Feeling a Little Nostalgic
As if to prove I actually went to high school, last night I viewed a video an alumni put up from the year I graduated. Almost 22 minutes of really bad ’80s music including Funky Cold Medina, and I was in it exactly zero times. I’ll never get that 22 minutes back. You could tell the videographer was trying to get the fringe of participation, but just couldn’t get all of us. Maybe I was on the grassy knoll or something that day or that series of days. I swear I was there. Here’s my picture at graduation:
That’s my best friend, Diane, behind me. She was in the Pinto I talked about yesterday. I thought of all the other ways we almost died, and I decided I’d keep most of it to myself to spare my mother’s heart. I think I told her we saw Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure about a million times at the movie theater, but to this day, I’ve never actually seen it even once.
Times were different. I can’t imagine not knowing exactly where my kids are, or them saying they were going one place and never checking. But I grew up in a smaller town, and there wasn’t a lot we could do. The big thing was cruising. That’s right, going out and driving up and down a street, turning around in the Sonic parking lot and doing it all over again. Once I lost my car. What was wrong with me? I was cruising with some girl I didn’t even know that well and I was DRIVING and got out and into someone else’s car and she, who didn’t even have a license, had to start driving my car and then I lost her. I’m lucky to be alive, y’all. The guys I got into the car with, yes, I knew them, had to take me home so I wouldn’t miss curfew and I had to tell my mother I lost my car. How do you think that conversation went?
And then there was this dance place. I was definitely 16 because I drove us there, but it was 18 to enter and 21 to drink and when we could get in, we would dance the night away. Sober. That was the most fun I remember having at that time because I loved to dance. Oh, and there was an arcade called Jamaica Joe’s, which I wasn’t allowed to go to because my mother called the police department to see if the officer that answered would let his kid go there, and he said no. I was mortified!! That was supposed to be it, but I swear there wasn’t a lot to do in our town and Jamaica Joe’s had foosball, which I got pretty good at. Yes, it was sketchy, and yes, you could probably buy drugs there, but we were there for the foosball, man…..and the hot
So, I was reading Dr. Kevin Leman about how to have a new teen, which I never got, but he said not to give your kids a curfew, which I thought sounded crazy. He said to know where your kids are going and tell them to be home after. And then it made perfect sense. I thought of all the times I drove around trying to find something to do because I didn’t want to come home before my curfew. But again, as Grandma Christy keeps saying, it was a different time. I grew up pre-cell phone. I could have never been hanging out in the smoke fog of Jamaica Joe’s and have my mom call to see where I am.
When Sunshine started wanting to do things, which are really just cast parties when a play closes, I’m thankful for my geek, I told her the amount of time she can stay out is directly related to how informed I am. She texts me each step of the way and I trust that’s what she’s doing and where she’s going to be. Now, Moonshine on the other hand, she’s going to have an iPhone tracker on her. And by the time Tenderheart starts going out, I’m just going to be tired and let her do what she wants. Parenting is tiring, y’all.
You’re welcome for all the nostalgia but next week I might start off with where it all went wrong…