My sweet sixteen
I’m not sure who decided that turning sixteen was so important for a young girl. I guess every culture has that line of demarcation where you shed the title of “child”, but in a middle-class family in the US when there’s no war or anything… turning sixteen basically means you can try to get your driver’s license. That is a big deal to the teen, but it’s hardly the same as becoming old enough to vote, or run for office, or serve on a jury of your peers.
When I was turning sixteen though, it seemed like the best and brightest moment of my life to date would spring forth from that day.
Then, I got grounded.
Two of the main invitees had be caught sneaking alcohol out of their house on the way to the beach earlier that day, and somehow that led to some confession or other that implicated me.
<em>Was I meeting them at the beach?
I don’t recall.</em>
Anyway, somehow I got drag in as accomplice in absentia and their mother called my mother…
Then my birthday got cancelled and my dad panicked that I might be an alcoholic, despite years of lecturing against even tasting alcohol… The whole thing was pretty awful.
At least I did get my driver’s license, in the end. And that gold necklace with my name stamped out in cursive. Aaaaah, the shallow Eighties.