t was the early 1970’s in Canoga Park, California. For those who don’t know Los Angeles, that is out in the corner of the San Fernando Valley, one of the hottest and smoggiest parts of the valley. Back then, there were acres of open land and tumble weeds that would blow down the street during the Santa Ana’s. Look that one up. Canoga Park was just a drunken car ride from Calibasis where my alcoholic mom would frequent a saloon on a dirt road. I was told later in my life it was the bar that Charlie Manson hung out in.
My parents split up just after school let out for the summer of 2nd grade. My dad had enough sense to leave the chaos of drugs, tears, and yelling that surrounded my mom. He decided to leave my brother and I behind for the summer. Of course through the eyes of adulthood, I understand he needed to get settled before he took custody. Besides, as he later said, he though we should have that time with Barbara. That was the summer between pain and confusion. After a bit of back and forth trial and error, my mom realized she was a lesbian. Very suddenly, the house became a continuous lesbian party house. I know what some of you guys are thinking, oh how exciting, kissing women everywhere. This was the 1970’s and they were not lip stick lesbians. But, that didn’t matter to my 11 year brother.
It was common knowledge in my neighborhood that we were white trash and it was becoming well known that our house was descending into chaos. Police breaking up parties, rocks through windshields of ex-boyfriends that are stealing shit, a vicious dog that ripped a girl’s face off and a pool full of naked lesbians were some of the things you could expect at our house. You get the picture.
It was a hot day in the valley and my mother was having a pool party with all of her new female friends. Most of them were completely naked. My brother of course ran down the street and told all of his friends. They did not believe him. Even with our reputation, a pool full of naked women was too much to believe for a bunch of 10-14 year olds. So he decided to invite all of the neighborhood boys to go swimming. The next thing you know, 10 boys of varying ages are marching through the house and pouring out into the backyard. It was an amazing sight. The simultaneous yet differing reactions from all involved was hilarious, in hind sight. The boys of course were in awe. The braver ones floating out to the pool and openly staring at the bare breasts and 1970’s vaginas. Some of the shyer boys stayed near the patio door, looking shell shocked. A few of the women were drunk and either ignored the boys or laughed and splashed them. My mom taunted them and told them to jump in. The butches and more sane women were not amused and told Barbara to get the kids to leave.
Just another crazy day in my life.
