Stories From My Youth

When I was young, my hometown would occasionally hold a small annual carnival. This carnival was held in the parking lot of the local high school and it consisted of only the rides they could cram onto that small space- no concessions, no formal midway, just a bunch of rides in a crazy-quilt pattern determined by the least amount of space necessary to move around them.

I never had much use for this fair. It involved going outside. It involved dealing with people, many people in fact- to the point of having to deal with a mob, all jammed into this haphazard mess. This also meant that it potentially required some amount of socialization. None of this held any appeal to me. So, every year when this carnival came around I would barely notice, if I noticed at all- preferring instead the comfort of my own home. That is, until the summer after my junior year of high school.

That summer, on a Saturday night, I was somehow dragged to one of these fairs by a friend now long forgotten. I don’t remember much about that night other than the lights and the noise. And the girls. The girls made up for everything else. How did my friend meet these strange, intriguing creatures we were now socializing with? To this day, it’s still a mystery to me. But it was better not to ask questions that night, and instead just enjoy the moment- which I did until well into the night.

I remember heading home late, much later than I normally would, which, as I mentioned, happened almost never. And I remember being on top of the world. I remember walking into the darkness of my parents bedroom, which was lit only by the glow of their TV set. And what I remember most was being lit into by Dad. Anybody who knew Dad might question that this actually happened, being as it was so contrary to his nature. But believe me, it did. I was met with an onslaught of overly personal questions such as, “Where was I?” and “Why didn’t I call?”. Naturally, I took great offense at this, as I would if it happened today. What was the matter with him? I hardly ever did something like this. Clearly, CLEARLY, he was against me having fun. I didn’t deserve to be treated this way! Couldn’t he see I was an Adult?

Refusing to be treated like a child, I turned and stomped away, declaring they had seen the last of me and that I was leaving and never coming back! I muttered off into the darkness of our backyard where I perched myself behind my mother’s garden wall... and I stewed. I’ll show them, I thought. I don’t need them... until finally, after a couple of hours- when my brain couldn’t hold any more of my justifiable self-righteousness, I decided it was time to sneak back into the house and get a good night’s sleep. There would be plenty of time to plot my independence tomorrow.

When I got to my room, there was a note from Dad left on my bed. I’m not sure how he knew I would be back, but there it was. He was apologizing for having blown up at me but he explained that it was out of love and concern. He was more eloquent than that, but that was the gist of it. I felt awful (and still do). I had screwed up big time.

The next day, I was walking down the stairs as Mom was vacuuming at the landing. I stopped and looked up at her through the balusters as she stared silently at the floor, silently away from me. I apologized for the night before, for hurting her and for being a jerk (or something that added up to the same thing). Mom acknowledged the apology, saying something that I don’t remember. But I remember there being tears in her eyes. And I obviously still carry a part of this with me, even though it was so long ago.

I’ve thought of this many times over the years, about how you can go from such a high to such a low in the blink of an eye. I've thought about how how you can so easily hurt the people you love with unintentional thoughtlessness. I’ve thought about what things were like from my perspective, and what things were like from Mom and Dad’s perspective. And as I’ve gotten older, the intensity of both perspectives has hardly changed at all- except that maybe there have been more layers added to it, along with an even deeper understanding of where my parents were coming from.

I’m not far from the age my parents were then, but I can still remember the excitement I felt that night coming home from the fair. And if I’ve learned anything from this over the years, it’s this: Stay away from girls. They'll only get you in trouble.