my wild ride: 16/365

It’s not that I want to be a rule-follower. I just grew up that way, but it doesn’t make any sense. It was the sixties, for god’s sake. There was Woodstock. Hippies were cool.

But in eighth grade, at a Latin Convention (I know), I snuck out the window to meet a boy. I didn’t get caught but the next day someone told on me. There was the principal’s office and my parents… Well, that whole episode put an end to my wild ride.

After that, I specifically did not want to get in trouble. I still don’t like being in trouble.

Isn’t it wonderful the way the world holds both the deeply serious, and the unexpected mirthful?
–Mary Oliver, from Our World

~

 365 true things about me

19 thoughts on “my wild ride: 16/365

  1. I just recently added “Our World” to my reading stack. I am longtime Mary Oliver fan.

    As for rule following, well I am not one–even now–but I might have been if I had been caught more often. However, age has taught me the value of being more prudent in my selection of rule breaking. I suspect I have a grudging respect for rules, now.

    Karen

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    • Karen, looking through Our World for that quote, I added it to my stack to re-read : ) Re rules, I’ve noticed recently, when I find myself about to just follow a rule, that I’m giving it more thought. What if I didn’t…

      Liked by 1 person

  2. Great story! I had a similar encounter at a Deca convention…. I didn’t sneak out, but invited a boy in my room. Nothing happened – but it was strictly against the rules, I was in High School after all and in the care of my teacher. 🙂 I too prefer to stick to the rules…. for the most part 🙂

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  3. I fell in love with a hobo. Met him on a cross Canada train ride to Expo 67 in Montreal. I was 15 then… traveling with my fellow Luther Leaguers… to a convention in Hamilton. We were well chaperoned… I might add… but the hobo & his merry band endeared themselves to our faithful leaders by engaging us all in a sing-a-long-athon… from somewhere in the middle of the prairie lands on through to our convention port of call.

    We said our good-byes in Hamilton… yet not without arranging a rendezvous in Montreal…at the amusement park on the Expo site. And lo & behold… the merry band & their leader… showed up clean shaven… suited & tied… looking much like the rest of us. I was smitten.

    Is it any wonder… our chaperones… readily indulged us in the company of said hobos?

    There are rules and then there are rules. ~;D

    Cynthia… thank you for this memory… and for indulging me in my story. xxx

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  4. OK, finally—a difference! lol I was not a bad kid. In fact, until I turned 12, I was an exceptionally good kid. My teenage years—still not bad, but rebellious only in that I wanted to do what I wanted to do (a boy was sometimes part of the scenario), and sometimes that led to me getting in trouble. I didn’t like the “trouble” part, but it didn’t keep me from doing other things I wanted to do lol I started becoming the more responsible, mature-minded person I am (well, other than the very big “kid” that will forever inhabit my psyche) in my 20s. I’m curious what made this particular “thing about you” come to mind?

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    • Donna, see I don’t know why I didn’t have a path similar to yours–not liking the trouble but doing what I wanted anyway… And this thing came to mind b/c after that post about following rules, I kept wondering why in the world I was such a rule follower. It didn’t make any sense to me. It was never anything I aspired to. Then I wrote the hippies post, which only made it all seem weirder. Then I remembered the Latin Convention…

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  5. The only reason I’m not a fucking pirate is that I live in terror of getting into trouble. It makes no sense. I was raised to question authority and I have always eagerly complied. I have stood up to bullies, teachers, dangerous men in a violent mood, bosses, and even the CEO of a company I worked for in the 90’s (I blush to think of how earnest I was). DO NOT TELL ME WHAT TO DO. Unless you have the power to give me a ticket or fine me or just point out that I have been imperfect. Then I will melt into a sad spill of embarrassed tears, even as I very carefully toe that straight and narrow line. Sigh. Good to know I’m not alone.

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  6. Pingback: don’t tell me what to do: 59/365 | catching days

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