Dark Shadows
05-26-2010, 11:50 PM
There are things that you should never tell your children. At least until they are over thirty, finished with college and well-established in a stable career. The things that we did when we were younger, especially us baby-boomers would be cause for a major coronary for today’s parents of model teenagers. I should know, I have raised four daughters and would have a nervous breakdown if any of them had been half way as rebellious and mischievous (really out and out trouble) as I was. My parents only knew a small fraction of the stuff that happened to me as a teen. The rest of it, well let’s just say I protected them from the truth.
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But when I think of the trouble that girls can get into if they are afraid of their parent’s wrath it makes me shudder. Let me tell you a story,
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When I was a freshman in high school, my parents let me go everywhere with my older sister Pam. They thought that as long as we stuck together we would be safe. Well, little did they know that Pam was known for having an “iron gut” because she could drink any guy under the table. She took me to so many parties and with so many shifty characters I’m surprised I didn’t end up in the City morgue on a Sunday morning for my parents to view. There was one incident I remember clearly. We were going to a party with Pam’s heroin-and speed addicted boyfriend Dennis and his brother Phil. Phil had a 1966 Thunderbird that he was well known for. It was a low rider with bucket seats and black vinyl interior. He had one of those 8 track tape players that you can remove and take with you inside your house at night so it didn’t get stolen. He had a pony tail that hung well past his derriere and wore John Lennon-style prescription glasses. Dennis and Phil had the peculiar habit of abandoning their girlfriends whenever a hot deal (most likely heroin of the purer variety) was going down. This happened one night at a party in <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" /><st1:City w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Pleasant Hill</st1:place></st1:City>. We were there and all of a sudden Dennis and Phil were gone. In their place was this evil looking character named Rick. He must have been at least 26, Dennis and Phil were 26 and 27, so what the heck? He was very generous and gave us a cone-shaped joint to share between the two of us and our friend Dawn who had joined us at the party. The joint must have been doctored with angel dust or some such substance because the next thing I knew it I was writhing in pain on my sister’s bed and Dawn was screaming at the top of her lungs. Pam was nowhere in sight. Dawn grabbed a beer bottle off the night stand and broke it on the door jam. She was just about to take the jagged end of the glass to her wrist when I grabbed her and somehow got her to drop the bottle and forget she ever wanted to cut herself. I was scared to death and wanted to go to the hospital I felt so sick, but I was afraid that I would get in trouble with my parents who were very strict Catholics. So we stuck it out that night – I think my parents were at a dance at <st1:place w:st="on">Treasure Island</st1:place> with one of my father’s work buddies. They didn’t come home till around 4 am, after we had spent a long night together crying and hoping that the :”high” would be over soon. Dennis dropped Pam on my parent’s doorstep the next morning at around 7 am. She was drunk and smelled of vomit. My mother put her to bed and the next day she was in the Kaiser Hospital Mental Health Ward for evaluation.
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I have told my daughters that if they ever need a ride home, I will come and get them and regardless of their condition or how intoxicated they may be there will be no questions asked.
<?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office" /><o:p></o:p>
But when I think of the trouble that girls can get into if they are afraid of their parent’s wrath it makes me shudder. Let me tell you a story,
<o:p></o:p>
When I was a freshman in high school, my parents let me go everywhere with my older sister Pam. They thought that as long as we stuck together we would be safe. Well, little did they know that Pam was known for having an “iron gut” because she could drink any guy under the table. She took me to so many parties and with so many shifty characters I’m surprised I didn’t end up in the City morgue on a Sunday morning for my parents to view. There was one incident I remember clearly. We were going to a party with Pam’s heroin-and speed addicted boyfriend Dennis and his brother Phil. Phil had a 1966 Thunderbird that he was well known for. It was a low rider with bucket seats and black vinyl interior. He had one of those 8 track tape players that you can remove and take with you inside your house at night so it didn’t get stolen. He had a pony tail that hung well past his derriere and wore John Lennon-style prescription glasses. Dennis and Phil had the peculiar habit of abandoning their girlfriends whenever a hot deal (most likely heroin of the purer variety) was going down. This happened one night at a party in <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" /><st1:City w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Pleasant Hill</st1:place></st1:City>. We were there and all of a sudden Dennis and Phil were gone. In their place was this evil looking character named Rick. He must have been at least 26, Dennis and Phil were 26 and 27, so what the heck? He was very generous and gave us a cone-shaped joint to share between the two of us and our friend Dawn who had joined us at the party. The joint must have been doctored with angel dust or some such substance because the next thing I knew it I was writhing in pain on my sister’s bed and Dawn was screaming at the top of her lungs. Pam was nowhere in sight. Dawn grabbed a beer bottle off the night stand and broke it on the door jam. She was just about to take the jagged end of the glass to her wrist when I grabbed her and somehow got her to drop the bottle and forget she ever wanted to cut herself. I was scared to death and wanted to go to the hospital I felt so sick, but I was afraid that I would get in trouble with my parents who were very strict Catholics. So we stuck it out that night – I think my parents were at a dance at <st1:place w:st="on">Treasure Island</st1:place> with one of my father’s work buddies. They didn’t come home till around 4 am, after we had spent a long night together crying and hoping that the :”high” would be over soon. Dennis dropped Pam on my parent’s doorstep the next morning at around 7 am. She was drunk and smelled of vomit. My mother put her to bed and the next day she was in the Kaiser Hospital Mental Health Ward for evaluation.
<o:p></o:p>
I have told my daughters that if they ever need a ride home, I will come and get them and regardless of their condition or how intoxicated they may be there will be no questions asked.