Boys, Booze and Bongs

Narrative Essay

I like to think of myself as a good kid. But I find myself debating the matter, and more often than not, I feel like if it were someone else judging my actions they would put me on the naughty list. Rebellion is something everyone goes through, a stage. But what determines when rebellion becomes a habit, a lifestyle?

When I was a child rebellion was stealing my sister’s barbies and hiding them under my bed. It wasn’t as if she had more than me or that hers were better than mine. I just knew that it would make her mad, or as my mom would say it “got her goat”. Making my sister mad was a game for me and the prize was satisfaction for getting away with it. Rebellion.

But that was childs play. In junior high I learned that real rebellion happened in three main categories, the first one being: Boys.

In Junior high my hormones shifted into gear and they revved for a boy named Ted. Ted was my “geeky with a six pack” neighbor.I never really found him attractive but he was the first boy to show me any sexual interest. He didn’t waste any time either. Things went from “Hey Cutie! How was your day?” to “send me a pic of your b***s” faster than you can say “Hormonal boy corrupting innocent teenage girl”. I was hanging out with my friend, Courtney, that day. She was my backbone, the voice of reason keeping me from giving into his constant urging. But Courtney’s mom came to pick her up and Courtney left taking my ability to say “No.” with her. I didn’t want to send it and I knew it was a mistake the moment my phone said “Message Received”. And, of course, the next day I went to school forgetting my phone at home and, yep you guessed it, mom found it and snooped. Curiosity killed my mothers perfect image of me. Later that night, my parents sat me down for a “Pow Wow”. My first instinct was to deny all accusations but there was no pretending like the blonde hair, pink lacy target bra and dance team sweatpants weren’t mine. After that talk I not only lost my phone, but my dignity as well. But the only lesson the incident taught me was: Don’t leave any evidence. And that’s the thing about us teenagers. Yelling at us and punishing us will teach us a lesson, it’s just not the lesson you wanted us to learn.

As I grew older my b***s got bigger and sexual attention from boys became an everyday thing. That’s when I moved on to rebellion category number 2: alcohol.

Drinking at my own house was too dangerous. My parents rarely kept alcohol in the house. Even when they did they kept an eye on it at all times. But that didn't stop me. My best friend, Franki’s, mom was a lot more easygoing than my parents and she definitely didn’t keep stock of anything in her liquor cabinet. Franki and I created our own drink: orange soda and vodka. Between the two of us we shared one glass. Soon enough we were on the floor laughing, Franki’s mom yelling at us from her room to shut up. We weren’t actually drunk, or even tipsy for that matter, but it was still fun to pretend. I didn’t actually drink until high school. Even then it wasn’t often, only those rare occasions when my sister came home from college bringing a bottle of cheap vodka for me. Alcohol was hard to get my underaged hands on. That’s when I discovered a substance which was surprisingly easily available to an adolescent who knew where to look for it. The third category of rebellion: drugs, and more specifically: marijuana.

I’d been dating Brent for over a year and i was more than sick of him, but I didn’t know how to get rid of him. I began texting Joe - a boy who’d been trying to get into my pants for years now-. I wasn’t attracted to Joe either, but flirting with him behind my boyfriends back was dangerous and I was craving the adrenaline that came with that adjective; even if it came in the form of an immature, overly douch-ey, wanna be frat boy like Joe Young. He said he just wanted to hang out. Sounds totally innocent, right? Well, little did I know “hanging out” meant driving to the bike trail at 11 o’clock at night, smoking a blunt in the woods, then spending the night in his car because “you can’t go home, you’re high”. I wasn’t high and sitting in the passenger seat with nothing but a thin bed sheet to keep me warm for the entire 20 below night made me want to be laying in my warm, safe bed more than anything. I’m not really sure what lesson I learned that night. Maybe “Don’t ‘hang out’ with a sketchy dude, smoke weed with him, then allow him to convince you to spend the night in his uncomfortable small Mazda. Regardless, I would NEVER do that again.

I did smoke weed again, but not with a boy I barely knew. Instead, it was with two really good girl friends, and it was much more fun. It was also the night during which I kissed a girl for the first time. And I’m not trying to be ironic when I say that I liked it.

There are kids who never dare to be rebellious, kids who grow out of rebellion and kids who never grow out of rebellion - the ones who end up in jail when theyre 38 -. And then there’s me. I still smoke pot, I still drink and I still do dirty things with boys. I’ve never failed a class, I respect adults(except for cursing at my mom due to my premenstrual dysphoric disorder), I’ve only been in trouble with the law once over a stupid prank call (and they even let me off easy because they could tell I was a “good kid”) I’ve never snuck out before, I’ve never even broken curfew. So, what does that make me? Is there such a thing as a pot smoking, beer drinking, girl kissing, mother cursing, boy teasing good girl?