Brought to Heel

I remember cringing when my parents or their friends used to say “I remember when”, what ancient twaddle I’d silently scoff wanting to yell, ‘YES we know you remember way back when but this is now, new society new people get on with it and forget it, these days are the good days‘. Of course I didn’t dare say anything of the sort. We had utmost respect for parents and adults. Yes in those days everything was done differently, things seemed pretty carefree from a teen perspective. Were things better than today? Well hazarding a guess yes they were.

For as long as society has existed teenagers have challenged or at least tried to flaunt to laws of the land with each generation attempting to do it in as many creative ways as possible. Underage drinking has only existed since someone decided to impose an age limit. Both my parents were teetotal but kept an impressive looking bar stocked with every spirit imaginable, spirit levels, decanters, every conceivable type of glass, last but not least my fathers huge collection of whiskey miniatures lovingly gathered from all corners of the earth. Guests would come in and perch at the bar while my father stood proudly behind it happily serving. We of course didn’t dare sample anything, I can’t recall being tempted either, fear of incurring my fathers wrath was enough deterrent. It didn’t put me off the idea of sampling alcohol elsewhere though. My sheltered childhood, distinctively different accent and attitude had set me apart from my peers so naturally I wanted to fit in. Popping into the pub with them on a Friday night seemed a good way of doing it. My father was a magnificent individual but strict disciplinarian although I feared him finding out I still dared my luck and somehow or other I’d managed to sneak off to the bar on three occasions without detection.
Mother had a beautiful collection of stiletto shoes in every colour, I’d sneak a pair under my coat then my newfound friends would splatter me with makeup and filled with bravado I’d pop the shoes on, totter into the bar and order the Bacardi and Cokes.
I was happily sipping away one night when my father walked in, he’d obviously followed me. Despite the makeup my face must have turned gothic white with shock but to my amazement he sat down beside me smiling. “So what’s that your drinking” he asked good humouredly. ’Coke ’ I lied, praying he wouldn’t detect the Bacardi as he took a sip. “So how many times have you been here?” he said still sipping and looking perfectly well tempered. ‘Four times now daddy, and thank you for being so wonderful about it’ I replied beaming.
“That’s alright darling, now look at the time I better head home” he rose to his feet then glanced at his watch before looking back to me adding, “by the way, you’ve got 11 minutes to get home, I’ve timed the distance, if you carry your mum’s shoes and run barefooted you might make it in ten minutes”. The distance was not much under 2 miles, Roger Bannister ran the first 4 minute mile, I ran 1.8 miles in 10.02 minutes.

Times have changed, things were much better then. In case your curious I'm teetotal.