Something To Hide
I’ve always told myself I was only eleven, but sitting here doing the math, I now believe I was probably more like thirteen. That would have made it the summer between eighth and ninth grade, 1970 I think. I had just finished a rough year in school. Afraid of Sister Mary Carmen–the eighth grade Catholic school teacher–I jumped ship and spent eighth grade in public school instead.
Summer couldn’t come fast enough. Eighth grade started poorly for me. They put me in Remedial English. I told them I didn’t belong there. They looked at me like, “And everyone in prison is innocent, right?” Three weeks later they told me, “You don’t belong here,” and they put me in a regular English class.
I had lived in this community all my life, but this year I was the new kid in school. All the classmates I knew were still in Catholic school. I’d felt alone, out of place, and I had cocooned myself in my coat as often as possible, I suppose to either hide or to “warm” myself against the cold isolation I felt.
When eighth grade finally ended, it hadn’t been so terrible after all. I got to take self-study ninth grade Algebra while in the eighth grade math class, we played basketball a lot in P. E., and the “F” I got on my progress report early on ended up turning into a solid “B.”
It was hard for me to tell anyone about what happened that summer. I had already graduated from high school before I even thought about sharing my secret with anyone besides my best friend, Marcy. I’m still embarrassed to talk about it.
Ok, so I’ll get on with it. One day that summer, my mom went to the plaza to pick up my younger sister who was there with a friend from around the corner. Apparently, they both had a lot of merchandise, but no bag to put it in. My mother asked my sister for her receipt.
Alas, she didn’t have one.
That summer, my sister and I had shoplifted countless times, together and with other friends. One day, we lifted some cigarettes to go with the bottle of the beer we took from the refrigerator in our house.
We cut through the cemetery on Oakwood Avenue and took the overgrown path down to Cazenovia Creek with some of our friends. We spent an afternoon swimming, smoking, and about six of us sharing a warm beer that had been hidden for two days in the old tractor tire we used as a sandbox in the back yard.
My sister and I had been in it together like Bonnie and …Bonnie’s little sister. So when I found out she’d been caught, I went to my mother and confessed. Because I was older and it was my responsibility to set a better example, I felt like it was my fault and I didn’t want her to suffer the consequences alone.
By the time our mother was through with us, we had named names. Mothers were called. Kids were yanked out of summer camp. And worst of all, we had to stay up until our father came home from work so we could tell him ourselves what we had done.
Or maybe the worst was that my sister, who was apparently far more creative than I, had told our mother that it was their first time and mom was actually buying it. I stepped in and just made it worse. My lame confession didn’t save my sister, it only made the consequences worse and our dad really mad!
So it’s out there now and can’t be taken back. I’ve only told a handful of people in the last almost fifty years. But this isn’t the end of the story. My dad’s reaction, the consequences, and how this affected the person I was to become will be told next week, so stay tuned…
If you want to share something of your story or comment on mine, feel free to leave a comment.
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I can’t believe Marcie would follow you down such a path. I can’t wait til next week to find out if she gets in trouble!!
But seriously, I didn’t know that you spent 8th grade in public school; that’s news to me.
The worst part of that deal was that she retired that summer. I was sure she did it to spite me! Ahhh, well. We live and learn.
Oh my gosh! I can’t believe I grew up playing with a juvenile delinquent! 😊. Truth be told, I’m sure we all have our secrets. I don’t recall with grade being particularly good for me. I didn’t have many, if any friends at that time, but luckily I had a busy, crazy family to keep me company!
I remember going camping with my family and my godparents family, and I brought a friend. We stole beer from the cooler and went to another campsite, made a fire, drank the beer and burned the cans in the fire and laughed a lot! I never knew beer cans wood burn up completely in a fire! Later my sister told me they thought it was my godfather, a recovering alcoholic, who was stealing the beer. I felt pretty bad about that.
Now that my daughter is old enough to start confessing her transgressions, I try to remember what it was like to be a teenager and the things I did that I never told my parents about. But my stories pale in comparison to my older brothers’ and sister’s!
Just Thank your lucky stars I didn’t drag you into it too! Seriously, the threat of having to scrub floors with a toothbrush at Father Baker’s church in Buffalo scared me straight!
I too have several siblings with much better stories than mine. I wouldn’t want to be that age again for anything.
My kids’ confessions years after the fact came as shockers to me; I could even laugh at some of them. They were infinitely more creative than I was.
IYTTADSA
Please translate before it drives me mad…even the (almost) all powerful Google has nothing to say!
Love it. I remember stealing cigarettes from some parents friends so we could try smoking. Oh my. Bad mistake. Got caught and yes ma’am got in a bit of trouble. Boy can moms and dads make us feel an inch high and put the fear of God in you. Never stole anything again that I can remember. Oh yes there was that Pizza Hut ash tray in the 10th grade from the Pizza Hut in Dothan, AL. But that’s it. So funny the things we remember.
I guess it’s somewhat universal. I felt like a horrible sister, a horrible daughter, and a horrible friend. I think it was really the first time I realized how my actions affected people other than myself. Amazing.
Now, the Pizza Hut ashtray isn’t stolen property, it’s a souvenir!
That’s funny you felt like a bad influence. Not funny ha-ha funny. I felt like I was to blame, at least in Mom and Dad’s eyes. I was always in trouble and you hardly ever were. Like that time the boys next door were playing with matches and news papers in the garage. They got scared and dropped the burning paper right next to the lawn mower. I was afraid the gas in it would explode so I ran in and stomped out the fire. Their mom just happened to look out then and she called mom and told her I was playing with fire in their garage. Needless to say, I got grounded and the boys spent the whole time at the edge of the property taunting me. I think that was when Brother told me… you keep getting in trouble for things you don’t do. You might as well do them and have fun, you’re going to get grounded for them anyway! I’m pretty sure I got the silent “what did you get your sister into?” blame on that one! 😀
How old were you when the fire in the garage incident happened?
All the garden weeding that summer helped us bond more!
Oh Lou, now the guilt shows up, that sounds just like me. Seems like when I came back from the seminary I was always grounded for something. I’ll tell you now 45 or so years later That was some BAD advice,dont listen to your older brother. OK?
Loved this. You should write another book about all your adventures. I stayed in trouble with my daddy, he didn’t like me much, my sister was his favorite. We had certain jobs when we got out of school and my brother would not do his so I would do them so he would not get in trouble. I’ve done some things that I should not have done and I’m not proud of but they were along time ago. Strange how we think of all that stuff now. Keep up the good work. I love you and hope all is well.
That’s so sweet that you did your brother’s chores so he wouldn’t get in trouble. Looking after people you love is a very longstanding tradition with you! I have been the lucky recipient of some of that looking after and I’ve always appreciated what good care you’ve given me! You deserve cake!
It’s amazing that we can look at events in our lives from long ago (good and bad) and trace them to the person we have become. You did a great job my friend. You turned out AWESOME and I love you too!