My mother never drank anything but an occasional glass of wine with a holiday meal, as did my father, but he might have a couple of beers on a weekend. There was never any hard liquor unless they were throwing a party, but they hardly ever drank it themselves, so a bottle of whiskey might last a few years in the cupboard. The wine also frequently had to be thrown out if the bottle had been open for a long time. When I was in my teens, I would often be offered a glass of wine with the holiday meal, but since it was usually something like cheap port, I didn't find it attractive.
I went away to college when I was 17, so of course I was introduced to the occasional beer party, but I didn't care much for beer, and I didn't want to drink too much for fear I would lose control and become too open about my sexual interests. I started going to gay bars at 18--they were legal at that age in NY in those days--but I ordered only beer and could nurse one for a long time. One New Year's Eve I went with a friend and two girls to Times Square, but before going out to watch the ball fall, we stopped in the Astor Bar, and wanting to appear sophisticated, I ordered a martini and drank it too fast; before I knew it, I was lying on the floor looking up at bemused faces. That taught me a lesson about my alcohol tolerance.