Every fridge should have at least one of these beers.

For you see, Brian, having attained the age of majority, was now able to partake of a beer with his "old man." Since time eternal, this had been a rich, Canadian tradition.

Martin had looked forward to this special day, this rite of manhood, with great anticipation. He had purchased a traditional case of Molson Canadian beer for his son and his grand occasion, this celebration of ascension into adult society.

Martin had hoped that Brian would hang out and watch the "game" with his dear-old-dad, swilling back the "nectar of the gods," just like his father had done with him, and his father before him. It was a family custom. It was an important part of Canadian culture. It was a rite of god-damned passage!

When the evening came, Martin was in the living room, and the Hockey Night In Canada broadcast was about to start. Brian went to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator where Martin had put the 12-pack. The beer would be perfect, as it was left to chill for several hours beforehand.

Martin listened intently and soon heard the oh-so-familiar bottle rattling (so common to beer drinkers), and then the soothing noise of a beer cap being gently popped off the bottle--like an angel passing wind.

Martin, barely able to contain his excitement, peeked around the doorway for a glimpse into the kitchen. There he saw Brian raising a bottle--his first legal bottle--of beer to his lips. At that moment, Martin wiped away a small tear, and thought to himself: "Yes, this is a good day to be a father."

A moment later, Brian wandered in to the living room, with the bottle grasped firmly in his right hand. However, Brian approached Martin with a very concerned look on his face, a look a son gives his father when he is looking for advice, perhaps about girls, cars, or power tools. It didn't matter because Martin was ready to counsel his son on whatever matter his boy, no, man! had on his mind.

But then, strangely, Brian slowly reached out his beer bottle to his father and asked: "Dad? Can you finish this for me? I don't really like the taste."

"Nooooooo!" cried Martin, falling to his knees as if a large shard of brown glass has stabbed into his heart! "You are not my son!"