But you know, work and shit.
And for any of you naysayers about the ability of an almost twelve year old child being able to drive a stick shift, I highly recommend checking out my never to be published memoirs:
Feel free to skip Chapter 1 – Birth to Age 10 – The Red Knee High Sock Years and go straight to Chapter 2.
Years 11 and 12 – The It’s a Wonder I Survived Years
In that chapter you’ll be introduced to my childhood best friend, who my mother renamed A Bad Influence. But she wasn’t.
I’d absolutely been on board for all of the mischief making, to include stealing her mother’s car – an old Volkswagon Beetle – a stick shift, mind you – and taking it for a spin, when we were barely 12 years old.
Granted, that spin eventually ended up with us crashing into a tree (and seatbelts totally weren’t a thing in the early to mid 1980’s), so my head cracked the windshield when she’d drifted to the right and WAY over-corrected to the left, but it was all good.
That cracked windshield was PROOF we’d been having a good time.
And if you’re up for some more mischief making tales, flip over to Chapter 3 – Years 13 and 14 – The Menudo Phenomenon to see that I had more than one friend who could be considered a bad influence. Because that one convinced me it was a GREAT idea to hop on a NJ Transit bus – IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT – and end up at NYC’s Port Authority getting questioned by NYC’s finest about what two teenage girls were doing there.
IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT.
But Menudo were making an appearance at some morning show and we were totally going to meet them.
And then we didn’t.
Which was how we somehow hopped on the subway and ended up in the middle of the Bronx?
Yeah. I’m not really clear on the details anymore and since we flim-flammed the Po-Po into believing we were absolutely above board, there’s no police record for me to refer to.