When I was about ten or eleven, I think, some of the neighborhood kids would gather about 7 or 8 blocks away from where I lived where new houses were being built. The rule was I had to be home by dark, around 9:00pm. There were a couple older girls that came around every now and then. They were 12 or 13
and we would go to the basement and they would grade us on kissing
So now it's about 9:45 and dark and I know I'm in trouble. I pedal as fast as I can to get home. As I come to my corner I see my Mom sitting on the porch with a fly swatter in her hand and a look only a terrified kid can have
I was able to duck down behind a car before she saw me, we were the second house off the corner. I yanked the chain loose and wiped grease all over my face, hands and shirt
Then I stared pushing my bike home crying like I never had before. Mom, my bike broke and I have been pushing it from 9th street, we lived on 16th.
Mom consoled me and all was good, I even had ice cream that night