In Monday’s post, I revealed that when I was a teenager, I, along with a friend, went trick-or-treating. We covered ourselves with white sheets and pretended to be children so as to collect oodles of candy. We got busted by one of our neighbors, who, while not knowing who we were, could tell we were too old to trick-or-treat and sent us packing. Nowadays kids don’t have to tell lies to enjoy the holiday. They, like Nike, just do it.
My sister Jen comments on my blog every day. Part of it is that she enjoys my blog and likes to remark on its content. But the truth of the matter is that it is the secret way she checks in every day so that I know she didn’t die in her sleep. Yes, friends, this is how our minds work. My sister Bec “likes” my post on Facebook every day for the same reason. I have actually called both sisters at various times to make sure they were alive because they didn’t do their part. As for me, they count on Bill to let them know if it’s 10 o’clock and I haven’t yet awoken. I’m not sure that’s a failsafe, but whatever.
Anyway, on the day of my Halloween post, Jen commented as usual. Her comment was I think the year you went trick or treating as a teen may have been the naughtiest thing you did as an adolescent. Her comment made me laugh out loud. Why? Because as I think back, I believe she is absolutely correct. I didn’t get into trouble as a teenager. I gave my parents almost no reason to worry, at least during my high school years. In fact, the only time I can remember doing anything verging on naughty was the time that I missed my midnight curfew because my boyfriend and I were necking in his station wagon and lost track of time. Necking. Isn’t that craziest word to describe what we were doing? I think it might be the same as getting to second base.
Anyway, when I quietly snuck up to the front door to sneak into the house, it quickly came to my attention that Mom and Dad had locked the door. Since they NEVER locked the door, I didn’t have a key. (As I think back to the situation, I believe my parents were pioneers in the Tough Love method of parenting, though they didn’t know it had a name. )
So, I had a problem. There was no way to get into the house without alerting them that I had missed curfew. Yet, as the clock continued to tick, I needed to do something. So I had my boyfriend drive me down to the laundromat which I knew had a pay phone outside. (Kids, imagine not having cell phones.) I called our house telephone. It rang and rang, and then, finally, my dad answered the phone.
Luckily, there was one excuse that anyone who lived in Columbus, Nebraska, could use as an excuse for being late.
“I’m sorry Dad, but we got caught by a long train, and it made me late,” I lied through my teeth. “The door is locked. Could you unlock it and let me in?”
That’s exactly what happened. I’m not sure that either Mom or Dad believed my story about the train, but it couldn’t be proven or disproven. It was the perfect story.
It was the second naughty thing I did as a teenager. And I can’t think of any more. But as my siblings and I always said, “Mom knows and God knows.”