Manlius, New York 1986. I'm the one holding the squirt gun. Jenny's the one on the far right.

Everyone has at least one.

A story.

A story that they can’t live down.

A story that resurfaces at every family gathering.

A story that’s infamous in its embarassment.

A story that no matter how hard you try, you’ll never be able to shake.

Everyone has one.

Even me.

It was the summer of 1985.  I was entering my sophomore year.  I lived in a little town in upstate New York, a suburb of Syracuse.  Jenny was my BFF.  She and I had both moved to Manlius during our awkward middle school years.  From day one we were inseparable.

Sleepovers were a common occurrence in my growing up years.  This summer was no exception.   A typical sleepover evening would consist of eating Pizza flavored Combos and peanut M&Ms and drinking lots of Mountain Dew. Sometimes we listened to music and danced around like teenage girls.  Prank calling our friends wasn’t unheard of.  On one occasion I recall tape recording ourselves singing along to John Cougar Mellencamp’s “Jack and Diane”.

On this particular night we were staying over at Jenny’s house.  And apparently the typical sleepover activities weren’t enough to peak our interest because we hatched a plan, the execution of which would go down in (our) history as the dumbest, most moronic thing  we ever did as kids.

It was a slow night in our sleepy little town.  We were bored.  We called some of our friends.  Who just happened to be boys.  And who just happened to be bored too. We must have just happened to be hungry (after all those Combos and M&Ms) because we agreed to meet these boys at the Burger King  just after midnight.  Now let me emphasize, for the sakes of our mothers and our daughters, we had no other intentions than to have a couple of fries and hang out with our friends.  I was in the midst of a long distance letter writing campaign with my first real love and Jenny… just had a hankering for a strawberry milkshake.

Since neither of us had a driver’s license, or the guts to “borrow” a car, or access to said car, we were left with our own two feet.  This wouldn’t have been a problem had we been close to Burger King.  But as it was, we were in the next town and had about 2 1/2 miles to walk.  Apparently this didn’t deter us.  After we thought Jenny’s parents were good and tucked in for the night, we  snuck downstairs, past the golden retriever, and out the back door into the cricket-filled summer night.

From Jenny’s house after a quick turn down Salt Springs Rd. it was a pretty straight shot down Duguld to town. If you’ve ever been to upsate New York,  you know “densely forested” describes it well.  Without many street lights, we were left to “feel” our way down the road.  I think our paranoia antennae was on overload because at the slightest sound of a car engine, we jumped off the road and into the bushes.  All the Mountain Dew didn’t help either.  We kept creating scenarios of what would happen if we got caught.  I remember the terms “so dead” and “so grounded” well.

We finally made it into town and to our designated meeting spot, Burger King.  But, no fries or shakes were to be had because, apparently, Burger King did not remain open all night.  I guess it never dawned on our 15 year-old brains that the world would not be waiting up for us at all hours of the early morning to cater to our 15 year-old whims.

So, with just two 15 year-old boys with two BMX bikes and no place for a burger, we were left with just one option.  We proceeded to hop on the backs of those bikes with those two boys and ride around the town.  Well, even though our little town was not waiting up for us at all hours of the early morning to cater to our 15 year-old whims, there was somebody else willing to.  The Town of Manlius Police Department.  What our 15 year-old brains were not aware of was that our town had a curfew.  All kids were to be home and anxiously engaged in something productive after 11 PM.  Even on weekends.

By this time it was well after midnight and we were anxiously engaged in some very nonproductive tandem bike riding.  Our late night escapades were cut short at the first sign of flashing red lights approaching from behind.  Jenny and her tandem partner did what any good sane citizen should do.  They stopped and got off their bike.  My partner and I, on the other hand, must have still been sporting our paranoia antennaes because, instead of stopping, we shot off into the night on a mission to “outrun the law”.

This is where the story gets a little hazy on my part.  When I “put it all behind me” I blocked out much of the “running from the law” part.  I do know that at one point we ditched the bike and began a foot chase.  Foot chase meaning he and I were running around willy-nilly with no plan or distination in mind.  I don’t think the policeman ever got out of his vehicle to pursue us.  I found out later that Jenny was in the squad car with the policeman offering her best guesses as to where we might have run.  They drove around slowly together for close to an hour while I ran my rear off trying to escape whatever trouble I was destined to be in.

The chase ended when I saw the squad car sitting at the side of the road and I “gave myself up” because I was just too darned tired of running and wanted to go to bed. ( Maybe that’s why, to this day,  I hate running so much)  I reluctantly slid in next to Jenny and we proceeded to try our hand at “sweet talking” the officer into not telling our parents about this little incident.  Yes, our 15 year-old brains thought we had a chance at this.

As we pulled into Jenny’s driveway, the officer said to her,  “kindly wake up your parents and ask them to come down and speak to me”.  WHAT!?!  He wanted Jenny to do the dirty work?  Didn’t he want to bang on the door  and have them open it to the dramatic scene of their teenage daughter and her best friend in the custody of the local police in the wee hours of the morning, just like in the movies?  Nope.  Jenny reluctantly interrupted her snoozing parents and gave them  a quick summary of our sequence of stupidity and invited them to converse with the kind officer.

Needless to say, both of our parents were … shall we say… livid! Those scenarios that we created earlier while traveling down Duguld Road were realized.  I can’t remember what fate belied Jenny, but my hopes of sleeping over, hanging out, phone calling or any other form of socializing were put on hold for an entire month.

My 15 year-old brain learned some very valuable lessons that night.

• Manlius, New York has a strict police-enforced curfew
• Burger King isn’t open after midnight
• Sneaking out requires careful planning and thorough research
• Police officers are impossible to sweet talk
• Parents have a hard time seeing the humor in some things

My now 38 year-old brain is now realizing some things from that night:

• All homes with 15 year-old girls should be armed with an alarm system
• As the parent of a teenage girl, I’m not a big fan of the “sleepover”
• My parents were more lenient than I would be in the same situation
• Mountain Dew does not mix well with 15 year-old brains
• Memories like these are priceless
• So are childhood friendships

Now, what’s YOUR story???