It seems there's been some confusion lately, in lots of places, about the phenomenon known as the Teenage Indiscretion. It's a confusing animal, I know, as the term can encompass a variety of behaviors and events, and these behaviors and events can fall on a wide spectrum of what might be considered Serious and what might be considered Oh That's Just What We Do. And it got me thinking about my own Teenage Indiscretions.
I was a good kid. Sweet to adults, generally. Bad childhood, so, you know, there was a repressed Hellion Streak which fed directly into my Teenage Indiscretions and occasionally steered me into Whoooooa Crap territory. It's funny - before I started pondering them, I never realized I'd personally performed so many Teenage Indiscretions, particularly of the variety which make chubby teenaged Me sound like a freaking gangbanger.
Among my teenage indiscretions number the following:
- The time when I had a huge crush on Wilfredo Cortez and told everyone we were dating when we weren't, and, somehow, even his grandma found out, and she was thrilled. Because he was gay.
- The time when I combined cherry Koolaid powder, egg yolk, and Vaseline, and dyed sections of my hair bright red.
- My devotion to Hootie and the Blowfish, the depth of which was definitely an indiscretion. Particularly the drummer, who, coincidentally, lived three doors down from my great-uncle in South Carolina. I know this because, during one visit, my mother chased him down the sidewalk and made him sign a poster while I failed miserably at hiding behind a laurel bush and prayed to be swallowed up by hell itself.
- The time when I encountered a perpetually-swirling toilet in the girl's room and I, with excellent intentions, threw a wad of paper towels into it, which resulted in a flooded computer lab, some girl named Erin ratting me out, and the wrath of Mr. Andre, the diminutive assistant principal.
- The time when I interrupted a fight between my parents by screaming at my father I'M REALLY GONNA LOVE LISTENING TO YOU GET UP BEHIND THAT PULPIT AND PREACH AFTER YOU JUST CALLED YOUR WIFE A BITCH IN THE CAR ON THE WAY TO CHURCH and he accidentally almost drove off the BRIDGE WE WERE ON.
- The time when I pretended to have asthma to some girl who got really mad, whipped out her big Ziploc of inhalers, and slapped me across the face with them.
- The time I ran away... for three days.
- The time my boyfriend and I were busted making out in the empty church nursery with the lights out. By his mother.
- The time when my friend and I entered the (unlocked) big travel van of our youth leader's husband, which he used for musical traveling stuff, and my father caught us and ultimatum'd us: either fess up to them or hard labor at the church for two months. I chose labor. He upped it to three months. I held eye contact and said make it four. And he did. (The real mistake? Upping it to four months. Lesson learned; shelve your pride where shoveling rocks is concerned.)
- The time I hit my mother back.
- The times when I helped Charlie, who was a year older than me, with greasy hair and bad acne, develop his racket for selling bootleg Blue Raspberry Blow-Pops after school by distracting the morning delivery guys behind the school with a story about an ambiguous lost pet, complete with tears and a little hysteria. It worked twice. Eventually, the pressure got to me, and, mid-operation, I pretended to see a puppy and took off running. Never was built for crime.
- The time I was stuck in the front seat of the church van with our youth leader's wife, who disliked me (and I can't imagine why) and she snapped at me for saying oh, Lord. And I was already angry with her for something, so I asked well, can I say oh, geez? No. Okay.. well... oh, man? Huffy sigh; I guess if you HAVE to say something vulgar. And I kinda snapped inside and replied; Lord God Geez, lady, what the hell is your PROBLEM with me? She did not reply.
- The second time my boyfriend and I were busted making out in the empty church nursery with the lights out. By the pastor.
- The times when I would ditch the stupid required pep rallies (they're character-building) to plaster myself against the walls of the unlit, unsupervised orchestra room with fellow likeminded orchestra dorks. I do not feel my character suffered.
- The time when we went to the beach and I stole a ring from the gift shop - gold, with a heart cut-out and a pink stone. Turned me green. Wore it anyway. Til it ate my skin.
- Loose, baggy, pinstripe-y pants. Lime-green things. Clunky boots which did not work. Jeans three sizes too big. Everything I ever ordered from a Delia*s catalog. I'm so sorry, people with eyes.
- The first time I smoked (thanks, Charlie) in seventh grade and didn't realize that I wasn't inhaling, until I inhaled, and that was a mistake, seeing as how 1) it was disgusting, and 2) it's been on-and-off, but I really only just quit for good last Thanksgiving.
I'm sure there are more.
But although I cussed at a youth leader, got to second base in the house of the Lord, and broke into a Jesus music van for absolutely no reason, you'll notice the item not found among my list of Teenage Indiscretions:
Sexually assaulting young children.
Because Teenage Indiscretions are not the same thing as felony sexual assault.
Never figured it'd be necessary to write those sentences.
Hashtag Thanks Duggars And Their Supporters For The Opportunity.
