A Blast From the Past

Before my mom returned home a few of weeks ago, she got in touch with an old family friend who had recently moved back to California after being gone for several years.  Pat’s arrival into town sparked some reminiscing. 

Before I tell the story, I have to just put it out there that I had/have good parents.  I didn’t always like how they parented (because I was a brat what kid does), but they didn’t ruin my life either.  I have to preface with that, because, while funny, this story doesn’t put them in the best light. 

It’s very difficult for a California Valley Girl to admit this, but my parents were square dancers for part of my formative years {hides head in shame}.  While they initially started because they both enjoyed dancing, it was clear that the socializing and partying were far more fun and they took full advantage of it.  As, when they first started, I was too young to stay at home on my own, they sometimes hired a babysitter to stay with me when they went out, but most of the time, as the only child, they dragged me along with them.  I was a mascot of sorts – Jack and Sandy’s little girl who sat in a folding chair on the sidelines reading her books or coloring or bouncing to the music.  After the dances, the group headed to the local pizza place for pizza and beer.  That part of the night always lasted much longer than the dances.  I have vivid memories of my mom making me a “bed” of two dark-wooded chairs upholstered in red velvet pushed together and falling asleep in the middle of the pizza place on numerous Saturday nights.

One such Saturday was the night that my mom and I had a good laugh over.  Pat and her husband Dale lived two blocks away, and they drove the five of us to the dance that evening.  After a long night at the pizza place (and a lot of beer), my dad carried me out to the car and the five of us drove back home – maybe four miles away.  Just before turning off the main road into the neighborhood Dale was pulled over by the police.  

Now this was back in the late seventies, maybe early eighties, so the crackdown on/education about drinking and driving had not quite happened.  The officer said that Dale was driving a little listlessly and asked if he had been drinking.  In the straightest of face, Dale said, “No sir, we’re square dancers and drinking is against the rules.”  When asked where we were headed, the men in the car pointed in the direction of the neighborhood – just blocks away.  When the officer went back to the car to check Dale’s license, Pat was almost hysterical.  “Oh no!” she cried, “We’re going to be arrested and they’re going to put Kimmy in foster care!”  At the time, no one was laughing, but now that’s the most infamous line of the story. 

Anyhow, the officer came back to the car and let Dale off with a warning to go straight home.  They were lucky, because just a couple of short years later, at the least, Dale would have been hauled off to jail. 

Just last week, I was out with one of my old friends from the neighborhood and we laughed about my parents, their social life, and this story in particular.  She mentioned remembering how there were always people over at my house.  And there were.  I would imagine after that night, staying in and partying in their own home sounded like a much better idea.