The Mini Van Soap Box

My mother and I had a very basic understanding during my teenage years.

Don't have the school call me.
Don't have the cops call me.

While although I had some pretty close calls, I can say that neither of those things ever happened.

I can not, however, say the same for my childhood years.

I'm not sure how old I was, or even what time of the year it was. I do know who my accomplice was though. It was Greg. And to this day I still blame him. Most things were his idea, if you must know.

I'm sure it was closing in on the end of summer vacation, and the many things that we entertained ourselves with were becoming boring and mundane. With nothing to do except watch The Great Space Coaster, go to the pool or sneak a drink out of his mom's wine jug - somehow the idea of destruction of private property seemed like a grand idea.

With huge rocks in hand, we settled on the corner sidewalk IN PLAIN SIGHT, and played tic tac toe on the door of our neighbors RV. With rocks. We scratched our tic tac toe board and doodles into the paint of his RV.

Oh, I forgot to mention who our neighbor was.

He was a cop.

We were fuckin' Einsteins, Greg and I.

I'm not entirely sure how the story ends. That could be because so many years have passed - or it could be that we were beaten within an inch of our lives. It's all a bit fuzzy. But I'm fairly certain that Greg and I were adamant about how it was the others fault. I don't really think our folks cared much at that point.