America

I was 15, going on 16 – just like the song says in The Sound of Music.

I was invited to my first party at a friend’s house without parental supervision. Of course, this was unbeknownst to my parents, who would never have let me go if they had known that the Hendersons were off somewhere for the weekend, leaving my friend, Catherine, alone with her ten year-old sister. Obviously, the Hendersons had much more faith in their daughter’s good judgment and moral compass than my parents had in mine – a fact which I deeply resented, and I thought to myself, “Sure! Might as well fulfill their worst fears, since it’s clear that being a nice, compliant, goody two-shoes – which I have always been – doesn’t get me any respect!” I don’t remember anymore how I got to the party. Probably, my father drove me there. He probably gave me the “third degree” all the way over. I probably lied through my teeth, swearing up and down that the party would be duly chaperoned and there would only be girls and absolutely NO alcohol.
[Read more]

Dancin’ in the Street

Imagine. Summer, 1967. Saturday night. Four gals crammed into a beat-up Ford Falcon with the top down. No one’s got a date tonight, but no one cares. Just as the sun is setting, we pull into the drive-in window and order four Big Boy cheeseburgers, two orders of fries, and four large vanilla Cokes. We turn the dial to KDKA, Pittsburgh and sing along with Martha and the Vandellas – “Everybody’s Dancin’ in the Street”. The wind rushes through our hair as we cruise down Baum Boulevard, and we laugh. It’s a perfect moment.