Summer of 1973. My parents had just separated. I was seven years old, my brother eleven. We were both living that first summer after the separation with my mom, until my dad could get settled and then we would live with him. I think even my mom knew custody of two small children was not a good idea for her. But for that summer, we lived with a mother that was out of control. It was a small three bedroom house in Canoga Park, CA. The bedrooms were within a whisper away from the living room.
Post separation, and most likely pre separation, my mother was exploring her sexuality by rapidly dating both men and women. At this point, she wasn’t sure where she fell. When she did fall though, it was usually with a bottle in her hand. That was a wild summer of hedonistic parties, packed full of traumatic memories for the kids. Yippee!
One particular night’s festivities were at full speed. Lots of music, lots of drugs and lots of strange people. Some I knew, and some I didn’t. There was no dinner time, no bedtime story, no thought about the kids, except for “Come enjoy the party kids.” At some point, this seven year old got tired and went to bed.
My door started out closed but after several obnoxious party drunks stumbled in looking for the bathroom, I gave up and left it open. It wasn’t as if was going to fall asleep anytime soon. As I laid there in bed, my mom, some old dude and Danny, a friend of my brother, walked past my open door. The dude was in his 30’s. He drove a Trans-Am and had a big furry mustache. Danny was 14 and lived on the street behind us.
As they walked towards my mom’s room, she said, “Danny, we are going to show you how to make love.”
That was 1973, just a few celebrity drug overdoses beyond the hippy “Free Love” days. I was seven and that didn’t mean anything to me. My mom and dad had just separated and there was my mom taking my brother’s friend to bed with some creepy old dude. Apparently I was the only one that knew this was not right. I slowly got out of bed and creeped down the hall towards her room.
As I stood in the doorway, I watched my mom pull this dude and the neighbor boy down onto her bed. Trans-Am guy looked up at me. “Hey Barbara. Your son,” as he pointed towards me. She looked up at me with a familiar drunken glaze in her eyes. Tears in mine. I ran to my room. She followed me and sat on my bed with me and said some non memorable drunken words of explanation. That was the start of a long crazy summer of my childhood.
