Too Young to Know, Too Old to Care

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I reread these entries and notice that what I write are mostly memories. Do I write about a future? Not really. Well, at this age I'm not planning to create a whole new career path, buy a house or start a family. All those things require decades of time and the energy to propel it forward. If I plan at all, it's for smaller things. My desires at this age are quite different from when I was 25. At 25 I didn't have the cornucopia of experiences to write about anyway. A blog then would've been more “daily” and fantasies about a future.

But everyone's different. If you want to start a hedge fund, climb Denali at 55, go for it. I was looking to climb up Mt Khatadin and soon realized that any rock scrambling would require my having to get my legs back. I know I'm 51 and not 25. I ain't too keen slipping off the side of it into a 1,000 foot chasm below. But don't let me stop you...

I type this shit to entertain myself. If it makes you giggle, great. If you read between the lines to see the more pathological aspects of my personality, that's great too! Don't think I don't know that. I let that slip into here. For you well read types, it's Sturm und Drang and a sad ripoff of confessional prose.  For everyone else, no story ever was written that had happy horseshit all the way through it that was any fun to read. By the way, YOU too have your darker angels of nature, so I'm not alone, am I? It's one reason why I'm not that fearful of exposure as I loved ripping masks off of people's faces. I did it as a kid. It's a personality trait. So I have to rip the one off mine as well to be fair. Blame this on experience with 70's “encounter groups” too. God, am I a child of that era in spades!

**

At the dinner table, my Dad once commented how that “I talk just to hear myself talk.” I could interrupt, out-talk and out-story anyone there. It's true. This blog is the same. Let me satisfy my life long urge to be in the spotlight. “Look-it ME!” So here it goes again...

I reread these entries and am struck by the fact that I refer to 1978 repeatedly. A year before, Dear Ol' Dad checked into Motel Deep Six which freed me up considerably. Prior to that, my Dad tried to keep his foot on my neck as he was worried I would “go too far” with everything and get hurt. He was partially right. I did love to go too far, it was exciting as hell and adrenaline rushes are GREAT!

Once Rick and I climbed high into a maple tree, to those thinner branches that would still barely support the weight of a 10 year old boy. Why did we do this? Because a cold front had come by and the winds were gusting wonderfully. We climbed up there and enjoyed the swaying back and forth six feet in each direction. You really do swing too, the added weight of your body really yanks that bough to and fro. I was aware of the danger of it snapping and falling 25 feet, bouncing off every other branch on the way down, but god...the thrill, the provocation..talk about being wide-eyed ALIVE!

“You GODDAMN idiots! Both of you come down NOW! My Dad shouted once he saw what we two were doing. We came down to the ground.

I stood there, hearing my Dad harangue us both about the foolishness of what we were doing. I stood there, probably with a wry smile on my face, enjoying the fact I had been foolish enough to do it. It was fun.

“Yadda, yadda yadda, what if you ended up in the hospital? Yadda, yadda yadda, I can't believe you take these risks, yadda, yadda, yadda.” In my mind, I'm thinking, “Fuck you, old man..you can't hear what I'm thinking..can you...and I'll do it AGAIN if I can!”

But in '77, Dad was out of the way and Mom's meek authority sure wasn't going to derail any of my plans. One neighbor, once opined LOUDLY enough to where my Mom could hear it (a snarky comment) that she'd have NOTHING but TROUBLE with her two sons because Dad was out of the picture. He was half right. My brother and I did take huge liberties but were never caught. As opposed to his sons, who were stupid enough to get the cops involved in their lives. My brother and I were too smart for that. It took me a year to transform into a feral kid, to fully realize I could do any god damn thing I wanted to.

And I did, but I always had enough common sense of my own not to go so far as to ruin it all. I have to thank Dad for that, boring common sense was instilled, but not stultifying common sense. Moderation, ya know? The trick was knowing when to quit...and egg others on not to as they provide some great entertainment as you stand aside and watch. At 14 you do have some brains at least...some of us did.

In one sense, several variables came to fruition in '78 that allowed me to control my own life. The schools I attended were moving far left politically, the teachers were too. Damn near anything was being discussed in the classroom. I mentioned before teachers who openly talked about smoking pot to 13 year olds. I had an older brother who was great for introducing me to all the fun things he had access too. Dad was out of the way and I was turning 14 with testosterone starting to inflame my blood. My brother's band was playing in bars and I joined in at times. These things just added to my sense of independence. At 10 years old, I was clandestinely reading National Lampoon and that sure was great for opening my eyes to every vice that was out there as well. I was primed even before 14, trying to live a life outside of Dad's knowledge. Ever sniff glue? I did once. We got the idea from National Lampoon. Jimmy and I got curious and bought a tube of Testor's Airplane glue (before they reformulated it w/o toluene) and a few paper bags and sat outside of CVS when it was on Armistice boulevard and huffed it. Did we care if people saw us? Nope. We were 14 then and young and reckless. By the way, that glue nearly makes you pass the fuck out and you flash past Pluto for about 45 seconds. 

I'll tell of a funny story of trying to huff nitrous oxide from a RediWhip can in a RIC parking lot when I was in college once. M and I had become curious so we left RIC to a local store to buy it. We returned to RIC after. I sat there trying to position the can into my mouth as to get only the gas and fired. It shot whipped cream into my mouth as I inhaled deeply, causing me to cough the stuff out my nose and mouth onto the inside of the windshield. M. busted out laughing.

You're young, curious...want to try new things...

I digress...

Cops today actually did their job compared to back then I think. Or at least they didn't see young teens tooling around late at night as any great threat. Ahhh..even the drinking age was 18 then, so things were far looser. I could ride my bike to and fro, to Slater Park and the other hang outs, Wizards, Jaws, McManus's and plenty of empty parking lots at chemical plants at 3 am and no cop would stop to ask what I was doing.

I was lucky enough to hang out with the older teens too at times, when they let you in w/o the usual ribbing of being too young to join in. Jimmy K., one of my brother's friends drove past me on hot, July Saturday night in Slater Park, asking, “Where's your brother? Put your bike in the car, jump in, let's get him!”

He drove one of those old station wagons with the fake wood on the side and an exhaust system that sounded like an M1 Abrams tank. It had a 500cc engine because gas was cheap then. I got in and we searched all the spots where the older teens hung out. We never found him. So Jimmy, being bored, starts to race around Pawtucket in this behemoth.

York Ave, near where I live, is about a good mile long and about 20 feet wide in a residential area. Jimmy turns onto it and slams down on the accelerator. He blows through every stop sign and I noticed the speedometer is pushing 100mph. It's true you know, when telephone poles speed by you like a strobe light effect. Vip, vip, vip!

He slams on the brakes in time enough to stop the car, skidding nearly into the intersection. “Shit, Jimmy! Are out out of your fuckin' mind! Fuck that was fun!” I yell. Then he yanks the car onto Beverage Hill ave and slams down on the accelerator again.

He finally drops me off at my house, around 4 I guess. I go in, turn on the TV softly and lounge about. My Mom gets up to use the bathroom and asks,

“Where were you all night”?

“Out” I say

“What did you do?” she asks further

“Nothing.” I say.

I swear, that was the usual conversations we young teens had with our parents then. No cell phones to track our whereabouts!

And the bars, nightclubs...I got in most times. I was the occasional roadie for my brother's band and as long as I humped that equipment in, I was in!

“How old are you?” some bouncer would ask and I'd never answer it except with the “I'm with the band” comment. That was enough nearly every time. As long as I sat near the mixing board, looking like I was doing something, I was part of the crew. Funny thing though, I did learn about sound equipment and my fascination with it still is there.

The difference between a 14 year old and 18 year old is huge. There maturity levels can't be compared so that's why some of those girls in the bars tormented the fuck out of me. Also, no 14 year old boy is any threat to a girl of that age. To me then, an older teen girl looked like a full blown adult woman.

Without my knowledge one night and as a goof and perhaps as a rite of passage, someone in the band got one of the girls to pull me off to an empty upstairs room at the Ratheskellar at RIC to break me in somewhat. 

“Your're cute!” she says.

“Huh?” I'm thinking. “What's going on?” I have no clue at all.

She moves in...giggling...”Want to kiss?” she asks.

“Uh...ok...yes...I guess.” I say. What experience did I have then? None..of course I'm going to trip over my own words.

So we make out and she is working her best as she knows she's fully in control of the situation. She knew damn well what she was doing.

She busts out laughing at one point and says, “You're already hard!”

“Huh? I say. Great romantic I am at 14.

I look down like a fool and of course, it looks like I have a wrench in my pocket. She moves away towards the door and before she runs off laughing she yanks up her tee shirt to sport a pair of the cutest and first real breasts I have ever seen.

I make my way back down again to the bar, to the sound setup, and I alert the guys:

“Hey, you see HER? Over there! The girl with the Farah Fawcett hair. She showed me her tits! I made out with her! I saw her tits!”

They of course start guffawing as they knew it was a complete set up. I thought I had finally planted a flag on Mt Everest, all on my own.

**

Free to make first discoveries, free to do what I wanted, free to to feel as if I was on top of the world. Free to drink, smoke, snort, romp and play and plant pot plants all over Slater park. Knowing I was years ahead of many of my peers. My confidence level shot through the roof.

“Too young to know, too old to care.” This was an actual phrase from the 70's that's out of usage now. It's true though.

The joke of it all too was that I hid it from people in “regular” life. My Mom knew none of it and at school I was a geek/A student to the other teachers and a few, very few select students that could be trusted, knew what I was up to. The only time I was busted was at a Zappa concert. I looked around the place during the intermission, with a fat joint in my mouth when I spot behind me, three rows back, my English teacher from Goff jr High, who is staring right at me. The next day in her class was interesting when we both saw each other. But she was cool, she was at a Zappa concert. I suspect she had told others because I'd get some odd comments from some of the younger teachers there. This includes you Larry Tetreault. I remember what you said! “Double-kid”

**

Do I regret any of it? No. Do I think I grew up fast? Yes, but I did when I was a smaller kid too, for different reasons.

1978 was great, I grew in leaps and not just me. Years later I find out others were somewhat like me but in their own way, but they too kept it quiet till years later. Funny that, knowing enough to keep private fun, private. Gotta have a stable, corporate, normal middle class mask to show the world, yes? As kids, we learned we all were part of the same hypocrisy. It was a game to be played and you tell and show the adults exactly what they want to hear.

The only problem that arose, was the quality of some of the kids I was romping around with. There were proto-criminals in our group and I did associate with some of them. The problem? At 14 they're just punks, at 18 they graduate to more darker, creepier and more felonious hobbies. When I was being drawn by that current and seeing just where it was headed, I got off that boat. Again, I knew when to quit certain people. I then became a typical college kid in topsider shoes and Stafford oxford shirts.

Where there any casualties from that time? Yep. Mark F., who I witnessed smoking his first joint at 14 in the schoolyard at Goff Jr High, became a coke addict and shot himself in the head 20 years later. There was Traci, a spooked out, lost and pretty girl we all knew discovered heroin. She left us all at 28. Opposite of that, most of grew up to become middle class ourselves, worrying about the lawn and 401k's. I myself fret over stock charts. A scant few of us are still active in that time. Todd  makes his life as a marijuana legalization expert on the West Coast with the likes of Richard Branson. 

Again, I don't regret it at all. The ride then was fun as hell. 1978 was killer!