of when, during a celebration, to serve the finest vintage. In other words, The Presentation BVM Parish Society partied at my parents’ humble home in Northeast Philadelphia with a generous flow of love in their hearts and the holy distillation of God’s own harvest in their cocktail glasses. For a while, as any kid would, I fussed about my banishment from the living room and our lone TV. But, I soon discovered that from my stealthy, spy perch at the top of the steps I could secretly bask in the adult exultation downstairs. I also learned that the most popular drink by far which was raised in the countless toasts proposed was the Highball . . . at least it was at my parents’ Kennedy-era galas.