He demanded/ordered, “get me my beer”.
The care aide cheerfully answered, “Coming right up.”
I smiled to myself thinking they were serving him root beer or some such.
No way, a real beer!
I was new to the care home game and later asked her about it.
“He lost his hearing in Normandy and is basically deaf. The doctor felt a beer is the least we could do to give him some little piece of the past.”
Actually, I learned later that any resident may have any beer or hard liquor which is kept in the drug room.
One Fathers Day we were enjoying a wonderful steak BBQ. I bought Wayne a glass of wine – he no longer liked it!