Let’s just say I’m never going to be president.
I was a horrid child. I’ll list the types of offenses and you can choose which you’d like to talk about. Alcohol? Marijuana? (Smoked, baked, and supplied.) LSD? Shoplifting? (Make-up, perfume, eyelash curlers, fake eyelashes.) By eighth grade it was all routine.
Let’s see. I stuffed a potato up a tailpipe and blew up a car. I blew up a mailbox. I torched a friend’s AC. That one was a mistake.
I was particularly adept at breaking and entering—a career I continued till 10th grade. My friend and I would dress in all black, slinking around the neighborhood. A cop stopped us once. Oh, we’re out looking for our lost dog. Have you seen him? Why would anyone scurry around in all black looking for a pet in the middle of the night? He didn’t even question it, just let us go on with our night.
Sometimes we’d break into homes and just eat their ice cream. Other times we’d rifle through their stuff.
I still have some of it, such as a single, simple gold bracelet and a silver carafe (now tarnished) from another venture.
The bracelet I just took on our family vacation to Barbados. I often wear it when I travel. If it’s stolen, oh well. I didn’t spend anything on it.
So anyway, that’s what I did growing up. Don’t tell my son.