Big Blogger 2 - Task 10 - Teenage Summer
Time for a new assignment for Big Blogger 2. This week, it is a tale
from the summer we were 13. Big Blogger says:
This week, it is time to go back, way back for some. Back to the
summer of your youth, the summer when it all began to change.
Thirteen's My Lucky Number!
It's Going To Be A Teenage Summer.
Yes, it is time to dust off the old memories and remember back to
the time you had your first summer as a teenager. Back to the time
when you were too cool to hang with kids, but not teen enough to
drive a car. Back to the days when you were 13 going on 30.
Now I know for some this is going back a long time ago, and
memories may be fading, but don't let the truth get in the way of
a good story.
This is quite a task, because I fear it is ME Big Blogger mentions
as being so very old. Better old than dead, I say!
Well, the summer I was 13, my hillbilly family was living in our
new house we had built just outside of town. It was my first
summer there, and I had nothing to do except fight with my
sister. There were no other kids who lived near us. My favorite
torment for my dear sister involved asking her to put on her
silver sandals, and then telling her she had boy toes. That made
her thumping mad, so I had to say it from the hall, and then
take off. She had pictures of Donny Osmond and David Cassidy
all over her walls, which also irritated me. I didn't have anything
on my walls. I had a large bookcase full of paperbacks, and the
only things she read were the captions to her idols' pictures.
That may have been the summer I read The Exorcist, and nearly
scared myself to death. I would feel something lie beside me in
the bed at night, and thinking it was my loving sister, or my caring
Mom, I'd reach my arm out to see who it was AND NO
ONE WAS THERE. Then I would awake mid-morning to a
dark shadow on the wall. EEEEEEE! I slept with the lights on
for a few nights. And to this day, I refuse to watch the movie.
I started my staying up late habits back then. The rest of the
family went to bed, but I stayed up to watch reruns of THE
AVENGERS. John Steed and Emma Peel were OH SO COOL.
I would arise around 10:00 or 11:00, and go out to lie in the sun
on the patio where lizards darted past my head on the way to
the metal cleanout trapdoor near the bottom of the brick fireplace.
I had to come in the house by 1:00 to watch One Life to Live,
followed by General Hospital. I lived for those shows.
The main event I remember from that time is a bunking party,
the hip way of saying 'sleepover' back in my day. It was at my
friend Marsha's house in a nearby town. We went to school
together, and she had invited 4 or 5 of us to spend the night.
A couple of the girls were not really my crowd, what with being
cheerleaders and OH SO POPULAR. Marsha and I and the
others were kind of middle of the road. Not so popular, but not
skanks or anything. Her dad worked with my dad.
The night of the big slumber party, we scurried down Marsha's
kitchen steps to her rec room. It wasn't very big, but we were
left alone. We talked about gossipy things, and listened to the
radio: American Pie, Stairway to Heaven, Ben, Baby I'm a
Want You, Knock Three Times, Proud Mary, Me and Bobby
McGee, What's Goin' On, Maggie May, Uncle Albert/Admiral
Halsey, Get It On, Joy to the World, One Bad Apple, How
Can You Mend a Broken Heart, Indian Reservation, My Sweet
Lord, Gypsies Tramps and Thieves, I Woke Up in Love This
Morning, She's a Lady, The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down,
Peace Train, I Am Woman, Cherish, If, Kiss an Angel Good
Morning, I Never Promised You a Rose Garden, Help Me
Make It Through the Night. Yeah. We had one kick-a$$ radio
station...pop and country!
Then somebody not me decided we should have a seance.
Uh uh. Not me. I didn't join in. They tried to contact JFK.
He had better things to do. I think they were trying to reach
somebody's grandma when we heard the thumping. It was over
our heads.Of course we all squealed like the schoolgirls we were,
and ran upstairs to safety. Only nobody was home. I can't believe
Marsha's parents left us unattended! Marsha, Marsha, Marsha!
Perhaps they had left her older brother and sister to watch us.
So much for that idea. They were old enough to drive, and
shared a sweet, cherry red Chevy Malibu. They were long gone,
cruising the municipal parking lot.
While we were in the kitchen, the thumping continued. It was
coming from the front door. Brave Marsha grabbed one of the
populars by the arm and dragged her to the door, where they
found a couple of popular boys who had dropped in to crash
the bunking party. Somehow, they had gotten wind of the
shindig. I don't know how they got there. They had come from
a baseball game, and were dirty and wearing cleats. The field
was on the other side of town, and they lived in a different area
than Marsha. She invited them in.
Marsha, Marsha, Marsha! Thirteen year old boys are like vampires.
NEVER invite them in. Once they're in, you can't get rid of them.
And they think they can come in whenever they please. One sat
on top of the TV, swinging his feet. I was mesmerized. I waited
for the cleats to smash the picture tube. You might have guessed
by now that I was kind of a goody-goody. I was nervous. This
was OH SO WRONG in so many ways. Hey! I'd read those teen
pregnancy books like My Darling, My Hamburger! After a while,
Marsha told the boys they needed to leave. They said they thought
they'd stay a while longer. The populars were no help. They were
giggling little imbeciles. Finally, they pushed the boys out the door,
and locked it. The boys proceeded to circle the house, thumping on
windows, trying to break in, for about a half hour. I was exhausted
from the stress.
The rest of the night, I had trouble sleeping. I heard everyone else
sleeping, but I figured JFK might take time out of his busy afterlife
and drop by, and I would be the only one awake, and what did I
have to say to JFK, because I am really not a political person.
The next morning, we pretended that we had stayed in the rec
room all night. Nobody squealed on the boy invasion. I learned
that the popular people are not any more fun than regular people.
And that sometimes, thirteen year olds need to be protected from
themselves.
Perhaps that story was not as exciting as you had anticipated.
You are forgetting that I am old, I've led a sheltered life, and the
times were different then.
The good stuff didn't start until the Coors can costume years.
from the summer we were 13. Big Blogger says:
This week, it is time to go back, way back for some. Back to the
summer of your youth, the summer when it all began to change.
Thirteen's My Lucky Number!
It's Going To Be A Teenage Summer.
Yes, it is time to dust off the old memories and remember back to
the time you had your first summer as a teenager. Back to the time
when you were too cool to hang with kids, but not teen enough to
drive a car. Back to the days when you were 13 going on 30.
Now I know for some this is going back a long time ago, and
memories may be fading, but don't let the truth get in the way of
a good story.
This is quite a task, because I fear it is ME Big Blogger mentions
as being so very old. Better old than dead, I say!
Well, the summer I was 13, my hillbilly family was living in our
new house we had built just outside of town. It was my first
summer there, and I had nothing to do except fight with my
sister. There were no other kids who lived near us. My favorite
torment for my dear sister involved asking her to put on her
silver sandals, and then telling her she had boy toes. That made
her thumping mad, so I had to say it from the hall, and then
take off. She had pictures of Donny Osmond and David Cassidy
all over her walls, which also irritated me. I didn't have anything
on my walls. I had a large bookcase full of paperbacks, and the
only things she read were the captions to her idols' pictures.
That may have been the summer I read The Exorcist, and nearly
scared myself to death. I would feel something lie beside me in
the bed at night, and thinking it was my loving sister, or my caring
Mom, I'd reach my arm out to see who it was AND NO
ONE WAS THERE. Then I would awake mid-morning to a
dark shadow on the wall. EEEEEEE! I slept with the lights on
for a few nights. And to this day, I refuse to watch the movie.
I started my staying up late habits back then. The rest of the
family went to bed, but I stayed up to watch reruns of THE
AVENGERS. John Steed and Emma Peel were OH SO COOL.
I would arise around 10:00 or 11:00, and go out to lie in the sun
on the patio where lizards darted past my head on the way to
the metal cleanout trapdoor near the bottom of the brick fireplace.
I had to come in the house by 1:00 to watch One Life to Live,
followed by General Hospital. I lived for those shows.
The main event I remember from that time is a bunking party,
the hip way of saying 'sleepover' back in my day. It was at my
friend Marsha's house in a nearby town. We went to school
together, and she had invited 4 or 5 of us to spend the night.
A couple of the girls were not really my crowd, what with being
cheerleaders and OH SO POPULAR. Marsha and I and the
others were kind of middle of the road. Not so popular, but not
skanks or anything. Her dad worked with my dad.
The night of the big slumber party, we scurried down Marsha's
kitchen steps to her rec room. It wasn't very big, but we were
left alone. We talked about gossipy things, and listened to the
radio: American Pie, Stairway to Heaven, Ben, Baby I'm a
Want You, Knock Three Times, Proud Mary, Me and Bobby
McGee, What's Goin' On, Maggie May, Uncle Albert/Admiral
Halsey, Get It On, Joy to the World, One Bad Apple, How
Can You Mend a Broken Heart, Indian Reservation, My Sweet
Lord, Gypsies Tramps and Thieves, I Woke Up in Love This
Morning, She's a Lady, The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down,
Peace Train, I Am Woman, Cherish, If, Kiss an Angel Good
Morning, I Never Promised You a Rose Garden, Help Me
Make It Through the Night. Yeah. We had one kick-a$$ radio
station...pop and country!
Then somebody not me decided we should have a seance.
Uh uh. Not me. I didn't join in. They tried to contact JFK.
He had better things to do. I think they were trying to reach
somebody's grandma when we heard the thumping. It was over
our heads.Of course we all squealed like the schoolgirls we were,
and ran upstairs to safety. Only nobody was home. I can't believe
Marsha's parents left us unattended! Marsha, Marsha, Marsha!
Perhaps they had left her older brother and sister to watch us.
So much for that idea. They were old enough to drive, and
shared a sweet, cherry red Chevy Malibu. They were long gone,
cruising the municipal parking lot.
While we were in the kitchen, the thumping continued. It was
coming from the front door. Brave Marsha grabbed one of the
populars by the arm and dragged her to the door, where they
found a couple of popular boys who had dropped in to crash
the bunking party. Somehow, they had gotten wind of the
shindig. I don't know how they got there. They had come from
a baseball game, and were dirty and wearing cleats. The field
was on the other side of town, and they lived in a different area
than Marsha. She invited them in.
Marsha, Marsha, Marsha! Thirteen year old boys are like vampires.
NEVER invite them in. Once they're in, you can't get rid of them.
And they think they can come in whenever they please. One sat
on top of the TV, swinging his feet. I was mesmerized. I waited
for the cleats to smash the picture tube. You might have guessed
by now that I was kind of a goody-goody. I was nervous. This
was OH SO WRONG in so many ways. Hey! I'd read those teen
pregnancy books like My Darling, My Hamburger! After a while,
Marsha told the boys they needed to leave. They said they thought
they'd stay a while longer. The populars were no help. They were
giggling little imbeciles. Finally, they pushed the boys out the door,
and locked it. The boys proceeded to circle the house, thumping on
windows, trying to break in, for about a half hour. I was exhausted
from the stress.
The rest of the night, I had trouble sleeping. I heard everyone else
sleeping, but I figured JFK might take time out of his busy afterlife
and drop by, and I would be the only one awake, and what did I
have to say to JFK, because I am really not a political person.
The next morning, we pretended that we had stayed in the rec
room all night. Nobody squealed on the boy invasion. I learned
that the popular people are not any more fun than regular people.
And that sometimes, thirteen year olds need to be protected from
themselves.
Perhaps that story was not as exciting as you had anticipated.
You are forgetting that I am old, I've led a sheltered life, and the
times were different then.
The good stuff didn't start until the Coors can costume years.
posted by Hillbilly Mom at 4:28 PM
7 Comments:
thirteen year olds need to be protected from
themselves....aint that the truth!! My fashion sence almost killed me back in the 80's when I was 13 :)
This Is Big Blogger.
Hillbilly Mom, this is a wonderful story from last century.
This Has Been Big Blogger.
That was a cute story, and you cannot be very old at all. You mentioned the song Joy To The World; the singer Hoyt Axton lived two doors down from us when I was ten or so. Who knew? His mama, of course, went on to write Heartbreak Hotel for Elvis.
I enjoyed my visit here today!!
Cazzie,
I think I remember that pic. At least you didn't dress as a can of Coors Light.
Big Blogger,
There you go again, building my ego. Just for that, I won't tell you of my days as a Pony Express rider.
Sally,
Thanks. Now if only we could convince Big Blogger.
Wow! You've had a brush with greatness. Didn't David Letterman used to ask people in his audience about stuff like that? Oops! There I go looking old again.
Please come back, Sally. Does that sound too desperate?
Let's just say "I'm glad you enjoyed your little visit."
Hi Hillbily Mom,
I think you are forgetting that last century was only 6 or so years ago.
HooRoo
Rebecca aka Big Blogger
I was the same way back when I was 13 and 14. I was so busy following the rules that I wore myself plumb out! At the family shindig on Saturday as I was showing off my tats my cousin (7 months older than me) shook his head and said, "My gosh, have you changed!" He's not the first one to say that either. I asked Tater later, "Was I REALLY that big of a nerd back then?" Methinks me was.
Bec,
I didn't remember that. Must be my Alzheimer's.
Diva,
Thank the Gummi Mary you were only showing your tAts.
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