Every so often I go retro. Yes, those few painful moments in life when we look back at our youth. The year, 1977, my senior year in high school at Abilene Cooper High School, Abilene, Texas. I was a Cougar, a Cooper Cougar. Oh what a year! Let me recap the highlights:
- EMI sacked the Sex Pistols.
- Snow fell in Miami for the first time in history, prompting scientific belief that global cooling would doom us all.
- The Rings of Uranus were discovered. Nor Ouranos, but Uranus. [Inside joke – literally!]
- Star Wars opened to rave reviews by high fans. “Whoa man, that was bitchin!”
- Smokey and the Bandit was a hit, but the Pontiac Trans Am Firebird was the car I truly drooled over.
- Close Encounters of the Third Kind made me pray for aliens so that I could escape Saturday Night Fever and disco forever.It sucked then and it has a sucking power to the factor of the tenth power today.
Yup, that’s pretty much it. But 1977 was the year I got my first new car, a Chevy Vega GT hatchback. I went from invisibility to chick magnet with this baby! Feast your eyes on what you Cougarettes missed!
Not too many people had new cars while in high school. It was rare for parents to be able to afford cars, unlike today where kids get BMW’s just for staying in touch via text and Skype. Back then I pledged an oath not to drink, smoke, or toke and to maintain good grades. Which I did, until the freshman year in college corrupted me. It’s true!
Now go back in time and imagine this stud of an author with his long wavy brown hair flowing in the air as he passes you by. He winks, you melt. He stops. He opens the door and his gorgeous 6’1″, 135 pound svelte frame rises from the red faux leather seat. You are attracted to him, you know you are. He speaks, “You wanna slow ride?” [Foghat song reference you sick people!] You melt some more. He takes you to the back and opens the hatch and displays the folding rear seats that can accommodate two for a moonlight rendezvous. He slides in a Foreigner 8-track and plays “Feels like the first time.” You pass out from the melting encounter of the third kind.
Not buying it?
Okay, here is how it really went. I was getting ready to go home when a few girls approached me. They speak, “Aren’t you the older brother of Rebel [My Sister. Yes, it’s her real name]. I drool and spit all over the girls as I try to control my thoughts and lips.
I speak, “Sure, am! Uh huh, uh huh.” [Still acting cool like the character in Slingblade – “I like French Fry Taters, uh huh, uh huh.”]
Girls smiling, “Wanna give us a ride home – slowly?”
Me, still acting suave and much cooler from the excessive drooling, “You betcha!!!!!”
Now the entire time I was thinking I was a newly discovered chick magnet with this hot red Vega GT hatchback, my bitchin 8-track system, folding backseat love recliner and my long wavy Steve Perry [Journey fame] rock star quality haircut. Even though I had really thick black horn rimmed glasses, acne and braces – I thought I was the MAN! All that happened is that I drove these girls all around town, on my dime, so that they didn’t have to sweat walking home. What a Schmuck I was! Many years later, with corrective lenses of course, it dawned on me what I really was:
God how I hated high school! Enough of this retro crap! My god, “Staying Alive” is now playing in my mind. SOMEBODY PLEASE SHOOT ME!
Now do you see why I write fantasy and humor?!
What high school memories do you recall you wished you could forget?