Drinking and Smoking: My Childhood Memories
Ahhh, childhood memories. So sweet, so innocent, so…
…much like a college frat party.
For the most part, I lived a pretty sheltered life growing up in the Santa Barbara area until shortly before the age of 14. After my parents divorced when I was around eight, my younger sister, Chickenbone, and I lived with our mom most of the year. We had to be in the house at 5pm, and in bed at 8:00 or 8:30pm, depending on our age. We had chores to do every weekend and were fed health food.
McDonald’s was not on the menu. We stole candy from the local candy store because we were starved for sugar. (I hope the statute of limitations has run out ’cause I just totally confessed to a major crime. Again.)
Then I was sent to live with my father in Capitola, but for the next year my sister continued to live with my mother. Things were very different at Dad’s: My curfew for school nights was midnight, bedtime was up to me, I could eat whatever I wanted, and drink from the liquor cabinet.
SCORE!!
When I graduated 8th grade, Dad bought me a beer to celebrate.
When my sister graduated 8th grade she got a stereo.
She turned out normal. Coincidence? I think not.
I was a latch-key kid from 2:30ish until my father got home around 5:30pm. Plenty of time for the other neighborhood delinquents my friends to come over and party. I learned to mix drinks, quite well actually, and we all had a grand time drinking up the liquor cabinet after school. When the booze would run low, Dad would just replace it.
Awesome. *hiccup*
After school, a bunch of kids would come back to my house, we’d watch soap operas, drink booze, and smoke clove cigarettes. We heard you could get high smoking banana peels. So one day, in our infinite teenage brilliance, we ate a bunch of bananas, cooked the peels in the oven, rolled them up, and smoked them.
Kids, don’t try this at home – it doesn’t work. There is no such thing as Bananadine. I’d bet it’s an urban legend put out by the Federation of Banana Growers just to get us to eat more bananas. F*ckers.
All that work for nothing. It was a complete waste of an afternoon. Well, more of a waste of our usual wasting of an afternoon where we drank and had something normal to smoke.
Then I got caught smoking. My father hadn’t known about the smoking.
Actually, the bitter bitch (and reported town hooker), who lived in the apartment above my father and I, ratted me out. I’d done something to piss her off, like reject her loser son for the eleventieth time. I think I had finally become so tired of his frequent advances that I told him off. He, apparently, went crying to mommy.
Within a few minutes of my father coming home from work, the bitch was knocking on the door. He opens it, and she starts saying what a delinquent I am and then tells my father I smoke. The town hooker calling *me* a delinquent – yeahoksure.
I was completely mortified. But just when I thought my days were numbered, something amazing happened:
My father said to her, “Mind your own fucking business and don’t come down here again!”
And he slammed the door in her face!
Yeah, take that! Haha!
Then he turned towards me.
Ooops…
He says, rather calmly now, “Listen kid, you shouldn’t smoke. Smoking is bad for you, and you shouldn’t do it. But you’re going to do what you want so here’s where I keep my cigarettes.” He reaches on top of the fridge and shows me his carton of Kent cigarettes.
Placing the carton of cigarettes back on top of the fridge, he continues, “Help yourself, but God help you if you take my last pack”.
That’s JUST what I was thinking. Obviously.
I think I told him his cigarettes were safe with me since I preferred cloves cigarettes.
Genius.
If I hadn’t had such a wild childhood I’d probably be living a conservative adulthood and I’d have nothing to blog about. You guys are so lucky.
My sister doesn’t have anything to blog about. She prefers listening to music. On her stereo.
I, on the other hand, got a fake ID at the age of 18. Good times I tell ya, good times. (That story coming next.)
Oh man… Your teenage years sound like mine! Wish I had known ya back then. We woulda hit it off goood! I could waste time with the best of em’ ! lol
Isn’t it crazy how life turns and we end up where we are and how differently one tiny little word or choice could have seemingly made everything. It’s all so hard to grasp at times. I try to just not even go there anymore. I keep convincing myself that I would find myself right where I am no matter what. Right? Right??!!
.-= Wicked Shawn´s last blog ..Big or Small, We All Have Something To Say About This One =-.
Loved the story of your childhood. I had a foot in both worlds. I was a latch key kid with a strict Mother who had too many kids and no help so she had no time to care what we did. In famous Irish tradition if she didn’t know or acknowledge it, it wasn’t happening. The only thing that brought retribution…if the police got involved or she heard from a third party about it…then all bets were off.
.-= Jenn´s last blog ..The Side Effects of Living =-.
I read every word. That’s huge for me!! Parents were funny back then, weren’t they?
.-= Amy´s last blog ..The Patio we Built for the Next People =-.
Todd: It wouldn’t surprise me to find we had met when we were younger. I hung out with a lot of people, and don’t remember most of it! LOL Heck, I don’t even remember what I had for breakfast!
Wicked: Yes, ‘right’. Right? Ok, I’ve wondered that, too. What if ….? I might be married to a rich and famous guy right now, writing this from our private beach on some tropical island. Right?
Jenn: My father is Irish, too. I guess that’s the Irish parenting style! LOL Except with my dad, third party squealers and police issue were still no big deal. My mom is the strict and conservative one, although she’s not Irish.
Amy: Funny, or neglectful…. could go either way. LOL My sister and I are amazed we survived fairly unscathed. But too sheltered of a life wouldn’t have been any better. Somewhere in the middle, though, and I might be married to the rich guy and writing this from our private beach on the tropical island. Yup, that coulda happened. Totally.
Another amusing anecdote from a once promising life flung onto the dung heap of debauchery and excess. I really like it! Does this remind you of anyone?
http://www.facebook.com/home.php#!/photo.php?pid=30142115&id=1493089233
Yuke – puke – gag!
Clove cigarettes.
Now THAT is child abuse….
Thanks Ross! I love the picture you attached! I take it you were a smoker, too? That was really hard for me to give up. I still get cravings.
Pete – This, from a chain smoker. 🙂 I think I was still smoking them when we met. Writing this post brought back memories – and cravings for a clove. *sigh* That’s one craving that never seems to go away.
I told myself i would quit, then i remembered what my grandmother told me I am NO QUITTER!!!