Don't Trust Anyone Over 30

Okay, first a disclaimer. I'm putting my full trust in the confidentiality of Don't Tell Margaret. I don't mind all the cuzin's out there hearing some dirt. But if the information contained in the following post ever got out among the assorted Aunts and Uncles, well, lets just say I'd deny everything, blame it all on Jenni, and head for some secluded island where I could earn my living playing happy hours under my new stage name, Master Davidson.

In my family, we've always had a no snitching policy among the siblings. This is a major problem on the streets of Philadelphia these days (my east coast readers should get the reference), but it's always served us siblings well. In fact, in all these years, not one of the four of us has ever violated the pact. Not to my knowledge, anyway.

As a teenager, I believe I benefitted the most from our no snitching pact. Ann was already older and on her own, Ed pretty much did whatever he wanted to anyway, and Mare was still a baby and years away from any kind of shenanigans. So that left little ole' me, 14 going on 40 and up to my eyeballs in all things trouble.

Which brings me to our family vacation to Fort Lauderdale, Florida, in the fall of 1982. Ann was going to college at The Art Institute of Fort Lauderdale (located on the beach on the bottom floor of the Holiday Inn! It's true, you can ask her), and my Mom and Dad decided to visit for a few days. They were probably worried sick about Ann's living situation and wanted to see for themselves what she had gotten herself into. Of course, this is only speculation on my part. My parents never revealed their true motivation for our vacation destination.

Anyway, our traveling party consisted of me, Mom, Dad, and Marybeth, who was only about 17 months old at the time. Ed was 17 and stayed home to have a party on Palm Road (but you didn't hear that from me - remember, no snitching). So there I was, a teenager stuck in a hotel room with his parents and his baby sister. Needless to say, I was restless and bored, not to mention suffering from nicotine fits as I had taken up smoking the year before. I was desperate for a little freedom and looking for any excuse to break away from the pack. I found the perfect opportunity one night when my parents were dropping Ann off at her apartment after dinner.

"Please Mom, please can I stay at Ann's tonight" I begged. "I don't want to stay at the hotel. The bed's not comfortable and Marybeth wakes me up in the morning and Dad snores and I'd love to catch up with Ann some more and ..." or some such shit. I really don't remember what I said to convince my parents it was a good idea to stay at Ann's that night. All I know is that Ann (God bless her) said it would be alright with her, and my parents relented and agreed. And this is where the story gets good...

Surprise # 1 - Ann did not live alone. My parents had come in briefly to see Ann's apartment before returning to the hotel. This is when I did all my begging and pleading. When they finally left, to my utter astonishment, a man jumped out of the bath tub screaming "What the fuck!!". It turns out that Ann was living with her boyfriend, Tim (who later became her first husband), and had neglected to tell anyone. When Tim heard all of us coming down the hall, he panicked and jumped into the bath tub to hide. Everything was cool, though. Tim turned out to be an awesome guy, he offered me a beer and a cigarette, and I thought "Thank God I escaped the prison that was a hotel room with Mom and Dad!".

Surprise # 2 - Ann was expecting company. We were hanging out for about an hour, drinking beer, talking, and listening to music, when we heard a knock at the door. Tim seemed excited, jumping up saying, "There he is!". Ann went to answer the door, and a moment later came walking into the living room with - wait for it - Uncle John Thomas! (I'll pause a moment to allow you to pick up your jaw from the ground .......okay) It turns out that Uncle John had been in Fort Lauderdale for about a week at a convention for Scott's Paper and had hung out with Ann and Tim the previous few nights. They made plans to hang out that night, too, but they hadn't counted on a certain 14 year old kid crashing the party.

Needless to say, Uncle John acted weird when he saw me. He didn't really know what to do or say, and the first fifteen or so minutes that he was there were awkward, to say the least. There was a lot of eye contact and hand gestures between Ann and Uncle John when they thought I wasn't looking, and I could hear hushed whispering between them all when I went to the kitchen for another beer. Ann was the one to finally break the tension. "This is ridiculous", she said out loud, "I'm telling you, he's cool". Uncle John looked skeptical. "Are you sure?", he asked, and I could tell he was nervous. "Trust me, he's cool". And before I knew it, Uncle John pulled out a big bag of weed and started to roll a joint on the coffee table.

What a fun night. After we smoked a couple joints, Uncle John loosened up immensely. He was actually very cool to hang out with. Warm, funny, engaging, he didn't treat me like a kid at all, which meant alot to me. The night ended with handshakes and hugs and promises to keep this night just between us. I left Fort Lauderdale with the impression that me and Uncle John had a new understanding, that our relationship had somehow reached a different level.
Boy, was I wrong.

The next time I saw Uncle John was about a year later. We came to Prospect Park to visit Grandmom and Grandpop (big Bill was still alive then), and Uncle John came by the house. I knew something was wrong right away, just by the way he acted around me. It was the same way he acted in Florida when he first arrived; nervous, cagey, unsure. I wanted to reassure him, to put him at ease, to promise him once and for all that I wouldn't tell Margaret. I waited until he went out to the garage by himself, and I followed him out. "Uncle John", I began, "about that night in Florida....". That was as far as I got. He turned around, grabbed me by my shirt, threw me up against the wall of the garage, and got right in my face. "Listen, you little shit. There was no night in Florida! Got it? Never happened. And if you ever breathe a word of this to anyone, I'll find you and kick the shit out of you!".

Well, I never did breathe a word to anyone. Until now. My relationship with Uncle John was never the same. He tried more than once since I became an adult to warm up to me, but the damage was done. I can forgive, but I'll never forget. Years later, at Jimmy O'Malley's wedding, in fact, I was standing at the bar with Ann, Ed, cuzin' Marty, Uncle Mike, and Uncle John, when Uncle John himself told the story of that fateful night in Florida. When he was finished, Ed and Marty both said in unison, "I never knew that". Uncle John looked at Mike, and he just shrugged his shoulders. "I never knew that either". Uncle John was incredulous. He leaned into me and said, "So you really never told anyone?" I simply said, "No", and walked away. I wanted to say, "No asshole, I can keep a secret. Didn't Ann tell you I was cool?", but I didn't. I had learned my lesson from this a long time before. Sometimes, a 14 year old kid is more trustworthy than a 30-something adult.