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Chapter 4

1979

It was the end of eighth grade, and my best friend was transferring to a public school closer to our house. I begged my mom to go. She gave me and my brother the option to stay at the Catholic school or go to the public.

My brother chose to stay with his friends at the Catholic school; I went with my friend to the public.

From my old school where disco was popular to this new school divided into jocks and freaks, my friend and I fell quickly into the freak category. I traded in my candy’s shoes and straight-legged jeans for bell-bottom jeans and clutter boots, flannel shirts and bandannas. We smoked weed and went to keggers every weekend. There would be the occasional jock there, those we called frocks. They dressed like a jock but smoked pot like the freaks. (Freak wasn’t a bad word in those days, it meant you were cool.)

On one occasion, a few of my friends and I were hanging out in our basement and decided to give me a marijuana tattoo with a razor blade. We all did a few shots. My dad’s bar was in the basement. So it was easy access. Then she put some ice on my arm to numb it, and she carved a perfect pot leaf in my arm. When it scabbed over, it looked so cool. I got sent to the principal’s office the next day for wearing a T-shirt to show it off. I was told to cover it or go home and would always have to cover it after that.

I had an eighteen-year-old boyfriend then. I was always getting grounded for not coming home but would just call him to pick me up and honk when he was out front. So my dad would be watching TV in the living room when my boyfriend pulled up, and I would just run out the door before he could even hear the door slam shut.

I went to my first concert that summer at age fourteen. We had three huge concerts every summer on the football stadium field. With big bands, they called them Sunday #1, #2, and #3. So my friend’s mom got us tickets for Sunday #1 that summer. It was Ted Nugent headlining the cars, heart, and UFO. We had field tickets, so it was first come first serve. Her mom was super cool, and I told my mom I was staying with her the night before and her mom would take us to the concert the next day because it was an all-day event. Her mom dropped us off at 3:00 a.m. The gates opened at 8:00 a.m., and tons of people were camped out front to get in and get good seats. We had blankets and coolers with food and drinks for the day. At this time I had an eighteen-year-old boyfriend. People were walking around and selling acid. My boyfriend and I had done it several times before.

It started getting to the point where I would stay out the whole weekend and even a few days into the school week. I was completely out of control. I had my parents scared to death. I called my dad one day at work and said he had to call me in sick from school so I didn’t get detention. I said if he didn’t do it, I wouldn’t come home. He said if I agreed to see a psychiatrist, he would do it. And me being a smart-ass said sure. I thought, What the heck could they do to me? Lock me up? I was fourteen then and hadn’t been in any trouble with the law. I went and treated it like a game.

I had zero respect for my elders, and my parents did not raise me that way. We had everything we needed and more. We had a wonderful normal childhood. My parents took us on tons of vacations, camping all over the place, beautiful places I have fond memories of to this day. My dad had season tickets to our NFL football team and took turns taking me and my brother. We were never treated differently or any better or worse than the other. I almost feel bad for my brother now looking back. He was such a good obedient son. I’m just guessing, but my parents had their hands so full with me it must have took a toll on him, I don’t think he ever felt neglected, but they defiantly had to do more for me. This was all before I started public school.