I probably started with a fine, teen-aged single malt when I was about a year old.
I was teething and that was the remedy back in the 60s.
It progressed to a sip of beer at my dad's knee when I was around 8 years old. Mom was out, and I refused to go to sleep.
My first real drink was when I was about 13, and my buddies and I shared a pint of blackberry brandy when we were playing hockey on frozen ponds in the woods. I was wonderful to not feel cold, or pain.
Thinking we could handle our alcohol, someone stole a bottle of sloe gin from their parents' liquor cabinet, and we pounded that straight up in the woods behind the high school.
It didn't stay down very long. We all went home with stained clothing and shoes.
Finally, at the ripe old age of 14, I was handed a Michelob (a 1970s American imitation of a European sounding beer) at a party. It was so afraid to throw up that I excused myself to the bathroom, poured it out, refilled the bottle with water, and proceeded to drink water all night acting like a big shot.