SURFIN' WITH THE VIET CONG

We would listen to “Eat Your Paisley” by The Dead Milkmen on a boombox and try to skate John’s half-pipe in his driveway. John could skate ok because it was his ramp but me and the other guys sucked bad. While we were out front, John’s parents would lock him out of the house, and if we wanted something to drink we had to drink water out of the garden hose. They wouldn’t even let him in to pee. Years later I realized his parents were definitely having sex during these skate sessions, to the blasting sounds of “Beach Party Vietnam”.

   My Italian grandfather came to visit for about a month after my folks split up, and would rant at the tv about the impending Bush/Dukakis election. He even convinced me to volunteer for the Dukakis campaign at twelve years old. Anyway, one night I was over at John’s house for dinner, one of the few times they let me inside their house, and they fed me a good meal and we were playing with legos afterwards. The parents were chatting amongst themselves, dissing Dukakis, and I yelled “THAT’S STUPID. YOU’RE STUPID!” They rolled their eyes and bit their tongues and amazingly didn’t say anything or throw me out of their house, but I stopped going over there, partly out of embarrassment. 

   Years later, me and mom had moved across town and I was working for my dad, installing wiring for home security systems in huge homes that were being built in Orlando. After primary construction was completed, lots of little crews would be working simultaneously on the job site- roofers, window guys, electrical, and so on. Whatever job crew arrived first in the day would usually bring a boom box and choose a radio station that everyone would listen to for the whole day. With any luck it was the classic rock station, but sometimes you’d get stuck with adult contemporary, or worse, the new country music station. Well one day I get to a job site with my dad and somebody is already blaring Rush Limbaugh. This was the worst of all worlds because it made time go slower, and my 17-year-old blood was just boiling, listening to his horseshit while I sweated in the Florida summer heat, pulling security wires through the attic of some asshole’s future mansion. Finally I screamed “CAN SOMEBODY PLEASE PLAY SOME FUCKING MUSIC?” And the owner of the boom box appeared to take issue with this disturbance. It was John’s parents and they were working together doing the drywall.