Thursday, September 20, 2012

A Bash from the Past


When I was 15 and my older brother was 17, my parents, mere weeks before the meltdown of their marriage, hightailed it up to Massachusetts with my 13-year-old brother for a reason which now escapes me. It matters not, their reason, what matters is their lack of reason. [Oh, yeah, I'm using the same word in two different ways. I am sneaky like that.]

Let's see, it was March or so, which places me at just a couple of months younger than Eldest is today. I would turn 16 in August. My older brother would turn 18 in September. At the time, we truly had no concept of what would be coming down the pike in soon enough, when my mother would turn to my father and say, "Norm, I'm leaving you."

This isn't a tale about that, though. It's a tale about two teens left alone in the house. I already had several years of smoking cigarettes, smoking pot, and drinking any and all types of alcoholic drinks under my belt. I'd been busted at school for the cigarettes and by my mom for the pot and drinking, so it wasn't as if you could say she was ignorant of my behavior. (God bless her, she hadn't outed me to my father on the latter indiscretions or I probably wouldn't have been living at home by the time they took that little sojourn up to New England for a few days.)

What a fun party we had. Dozens and dozens of teenagers overran the house, the yard, the liquor cabinet, the neighbors' houses, and the street. At one point, two of my friends hid in my parents' closet, big ole steak knife at the ready, to hide from this one guy totally hitting on them. [Turns out in just a couple of years, that guy would end up being convicted of sexual assault and doing some hard time in a Virginia jail. So Maureen and Sheri were pretty good on picking up bad-guy vibes.]

Good times. Good times.

We did a hell of a decent time cleaning up, too, and we likely would have escaped unscathed when my parents returned if only we had looked under the desk in the kitchen.

My children are far different than I was. The times are, too, I suppose, and so while we never worried at all that our neighbors would narc us out to our parents all those many years ago, the neighbors today would have the cops out here in a nanosecond. And their texts to me would start hitting my cell phone at just about the time a second car pulled up to my house.

Hypocrite that I am -- this adult who was that child -- I'm glad.

Rides to Heaven on a Gyroscope

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