One December 15 was Sunday

..and this woman I'll call Ramblin' Sue was born. Not sure if she wants me to say the year so I'll it just as that--the December 15, I'm talking about was a Sunday. SUNDAY? A day of rest and Ramblin' Sue was born? I gotta laugh. Ramblin' Sue still remains anything but restful NOW. I can imagine when burst forth and I'm sure yowled loud enough so everyone knew Ramblin' Sue was finally here!

Ramblin' Sue may have seen stared each other down on the playground in grade school. Yet it was 4th grade I have my first vivid memory. We got in trouble. We sat by each other in the back of the room --wrong move there--. We passed notes to each other. I can imagine what the notes even said. This was 4th grade. I recall as we came inside from our recess, our teacher pulled us into the library. We were scolded. I don't remember what was said. I can't even remember if our moms were called. What I do remember was walking back into our classroom--all eyes on Ramblin' Sue and me as we watched our desks being separated. She on one side of the room and me on another. The SHAME!

Then fast forward to our Junior year in high school. I smile even now. It was our Junior Keggar (ya know, beer party) out in the middle of some field--literally. Ramblin' Sue picked me up in her--RAMBLER (her's was blue tho!)--

I had my beer mug in hand. Let's really forget this was my first night to partake in anything stronger than Hawaiian Punch. At the party I lasted about 30 minutes--literally--before I passed out.

What were we thinking? Nobody got hurt. You're 17, you're invincible. OK. Back to the story. I was pretty much out for the count the whole night in the back of a pick up truck. I missed the party--literally. People would shine lights on me and leave me be. Let's really forget I 'recalled' the party right before we left. After that, somehow I was poured into the back of Ramblin' Sue's rambler for the trek home.

To this day, I don't know what time we left. I don't even remember walking thru the front door. I do remember having the worse headache the next day and my Sweet Daddy Don asking me how I felt. Come to find out, Ramblin' Sue told me later they got me out of the car, and pretty much dumped me there because my dad stood at the front door--and that scared them.

She just knew my dad was gonna call her parents. He didn't. I don't remember my dad at the door at all. Through the years Ramblin' Sue laughed at that story. Through the years we talked and laughed alot and some of it--well--I just can't print here.

And for those memories, I'm glad a particular December 15 was a Sunday.

April 10, 1976 was Saturday

Remember the day better than I remember the night. Why? This day was my one and only party I ever hosted during high school years: my 18th birthday party.

In 1976, the legal age was 18. I was determined to tell the world! Or least the citizens of my hometown. How Dad agreed to this party, which really was a keggar with 2 barrels of beer. Once Schlitz and the other Pabst Blue Ribbon....I’ll never know!
Dad could have gone to jail.

However, I’m ahead of the story.

The day itself was kinda quiet. We got the kegs. Even a sheet cake which had my name on each square. OK. In grade school, that’s how my mom bought my treats every year.
Outside of that, Dad just kind of moseyed around. Kinda quiet as I recall.
Later on, he admitted he thought nobody would show up and he would have to sooth my broken heart.
When a classmate surprised me with a delivery of 3 ½ dozen red roses around 5:30, Dad knew it was ON! No broken heart here as Dad jumped to hydro-drive. Dad fixed sloppy joes and said, “We’re gonna have a party!” And I still have the card with everybody's name who chipped in for the roses!
Around 7pm, my chums and I sat in front of my house—waiting.
No cars.
Maybe I would have a broken heart after all. Then a classmate drove by and said, “There you are! We weren’t sure where you lived!”

Within about 15 mins the convoy was in place. Stream of headlights headed to my house.
And the rest was history.
How many kids were there?
Enough that all the beer was gone in gone in 90 mins.
If there were less than 100 in attendance, I’d be surprised.
My dad, step-mother, and her sister were there every minute.

And the night....

Well, I remember getting spanked by a classmate a nd we broke the chair.
Kids everywhere. Some pretending they shot baskets in our kitchen.
Even now—all these years later, my party will be brought up in conversation.
And how cool my Dad was.
How Dad admitted to some classmates it would have just killed him if I’d decided to move to Arizona after my mom died when I was 13. My aunt, in Arizona, was my mom’s oldest sister, and I was quite close to my cousin. So my dad asked me if I wanted to move there and I shot back, “Don’t you want me here?”

Dad said that knifed him as I cried in his arms. I never heard another word about moving again.
As I grew older, Dad and I would chat about that night, Dad always said he’d never seen so many white kids in his life and he just KNEW he was going to jail.

Poor Dad. He thought those that would show up would be at least legal. He didn’t expect the whole town and some not so much.

Was it smart to throw a party like that? Of course not! Dad didn’t want to deny me a memorable anything and fought the “NO” he wanted to say about the beer, but I was legal now. Dad didn’t know and I wasn’t wise enough to even think to tell him not every party go-er would be 18.

Oh, and did I mention the police did patrol our street? To look back, I really did put my dad in a pickle. He thought his baby was just having a little get together. Dad enjoyed I had fun and the kids too, but he just knew he’d be hauled off one of those times the police patrolled the street.

We’re blessed nothing happened (back then you think nothing WILL happen) and like I said, my classmates still talk about my 18th birthday party, after all these years.

It musta been a great party—like I said, the day I remember, the night, well…
I made sure my hometown citizens knew it was birthday!
If I had kids—no way would that have such a shin-dig.
However, in 1976, it seemed like the thing to do.

Oh, what a night!

To the 70's

Wore this dress to work the other day. While Movie Man and I stood in a hallway, this Young Lady, with a need-sunglasses-for-her smile-approached. Our chat went a little like this:

Young Lady: I just love your dress!

Me: Thank you.

Movie Man: Stood in silence

Young Lady: Yea, you look so 70’s! So vibrant! I love it! (Her smiled widened. Sunblock anyone?)

Me: Well, my goodness, I never thought that. So thank you again!

Movie Man:

Stood in silence.

Young Lady: I bet the 70’s were fun! I wish I’d been there.

Me: Well, I kind of was.

Movie Man: Oh yea, she WAS there.

Young Lady: I guess I was there, too. Just don’t remember them.

Me: I do remember the 70’s, it’s the 80’s that are a little fuzzy….

Movie Man: Stood in silence, yet smirked

Young Lady: You were there? WOW!

Me: Stood in silence and nodded

Movie Man: Yea, she knows the 70’s quite well. (His smirk covers his face)

Young Lady: Tell me, did you have fun then? I just bet it was the best! Was it?

Me: (my own smile grew) I had a ball!

Movie Man: Yes, yes, I bet you did. (a touch of sarcasm)

Young Lady: I thought so. (Her eyes have a far off 8-track and 10 cent stamps yester-decade look)

Me: OK, so what year, in the 70’s, were you born?

Young Lady: 1975

Me:

Just stood in silence, gulped, smiled and nodded

Movie Man: (laughs) Hmm, she’s older than me.

Young Lady: Well, I need to go. Y’all have a great day. (Her smile blinds the room)

As she saunters away, I look at Movie Man. His smile almost rivals hers.

Movie Man: So, what were you doing when she was born? (He waits. His eyes sparkle with mischief. He knows me too well).

Me: (Paused to ponder). In 1975, I went to a party. Got drunk for the first time. Passed out in bed of a pick-up truck. Been at the party for a half hour.

The 70’s—a memory that can’t be duplicated--not sure I want them too. :)