Here is a timeless formula: Plenty of teenagers + party = something stupid will eventually happen.
It could be at a home party where kids are drinking and a fight breaks out, or something is broken.
Or it could be at a large public event such as the annual Red Feather football game. A few kids might try to show up drunk or try to bring booze into the event, or someone might take friendly taunting of the other fans too far.
But “stupid” can mean “interesting” to some kids as well. I’d like to think our daughter is not one of those.
Brenna has been to parties, attended Red Feather, and observed when things went wrong. Rather than cheering the “stupid,” she mentioned how such mishaps can spoil an evening, or at the very least, send it in a very different direction.
We parents are in a tough spot too. If you have a teen who wants to appear cool and throw a party, that puts us in difficult predicaments. We cannot condone alcohol consumption – these kids are underage after all, and as a host of a large gathering you’d be responsible for a large number of illegal drinkers.
So you might appear uncool to your child.
Fortunately, we haven’t had this problem as of yet for Brenna.
First problem – me. I’m about as uptight a parent as you’d find if boys and girls were mingling at our home. I’m not so worried about the girls – which is likely my naivety showing through. But I was a teenaged boy once, with a bunch of buddies. When something went wrong at a party, chances were it was a guy.
Nothing leads me to believe that has changed much over the years.
If our kid has a party outside, I’d be worried about someone falling into the pond, or tossing stuff in there. And then there’s the hot tub…
Indoors? We have a bar in the basement. Quite the temptation. We’d have to empty it out, especially of the Scotch, if we were to play hosts to a flock of teens.
As for Brenna hosting a cluster of her friends? We’ve never had a problem with that. They’re welcome anytime.
World Series versus chauffeur
The Friday ferry service – that was me.
Here in a nutshell was my Friday night, the first night the Chicago Cubs – my Cubs – hosted a World Series game since 1945. Keep in mind, first pitch was about 8:15 p.m.
Pick up daughter from work at 8 p.m. Bring her home to get ready to go to a party. Flip on the ball game to catch a few at bats
Take Brenna to her friend’s house about 8:45 p.m., where Maddy’s parents are giving them a ride to the party on the south end of town.
Return home and put the ball game on again.
Just as I’m settling in to watch a frustrating evening of baseball, I get the call shortly before 10 p.m. that the party’s over due to someone doing something stupid.
I head to the other end of town, snag my charges and head back to the north end.
“Can Maddy sleep over?”
No problem. We stop at Maddy’s place, she grabs her stuff and we’re off to our house, getting back probably about 10:30 p.m.
I watch the rest of the game, annoyed at the Cubs’ futility, but laughing at Bill Murray doing his impression of Daffy Duck singing “Take Me Out to the Ball Game” during the Seventh Inning Stretch.
And, of course, my wife – who attended the annual Rotary dinner – and I were both in bed asleep before the teenagers were.
Road report, chapter 2
Last week, I mentioned how some folks around here need to take it a little easier on the roads.
Well, I must continue to stress that point, as some knucklehead nearly slammed into the back of a CK Transit bus right in front of my eyes.
I was driving my daughter home one afternoon on St. Clair Street last week. We were northbound in the left-hand lane. A bus had stopped in the right-hand lane to let off passengers a ways in front of us. I instinctively let up on the gas a little bit, and a beige compact car when flying by us in the right lane.
The driver apparently didn’t realize the bus had stopped – brake lights are a heck of a giveaway, along with the rapid closure in distance, but who knows what the driver was paying attention to at the time. So as he closed in on the bus, I truly thought he – and this is a gender guess on the driver here – would slam into it.
I braked as well, and he pulled in front of me, zipped around the bus, and slid back into the right lane.
Had I not slowed slightly to begin with, and then braked, I can only imagine what the outcome would have been. He would have had no room to manoeuvre.
So right after he barely avoids an accident, we approach the intersection at McNaughton Avenue and a red light. Rather than wait for traffic, Mr. Impatient pulls into the Rexall parking lot. No, he didn’t park and go into the store; he instead drove through it to the McNaughton Avenue exit, where he turned right.
Talk about an impatient and distracted driver.
