Children, in particular having them is suppose to be some kind of cosmic karma to avenge your weary parents. Now, was I a good kid or bad one? From seventh to September of tenth grade I was grounded every other weekend, no joke. The freedom I’d gain was utilized to do whatever I wanted, no matter the cost. Eventually with the death of a classmate and it’s ineffectiveness, my mother gave up. However I was an amazing student, on honor roll, overachiever, extracurriculars out the a-hole, racked up awards at graduation. Still I know in my soul, my children will be my karma for being rebellious and doing shit I had no business doing.
Before finagling a way to get hard liquor, we would empty our backpacks every Friday after school, go into different Gristedes locations and steal all their Mike’s Hard Lemonades and Smirnorff’s. I mean emptying racks the first half of ninth grade, learning which teams did better together: Elana and Sara, me and Gina. one person distracted everybody while the person with the backpack filled it up, sans cardboard cases. Multiple locations on one day, all on rotation-weekly so we wouldn’t get caught. One time we sent in our friend, limbs gnarled from a life of beating cancers ass. We knew no one would stop him, we paid for a single item at the register, him lugging a bag filled with stolen goods. Usually we walked out, but this time we dared them, knowing we were getting away with murder.
My Eddie Bauer bag was the largest, we used it for every heist. We were strategic, too smart for own good. It was so reckless and bold, but it worked. I look back on the audacity of it all. Stunned by the sheer size of our balls. Do you believe in the rule of three’s? Did you listen to your parents? Via: Bless_Moon