I’m a big crusader against family secrets. But, as any self-respecting teenager will tell you, some things are nobody else’s business.
At age 16, I considered my nights hitchhiking around Chicago as extremely private business. After I could hear my parents’ two distinct flavors of snoring shaking the house, I snuck downstairs and out the basement door. I thought of a destination, went to a main street and stuck out my thumb, ready with a story about going to an aunt’s. No one really cared about the story. The driver that picked me up just took me where I wanted to go, often going slightly out of his way to do so. I would give my thanks and head decisively into the side streets as if I knew exactly where I was going. After a while, I’d catch a ride back. Only once did I ever regret getting into a car. Four boys around 19 years old had me squashed in the middle of the backseat of a tiny car. I could smell their boozy breaths and was scared by their talk, but I pretended I wasn’t, and it turned out that their talk was just talk. The only lesson I learned from that mishap was that I should sit next to the door when accepting rides from questionable characters. I can’t quite recreate the motivations I might have had for these nocturnal outings, but I’m sure they must have included adventure, defiance, independence, and perhaps a desire for secrets.
As a high school senior, I met my first boyfriend. When school ended we left notes for our parents, borrowed a tent from the garage and hitchhiked all the way around Lake Michigan. People went out of their way to take us to places you could camp. One night we pitched our tent by the lake somewhere west of Traverse City. A terrific storm came up and the canvas tent leaked everywhere anything touched the sides. It was a tiny pup tent, so it leaked everywhere and soaked everything we had. The next day we were wet and miserable. My friend was having an emotional meltdown about the terrible thing we had done sneaking off on this trip. For whatever reason, something about me attracts soul-searching men who are right on edge of psychic collapse. I think that perhaps I just don’t care about the craziness and they are attracted to someone who takes them seriously. Be that as it may, there I was, soaking wet, smoking cigarettes, huddled up against the lee side of a little shed and nursing my first tortured soul – doing an excellent job empathetically joining in the torment. A coast guard man came along and invited us to come into the lighthouse where we could dry our things and stay out of the storm. Unexpected salvation on so many levels! We used their dryer, took a hot shower, played ping pong and generally basked in the heaven-sent respite. Then we heard an oddly familiar sound. We looked out the window to see a man mowing the grass in anticipation of an afternoon inspection. Seeing such an ordinary act was an unbelievably anti-climactic sight, the kind that stops you dead in your tracks. Mowing the grass? What had happened to our monumental and epic storm that was so clearly reflecting the monumental and epic dark night of our souls? I wasn’t so far gone that I didn’t immediately see the humor.
I never did tell my parents about my late night adventures and now I’ll never know what they knew or didn’t know. Or what they thought the night I didn’t come home. Now that there are teenagers in my care, I understand better why my parents might have held their tongues. I am learning that, for serious discussions with teenagers, it’s better to get your thoughts clear and then wait for the receptive moment to arrive. It usually does. But occasionally in the interim I realize that maybe a particular subject isn’t really any of my business.
Oh, my goodness! Hitchhiking in Chicago? YIkes! The mere thought gives me the shivers. When I hear stories of things my husband did as a teen, it makes me paranoid of having 3 teenagers in my house! LOL!
Sometimes it is better not knowing because in a teen's mind he/she knows enough. It's only years later we realize we knew NOTHING! I admire your ability to step back and wait for the opportune moment. Not that I knew everything about my sons' activities, but when they were under my roof, I felt it was my responsibility to know as much as possible in order to help them stay safe.
September 28th, 2014
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