Wrangler Jeans and feathered hair. Serious situations that describe my not-so-serious life, back in the late 1970’s. Oh, yes, the feathered hair meant so much back then. My hair, the boys’ hair. Feathered. If the boy could flip that feathered hair, even better. Seriously – I think the boys had the better feather! Us girls would spend WAY too much time getting that flip just right; boys seemed to just have it without trying. Did they use gel? Did they use mouse? Hey, guys, we HATED you for that!!! Case in point: my saidies date has THE BEST FEATHER EVER, and I spent at least 45 minutes trying to get my feather oh-so-perfect, his looks so natural. Then again, I have no way of knowing how long my date actually spent getting that flip. Hey, John, how long DID it take you to get that perfect flip?
The Great American Novel Part II
Seriously, what else were bored kids in suburbia to do during the summer? There was only one mall, and it was a small one at that. We had “free swim” at the local high school during the day, the rope swing in the creek, and boring, hot summer nights to get into trouble. And boy did we try our best to get into trouble. I could say that I was influenced by my older brother to be the vandal that I inevitably became, but that would be a lie. I think I influenced HIM to be a vandal. Being a rebel felt liberating. Doing ‘bad things’ felt good. And the fun that ensued was only the tip of the rebel life I was sliding into – I can look back on it now and say “aha! THAT’S were it started!” but at the time, I had no idea WHAT I had started.
It was the 70’s. I was 12. I thought I could write the Great American Novel. And like all Great Novelists, I used my everyday experiences as inspiration. At 12 years of age, my experience was limited, to say the least. None the less, I embarked on the word journey, convinced I would not only complete the novel, but make it a noted voice in teenage literature, synonymous with novels such as “Go Ask Alice” (which I read at least a dozen times) or “The Catcher in the Rye” (a book my parents never wanted me to read, but I got a copy from a sympathic neighbor – to this day I don’t understand WHY my parents didn’t want me reading this book.) I never did finish my Great American Novel, or should I say, it’s a work in progress . . .? Well, then, more to come.