The year I turned 18, my parents announced that I would no longer have a curfew. I had always had a curfew and had (with the exception of one time) always been on time for it. I used to stay at friend's homes who had later curfews, but was always on time for their curfew, so I'm sure it counts.
The night my parents told me there was no more midnight curfew, I got on the phone with a friend and made plans. I didn't know what we were going to do, but we were going to do it late into the night!
We did our usual. We cruised Albert St for boys. We played pool at our local haunt. Then, somehow, we ended up at a pathetically small house party. Three guys and ourselves. There was no alcohol or anything, so it's not even like it was a real house party. It was more like 5 strangers in a house with no furniture waiting until dawn.
I spent the evening on a balcony talking with a very handsome young man. That was it. Even in rebellion I couldn't be bad.
At 6am, I strolled into my own house with a grin, but nothing really to show for it. No gallavanting... no rabble rousing... just not coming home.
It was glorious. I never did it again.
It was your Grade 12 year. For which time you were mostly 17. And true, you never gave us any trouble...that we ever found out about until years later.
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