When I was fifteen I was stupid.
Like your run-of-the-mill sassy teenager, I ran around untamed and brimming with bigger-than-life ideas and plans that were mostly a hair shy of insanity.
The fourth of five kids, I often felt like the things I did didn’t matter. Jessie, the oldest and only brother had the place of sibling leader. Leslie came next. She was the smart one, the responsible one, the sister that always had the right answers. Then there was Nikki. Caring and thoughtful, she was the sensitive and kind sister. And bringing up the rear was Rachel, the youngest. The baby. The cute and sweet sister. Though different personalities, the one thing they all shared is talent. Endless gobs of talent and smarts. Honor roll, concert pianist, cellist, scholarship winners…really, it’s disgusting how I could go on and on. So I won’t. The thing is, there was stiff competition to be seen and heard.
I ended up being the LOUD sister. Yep. You can ask anyone from my high school glory days. I’m sure they’ll agree. Heck, how else was I gonna be heard in a group like that?
Besides being loud, I was on occasion, and for the better part of my fifteenth year, STUUUUUUpid.
This story begins with a cute boy. (As all stupid, fifteen-year-old stories likely start). Cute Boy called and asked if I could hang out. My parents had a strict NO DATING till 16 rule. They were ruining my life! Desperate to see Cute Boy, I came up with a plan. I decided to sneak out in the middle of the night through my bedroom window, where older and obviously wiser, Cute Boy would pick me up and take me away. Sigh. So romantic. We would return a few hours later and no one would ever know. Brilliant, right? And because teenage girls can’t go anywhere alone, I convinced my best friend to join in on my plan.
The sneaking went off without a hitch. Bestie and I escaped and Cute Boy picked us up. We talked and laughed and felt so very clever about how easily we snuck out. We stopped at a convenient store and loaded up on soda and candy. After driving around with the music blaring, we eventually stopped at a park. I sat beside my best friend and shivered with devious excitement. This was definitely something we would have to do every weekend.
It was then a car pulled up to the curb. A patrol car. It took 1.5 seconds for me to remember that Orem City had a curfew law. And 1 second more to feel true gut-sinking fear.
I. Was. Dead. Meat.
At 4:10 in the morning, Orem Police Department called my dad.
Ten minutes later Dad showed up and I could tell he was angrier than I’d ever seen him because he didn’t say a word. Not while I followed him out of the police station with my head hung low. Not when I climbed into the car. Not when we walked inside my house early in the morning. I don’t remember much of what he said when he finally spoke, but I do remember this:
“Erin, I’m disappointed in you.”
No matter the stupidity, or absurd plan, Dad still loved me.
Happy Father’s Day, Dad!
If everything goes as planned, Dad and I will be heading into surgery early Tuesday morning.
June 17th is the last day I’ll be taking any photo shoots for, well, awhile.