I was a stressed out kid. I remember watching the movie “Parenthood” for the first time and thinking that Steve Martin’s kid was like looking in a mirror, if that gives you any sense of my early-childhood anxiety levels. Even from a young age, I worried about getting my homework done on time, crossing the street at the corners, and avoiding all sense of trouble at every turn.
Once when I was younger, I was invited to hang out with my friends Sam and Jake on a Friday night and sleep over. I must have been about 12 or 13, and when you combine puberty with pre-existing anxiety, you’ve pretty much got a recipe for uber-neuroses. So that made me the nerd friend. I was McLovin. Without the ID. Or the sex life. Or the sense of adventure. Come to think of it, I was really Paul Pfeiffer.
So I ride my bike over to Sam’s house, which wasn’t too far, but it was through a less-than-perfect neighborhood, and was kind of a distance. I go inside, and Jake comes by, and he says that we’re going to go out and play pranks on the neighborhood. You can only imagine the pre-ulcers I’m starting to get at this moment, but I know that if I object, I’m going to be subjected to, “Shut ups”, “Just do it” and the dreaded “Stop being such a pussy”. So I decide to go along.
Before we go out however, Sam pulls us into his room and closes the door.
“Hey, I swiped this.” And he pulls out a small bottle of whisky. I panic internally, but again, I know that I can’t back down (say what you will PSA’s, peer pressure’s a hell of a thing). Sam takes a quick swig and passes it to me. I take the smallest swig I could possibly take, and pass the bottle on down to Jake. Jake then takes a teeny swig as well. We put the bottle away and proceed to our dastardly deeds.
Now, while I’m thinking that our pranks are going to end with us in a Tijuana jail (there is some truth to that exaggeration), they mostly consist of us peeing on the sides of houses or knocking on doors and running away. In fact, most people who’s homes we “vandalized” had no idea we attacked them. The only real vandalism that occurred that night was when we ran into our friend Tim (who was oddly enough, wandering the streets alone), and he decided it would be hilarious if he defecated on the side of someone’s home. He did and it was.
So we’re walking along the streets in a white trash Little Rascals sort of way, having a laugh and sharing a great time. Even I had temporarily let my guard down and was enjoying myself immensely. Just then however, a car pulls up alongside of us. We all freeze.
“Sam? Is that you?”
It was Sam’s uncle and aunt, coming home from church. As it was about 8 or 9 at night, they offered to give us a ride back to Sam’s house. We happily obliged, as they had no idea of our evening activities, so we said goodbye to Tim and piled in the car. We’re still giggling and having a great time when Sam’s aunt says,
“Have you boys been drinking?”
Absolute silence. All of us look at each other, for what felt like an eternity, looking to see who was going to lie first (and believably).
“No.” says Sam.
“Ok. Just thought I smelled booze.”
The car pulls up to the house. The aunt and uncle say goodbye and pull away and all seems to be fine with the world. Which is what I should have thought. But I didn’t. No, I got so scared of getting in trouble for drinking that as soon as I got of the car, I ran to my bike, jumped on and didn’t stop peddling until I was home.
Nothing ever came of that night. My mom didn’t press as to why I was home so early. Sam’s parents never found out about us drinking. And the Johnsons just assumed their great dane “Chopper” felt the need to decorate their rose garden.
I’ve gotten a lot better at getting in trouble and dodging the rules, but whenever I get caught in a lie, there’s still a part of me that wants to hop on his bike and ride all the way home.