I’m going to tell on myself here. If you can believe it, I was a nightmare as a tween/teen for my parents to raise. I was always rebelling.
Well, it started early. I ran away from home for the first time when I was maybe five. I put my most precious toys and my brother into a Radio Flyer wagon and left the house to wander down the road to another family’s house, where I figured I would live. My mother and I had had an argument. I told her I was going to run away from home, and she told me to go ahead. I took that as permission. When she was busy taking care of the younger siblings (there were two others), I packed up and left. Later, when her friends called to say we had arrived at their place, both my mother and father were pretty angry because they’d been looking for us. I got pretty bent out of shape when I was disciplined (spanked!) because she’d told I could go. Yeah, I was that kid.
Anyway, back to the picture.
When I was fourteen, I think, I ran away again, this time with three friends in the dead of winter. After drinking some wine one of the kids took from their parents’ fridge, another one of them “borrowed” his parents’ station wagon and off we went, leaving Abilene, Texas, where our fathers were stationed at the Air Force base, and we headed west. Our plan, if you can call it that, was to head to the Grand Canyon and live in a cave until spring when we would emerge and get jobs and take care of ourselves. I didn’t say we thought this through. It was a whim. We did make it to Flagstaff and got a motel room to hide out in until daylight when we would head to the park. And now, I think back on this and just shake my head, but I always wanted to be somewhere else and independent.
Well, the cops showed up in the early morning hours, due to an APB that went out describing the vehicle, and we had a knock on our door. Two of us decided we weren’t going to be taken so we squeezed out of the bathroom window into a snowdrift behind the motel, only to look up and see a police office, fingers tucked into his belt, standing at the corner of the building and shaking his head at our stupidity.
Did I mention that I left Texas without shoes? Yes, I jumped into a snowbank barefoot.
Well, long story short, we were sent to juvie jail, and our parents had to make the drive from Texas to Arizona to pick us up. While driving back home, my mother told me, “No more running away. If you want to leave home, you can when you go to college.” That was my inspiration to finish up high school early—I dropped out after my junior year because I had sufficient credits to apply for college, took the CLEP examinations and earned 21 hours of credit (I was just three credits shy of being a sophomore!). So, at 16, I was accepted into college and moved out.
Again, back to the picture.
After my trip to Arizona, where I never got to see the Grand Canyon, much less hole up in a cave until Spring, my parents decided I shouldn’t go back to school to be among that “bad crowd.” They drove me up to Spokane, Washington, to stay with my grandparents. It turned out to be the exact thing I needed because they were old and amused by my antics. They were so chill—a balm to my angry spirit. On Sundays, they’d let me have a beer and eat peanuts with them while we watched Lawrence Welk. They got me enrolled in high school for the second semester of my sophomore year. They encouraged me to volunteer at the nursing home down the street with them. I was kept busy, and they never had to raise their voices at me to get me to help around the house. It was a blessed respite.
While there, Spokane hosted the World Expo. They didn’t have much money, but my grandparents got me tickets to see Gordon Lightfoot and Three Dog Night at the Expo. At least, I think I saw Three Dog Night. It’s a little hazy, but I have more vivid memories of Gordon Lightfoot on stage. It was magical.
So, while we were up in Northern Arkansas this past week, we hit flea markets. One afternoon, when I decided to stay home with my sister, my daughter headed out to another antique shop. This morning, she unpacked the bag of items she’d purchased. She’d picked up this little trinket dish because of the artwork. We collect mid-century George Briard dishes. They’re not exactly valuable, but we love the gold artwork. When she looked at the dish today, she vaguely remembered that I’d said I’d been at the ’74 Expo, so she gave it to me.
And oh, the memories. My rebellion, my wild ride to the Grand Canyon, my time spent with my grandparents… Gordon Lightfoot….
I didn’t mean to go on for so long, but that was quite an adventure—one of many in my life. Remember, it was the ’70s. Youthful rebellion was “in.” I wore tapestry headbands, bell-bottom jeans, had long, blond hair, and loved the music of the era. Freedom was ours to take if we were bold enough.
Do you have a story of misspent youth to share? You might win a $5 Amazon gift card if you share your story in the comments!
