The exploits of teenagers are never more
transparent than in a small town. A social extravaganza perpetuated the
welfare of the family unit and kept parents informed. Updates came weekly; if
urgent, the information was conveyed via Ma Bell. Back in the day, the social
equivalent of TMI on Facebook postings occurred over decks of cards, with a
light lady-lunch, and a decadent dessert. It was called “Bridge Club.” Bridge
Club kept me in line.
Mother learned way too much at these gatherings
and interrogated me about everything, even the things I did not do! After learning of shocking teen behavior at
the weekly Tuesday gathering, she’d lurk at home, waiting for me like a spider,
ready to pounce, armed with the latest scoop. She’d preface her lecture with a
scolding remark, “Well, I better never hear about you…in a dark corner at a
dance…with a boy.” Yikes!
That warning kept me cautious, circumspect,
trying to determine who might be the undercover spies, those who attended the
dance and tattled to the chaperones, charter members of the Bridge Club.
After weeks of pitiful begging and affirming to
my mother about how responsible I was, she granted me permission to drive the
family’s new Oldsmobile 4-door sedan, solo. I planned to avoid Bridge Club
Lane. In my imagination, on a straight, paved, sparsely populated stretch of
back road highway, that sedan morphed into a red Mustang! Dual exhausts, that
heavy, low, sexy rumble of power, that throaty roar. I floored it. Trees
blurred as I kept both hands on the steering wheel and both eyes wide open, peering
straight ahead.
“You’ve been speeding,” she said in solemn greeting
when I exited the Bullet car, again the family sedan under our single carport. I
had not seen old Mr. Tell-it-all at his roadside mailbox. He had seen me and
recognized the car as I whizzed past his driveway. For my safety, he had
reported his findings to my mother. That’s the way it went the vast majority of
my teen years.
The best clandestine deed I performed undetected
was a snooping fun-fest when my cousin Pam and I were left alone at our
grandmother’s house. We were old enough, in our early teen years, and trustworthy enough, they thought. Except when we got together; they didn’t realize we were bandits together.
With power in pairs, we kept good secrets. I’ll just say we left no drawer
unopened, no closet was left undisturbed. Under the bed, inside the roll top desk,
and in bathroom medicine cabinets we stuck our super sleuth noses, searching
for whatever mischief we could find.
Our grandmother’s house was clean, but the
investigation took hours of uninterrupted time and we spent the night giggling,
belly laughing, and making memories. And maybe a couple of decadent desserts
for good measure.
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