Not So Fast Times At Speedway High: Dad Goes Full Beast Mode...Again

It was exactly like this, but completely different.  Maybe.

The year is 1981, I'm a high school senior, and I'm on top of the world! It is my oyster!  I can do anything!  The future's so bright, I need to don a welding helmet!  I'm invincible!

I'm also a virgin. 

Damn. 

Sure, I liked girls. 

Girls are all I ever thought about. But when I was faced with the possibility...nah...pretty positive it woulda been a sure thing...I couldn't do it. 

Sorta.

The plumbing was fine, it was everything else that was fucked up.

In modern parlance, the hardware was good to go, but the software needed some work.

Why? 

I don't think I was ready emotionally or mentally for it. 

My head...the one on my shoulders...would have exploded.

Generally speaking, the following is where I was:

-My mindset was off in La-La Land for sure.

-I have a general WGAF attitude about senior year because I'll have enough credits to graduate, even if I take several blow-off, half-credit classes.

-My main interests my senior year were hanging out with my buddies, beer, weed, rock 'n' roll, kiss a girl if the opportunity arises, and cruising in my bad-ass 1969 Ford Torino station wagon.  

It is called "The Race Car" for obvious reasons.

Heading to Daytona for Spring Break, 1981.

The school swim team I've been on for my fourth year has become a drag, and my performance there has been nothing but lackluster the entire time.  

The only thing I've done that has impressed my head swim coach is to show up for every practice. 

The swim team assistant coach, who is a little weasel, has been workin' my last nerve.

I'll call him Mr. Buckhorn.

Anyhoo...one of my blow-off classes is Stage Craft...which entails much fucking off, cigarette smoking, and occasionally building sets for school plays/dramas/musicals.

My little sister, one year behind me, is in drama club, and she is extremely talented.  She can sing, act, and memorize lines like a pro. 

Unlike me, she's also popular, so there's a possibility of me poaching some of her weird/quirky/cute girlfriends who are also in theater. 

Somehow, my little scheme actually worked, and I attracted the attention of a real-life girl!

I'll call her Fergie. 

Fergie was my FIRST girlfriend.

One of the sets I helped construct for the drama club was covered with various bits of generic graffiti that the audience could see. 

Maybe the set was supposed to be a back alley or something...I don't remember. 

I noticed one of the bits of graffiti was "Fergie + Zoomie." 

How cute is that? 

She must have put that there.

The "Race Car" had bench seats. Most cars back then did. Nothin' better than Fergie sliding over next to me! 

Like the band Cake says, "Stick-shifts and safety belts, and bucket seats have all got to go." 

We dated for quite a while my senior year, and even into my first semester at IU Bloomington and she was a high school senior. 

She was a fine young lady from a good family.

Having Fergie as my first girl friend really made me feel good at the time. I was on cloud nine actually, for quite a while. 

I didn't think it would ever happen. 

"Wow, I have this girl who actually thinks I'm special and worth her attention.  She actually WANTS to be with me, and is enthusiastic about it!" ...a new, strange, and wonderful feeling.

I should have told her then how she made me feel. 

I didn't because I was a clueless, inexperienced kid.

She wasn't just a piece of meat to me. She was special, she was attractive, and I'm pretty sure she wanted to take the relationship further.

Maybe.

I couldn't do it.

She never begged. 

She had too much dignity, and besides, I wasn't THAT good-looking! 

We eventually went our separate ways.

I will always think fondly of her.

###

My little sister, who was close friends with Fergie, told me many years later, "She REALLY liked you." 

I said, "Yeah, I know." 

Sis repeated, "No....I mean she REEEEEAAALLLY liked you!"

Imagine Fergie is Sammy Hagar, and she is singing this to me.  That is precisely how it all played out. Allegedly.

###

So...one fine evening, a buddy from the swim team and I are out cruising in the race car and getting a belly full of beer.

We decide it would be a great idea to pay Mr. Buckhorn a visit at the school auditorium where a school play is being performed.

Mr. Buckhorn is there kinda as a chaperone/security guard to help keep idiots like my buddy and I from getting stupid and ruining everything for everybody.

I have a plan, and if my plan works, I will accomplish absolutely nothing.

I will walk up to Mr. Buckhorn...close enough that he will be able to smell the pungent, vile aroma of stale beer on my breath, and quietly say, "H-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i Mr. Buckhorn.  How are you doing on this fine evening?"

...and that's exactly what I did.

I wasn't loud or disruptive, but I had made my point.

My point was that I was a fucking maroon.

Mr. Buckhorn got the message loud and clear.

The next day I was informed that I would serve a week of in-school detention in a small windowless room with a bored and angry teacher standing guard.

I would only be allowed out of that dungeon for lunch and restroom breaks.

I was also kicked off the swim team.

Nothing happened to the buddy who was with me, because he was smart enough to NOT blow beer breath into a teacher/coach's face.

I informed Dad of the situation.

I had absolutely no idea what happened next would transpire.

Seems Pops went to pay Mr. Buckhorn a little visit shortly thereafter at the high school.

I don't know where the two of them met.  It may have been the school office, the pool, the hallway, Mr. Buckhorn's classroom...who knows? 

I have no idea what words were spoken.

All I know is words were exchanged, voices were raised, and it became physical.

Pushin', shoovin', punchin', wrasslin'...hilarity ensued just like it did almost ten years prior with the infamous baseball incident, and I wasn't there.

I don't know who won or lost.  I don't know if they had to be pulled apart.  I don't know if the police were called.  I know none of it.

Jesus H. Christ, Pops.  Enough.

Thanks, but you can stop doing that for me, Dad.  I don't need it done, OK?

I really didn't care about getting thrown off the team, except for the fact I would not be able to earn my "Varsity Letter."  For some reason, that mattered to me.

Oh well.  I got over it.

Not having to muck around with swimming meant I basically didn't have to do shit the rest of the year.

It was liberating...like a weight had been lifted.

Sour grapes?

Who's to say?

Certainly not me.

I didn't hold a grudge against Mr. Buckhorn.  He was doing his job.

In fact, I encountered him having car trouble on the roadside a few months later, and I helped him.

I told him then that I had no animosity towards him, and that he did what he was supposed to do...help maintain order at the school.

###

I was spinning my wheels in a quagmire of beer and weed, making a mess, and going nowhere fast.

I had no earthly idea what I wanted to do after high school.

I didn't have any passion about attending university, but many of my friends were going to IU Bloomington.

At the last minute, I decided to do the same.  I sent in my application very near the deadline, and I was surprisingly accepted.

I was a fucking sheep and following my buddies, but what the hell else was I gonna do?

Join the fucking Marine Corps?

Please...