I was the antithesis of the good Mormon girls my age. I was a rebellious teenager who had ultimate freedom. I smoked my first cigarette at eleven, got served alcohol in an actual pub at twelve and in my thirteenth year I was admitted to my first nightclub (which co-incidentally was a seedy gay club) and I got a job at the local rugby club as resident bar-tender.
For those of you that don't know, the Mormons do not believe in the use of mind altering substances apparently it interferes with the brainwashing process. By mind altering we are talking: drugs, alcohol, cigarettes, coffee, tea, soda – anything caffeinated and no excessive meat consumption.
This is strangely reassuring to me. Take a bunch of men that are entitled to multiple wives and have hoards of children and tell them they can't crack a beer after work with the boys at the local bar and grill. It is yin and yang at it's finest! It's ok to live your life oppressing the fairer sex and their offspring as long as you don't indulge in a big old steak and a couple of cold ones. I mean really, why should they have it all? I am here to tell you they suffer too.
You probably just have one wife and I'll bet she drives you to drink sometimes…imagine having six or seven? Shudder the thought!
Although I am not and never was a Mormon, every other weekend since the age of twelve – some part of it was spent in conjunction with the Mormons and their church. They brought their best game forward to get me over to their side of the fence. Sadly, for them, they hadn't gotten to me soon enough. I had already been out in the world of strong women and had proof that as "one complete gender" we weren't second class citizens. I was a very frustrating subject for them. Luckily they had blind faith or they may have strangled me. I just never understood why all the Mormon boys got to go on a 1-2 year mission, usually overseas, which is exciting and adventurous…. Meanwhile the girls were expected to stay at home and develop their homemaker skills. They may have had me if they had offered me an overseas mission. I have always had a love for travel and exploring new places….. So a ticket out of town fully paid for? I may have overlooked some of those weird beliefs of Joseph Smith and grabbed the offer.
A difficult child to live with, I'm pretty sure. Independent and opinionated with a lot of angst. I was a runner, nope not track or field like the good kids, some shit went down and I was outta there – I ran. I had been running away from home back when I wasn't even allowed to cross the street. I either had to walk around the block or go sit in a field and convince myself – this was my new home, my new life.
My Fourteenth summer was a burden on everyone. Don't all fourteen year olds know everything? Hormones, puberty, blended families, trouble at school, no longer a child and not yet an adult, ugh it was painful.
That was the summer my step-father and I decided to declare war.
What did I do? I ran away from home.
I didn't have too many options and although I was terrified of my father, my teenage hormones kicked in supported by my determination to punish my parents and move out completely. I'll show them!
My Father was happy to take me; if it meant hurting my mother in any fashion he was onboard. I moved into their guest bedroom among my stepmothers craft supplies which she couldn't be bothered to relocate. The room was small and sticky. From their bedroom window you could see right into the guest room, it creeped me out – every night. I had too much pride to call my Mother and tell her I wanted to come home and I had too much fear to tell my Father that I wanted to go home. Not a good combination. My stuff was at home, my room, my life, my friends…. Freedom was at home…
The stepmother was not happy with the arrangement and would much rather I didn't exist. I was her tool for discipline with her own kids, "See, how you will turn out if you don't listen to me" ever using me as the example. I hung out with a girl down the road, we smoked cigarettes in her garage… it was an empty joyless pastime.
My newly mormonized father came home from a meeting with the "elders" and announced he had signed me up for Mormon camp! I confess, it was like music to my ears. I was getting out of there, away from the fiery redhead and the preaching religious zealot. Anywhere sounded better than where I was. I packed my bag and I was ready to go.
I arrived in the middle of bloody fucking nowhere, England, There were hundreds of us, it was crazy. Apparently, Mormons had kids like the old school Irish Catholics. The girls' dorm was huge and we all slept on the floor. Each with our own bedroll and a sleeping bag. Since these were not exactly the kind of kids I typically hung out with, I gravitated to a blonde girl who had a great haircut. How bad could she be, she obviously had some personality and flair. It was my best call all summer.
Fiona
Fiona came from a family of seven kids, she and two of her sisters were at the camp. The four of us found floor space at the furthest possible point away from an adult supervision. The girls were born into the religion so they weren't as fanatical as the recently converted families. They were fun and normal like the kids I grew up with. I was so desperate for peer company I would have done just about anything for Fiona's attention. It was also the year before I came out – it's a pretty safe bet to say I was enamored with her. She was hot in that short haired, girly tomboy way. Looking back, I'd like to think that it was kinda mutual… she squeaked me through the necessary Mormon rituals barely leaving my side. The great thing about Fiona… she was open to every crazy ass idea I had. We were sidekicks with trouble brewing.
The very first day Fiona showed me where the camp store was. We stocked up on supplies. We bought junk food and candy. I bought packets of instant coffee and 2 litre bottles of diet coke (Fiona and her sisters drank soda). Back at the dorm unloading our loot, a fellow camp attendee wanted to point out to me that I had contraband and it was against the rules to have it. I tried to explain to her that I wasn't a Mormon and therefore those rules did not apply to me. She didn't much care for my explanation and was threatening to turn us in for having diet coke in our possession. My partnership with Fiona flourished in the face of adversity – so the sales pitch began.
We tag teamed the argument. Fiona explained that her family drank soda and it was an old religious rule that not too many people followed anymore. We had gathered quite the crowd and the debate took on some life. Now I don't care what your opinions and beliefs are but if you are willing to enter into a debate and think for yourself, you're alright in my book. Fiona scored us some plastic cups and we began to pour samples for any of the girls that wanted to try it… free will – right? As we are getting ready to hand out these samples two of the camp supervisors walked into the dorm to see how we were all settling in. Not a good moment, I could see the anger below the thin veneer of control – this little ducky was pissed at me. I made it clear to my new friend that I was to be the one and only fall guy for this.
The contraband was disposed of and I was taken to an office where it was clearly explained to me what were unacceptable supplies to have in my possession whilst I was at the camp. Properly chastised, I was returned to the dorm where to prove to my new friend that I truly was a renegade….I proceeded to make myself a cup of black coffee. The mischievous glee that she gained from my refusal to conform was worth every second of Mormon prayer I had to sit through. Then, I fell in love. Fiona looks around and whispers "Hey, do you smoke?". It was all over…. I could have kissed her, well maybe I should have… I couldn't speak, the grin on my face wouldn't let my mouth make words – so I just nodded through my laughter. "I have some and I know where we can go so we won't get caught". Things in my life were definitely looking up, this wasn't going to be an empty joyless smoking buddy – she was my partner in crime. I followed her outside.
Whatever we did, we did together. Late at night we would have pillow fights and wrestling matches. Our punishment for disturbing the dorm was an interesting choice; we had to stand outside in the pitch black for half an hour. That first night we weren't prepared for our punishment. We were cold and suitably scared. The woodland creatures make all kinds of suspicious noises at night not to mention the wind and creaking trees. It's amazing what you think can hear when you stand outside and just listen. Every twig snap was underneath the foot of a half crazed killer coming to get us. We weren't like most of the other girls who were easily kept in line – so even though we were scared out of our minds, we tried our hardest to get kicked out every night thereafter. Each time not forgetting to be dressed warmly with a supply of ciggies on our person ready to go.
The other girls were drawn to hang out with us, you could see it was a moral struggle since we had gained a big reputation in a short amount of time. How could you not? We were always laughing and goofing around – making the best of every situation. Rebellious girls aren't high on the attendance list for Mormon events and these girls had mixed reactions to us. You could see the ones aching to break out of their shells but just not being able to. To some degrees it was quite sad.
The shower block was a standalone concrete building. Girls entrance on one side, Boys on the other. Midweek, the hot water broke on the girls side and we were told it would take a few days to fix it – so we had to suck it up and take cold showers until then. The boys would come around and brag about the nice hot showers they had just taken. Finally it became too much for Fiona and I to bear – we sprang into action. We enlisted one of the boys to scope out the showers and when it was totally empty we would stand guard at the door allowing the girls to shower in groups. Even the most prim and proper girls thought it was a brilliant idea and were desperate to take a hot shower by any means necessary.
Of course we got caught. We thought our idea was ingenious. Apparently the elders thought differently. We had organized naked girls to go and stand where naked boys had previously been standing not too long before. I didn't get it then and I don't get it now. They were livid! There was some serious wrath to be had that day. I got the lecture of what a good man my father was and all he had done for the church and how I was disgracing him by my poor behavior and if I didn't start to show some promise I would be on the next bus out of camp Mormon. My penalty was that I had to lead morning prayer every day for a week. Now I was horrified, I had no idea how a non believing person would go about such a thing. Fiona squeaked me through it – somehow.
We kept our heads down for a couple of days and earnt the sympathy of most of the girls. After all – they just wanted to take a damn shower too.
Camp Mormon was fast losing it's appeal. The boys got free reign to do whatever they wanted, including midnight hikes. The girls had early curfews and were not supposed to be wandering around unsupervised. There were ways around everything but it was a lot of hassle for a little freedom. All the women at camp– even the ones from other districts – knew who my father was and wanted to talk about how wonderful and great he was. He was the Brad Pit of Mormons… ugh, it was disgusting.
The camp's annual tradition to end the summer on a high note was to have a big bonfire and invite parents and elders from the church districts to come and join the last night of festivities. Because this was such a big event every year they had built benches into a hillside around a hollow. The first week of camp the boys were assigned the task of building this humongous bonfire and trust me the thing was huge!
Fiona and I were constantly on the lookout for new smoking hideaways – that way we wouldn't get seen going to the same place over and over. The campfire was in our rotation of locations. We headed down to it for our afternoon smoke. The boys had done a fabulous job, the fire was built and ready to go… kindling, newspaper, everything. It was impressive.
It rains a lot in England and in my defense… the newspaper looked wet. When I lit my cigarette with a match and tossed the match away – I did not know the paper was so dry it had yellowed giving it the appearance of being wet. That is a mistake you only make once in a lifetime. The blazing inferno was a shocker, Fiona and I panicked… we ran.
We had gotten into trouble for so many things already but nothing that we had done was malicious or damaging. We were just teenagers trying to have fun and break a few rules. Neither one of us would ever deliberately do something like this – it truly was a stupid accident. We both realized the gravity of the situation and for the first time, we had nothing. No plan, no story – a big fat nothing.
How did we get caught?
Everyone on the camp ran to the burning bonfire, to see what was going on. The only two very obvious absentees… yup – you guessed it. Me and my sidekick.
We were cold busted!
At this point the elders realized that their stepford'esque indoctrinated children weren't rubbing off on me as they had hoped – I however, had definitely left my mark on the girls in the dorm. We had been like an Olympic debate team on crack every night – no girl left out of any discussion. Slowly, they had all begun to explore and push boundaries in their own ways, no matter how small. Even if it was them trying to tell Fiona and I not to do something, I respected that it came from their point of view and was open to debate. Sometimes we even listened, mostly we did not.
I was frog-marched to pack up my stuff. Like a prisoner being sent to her fate, I was allowed one last phone call. I was told to call my father and tell him what had happened and give him the time he could pick me up at his local church.
I, called my mother.
She was at work and I begged her to move mountains if necessary to get me a ride at the exact time the bus pulled in so I could come home. God knows, I had learnt my lesson for the summer. She called my step-father who in turn sent Roger the Dodger (one of his employees) to come pick me up. As the bus pulled into the church parking lot I spotted a familiar face. Roger was waiting for me; the wave of relief that flooded through me was like ten thousand muscle relaxants hitting your body at the exact same moment. I could breathe.
I threw myself into his car, I hugged him, I kissed him. I had never been so happy to see Roger in my whole entire life – Roger wasn't without his own creepiness to a teenage girl but I cared not one jot… I think I would have done a pole dance for him – just because he was taking me home. As we pulled out onto the main road – I spied at the far intersection, My Fathers Jaguar, stopped at a red light… I had just made it!
It seems my lovely Mother had anticipated that I would be coming home at some point and had decided to do –over my bedroom as a surprise for my return and I suppose as a sweeping gesture to tell me how much she missed me.
My room had previously been a light green with record albums and magazine lay-outs of Duran Duran and Spandeau Ballet – taped wall to wall. It was now a stunning pepto pink! The curtains and the bedspread were matching fabrics, a combination of pink and white love hearts in a reversive pattern. Never having been a pink love heart kind of girl … It took me a minute to digest what I was seeing, and then I began to laugh…..
This was truly defining, Poetic Justice. It appealed to my twisted sense of humor. In a serves you right kind of way, I loved it. I believe my room stayed that way – under the wall posters and crap – until they moved out of that house. No pink or white love heart was going to chase me out of that room any time soon, that's for sure.
I had no way to get in touch with Fiona and it was probably better that our rebel without a cause friendship stayed in that summer… I know we could have gotten into some serious trouble together. I still gravitate to people who have funky haircuts, it's a detail that speaks to me, it says something about a person's individuality.
Many years went by, I had relocated to America and the Mormon experiences were just distant memories. I excitedly picked up the phone to call my Mother in England….
"Ma! You'll never guess"
"Guess what?"
"Who was just here"
"Who?"
"Guess"
"The entire cast of Footloose? Really how would I know?"
"The Mormons"
(audible gasp)
"No?"
(Me, proud as all get out)
"Yup"
(My mother begins to laugh with expectant glee)
"You invited them in, didn't you?"
"Yup!"
"You've waited years to make this phone call"
"I sure have and it was worth the wait, I got one re-evaluating his faith and the other one couldn't get his buddy out of here fast enough – they are gonna black list this house, for sure!"
"Congratulations, Honey"
"Why thank you Mother, you would have been proud"
I stopped apologizing for who I was a long time ago. Please forgive me if you are one of those people who laugh at everything – giggle nervously – say something not pleasant and immediately laugh to soften the blow…. You people make me nervous. Religious nut jobs do that. They tell you about an angel named Moron and then they laugh nervously as they continue with the invisible plate theory…. See they too, know it's a crock of shit – but they are "praying" you buy it – along with 15% of your annual income in tithe fees…. nervous laugh…..
I have little tolerance for people who hide behind their beliefs – the bible bashers wig me out. However, you can usually find me playing with them at the Boston Pride Parade.... a girl has to have fun somehwere!
Anytime someone is supercharged with enthusiasm for any reason – my radar kicks on and starts scanning the situation…
Beep Beep ….what's wrong here?
Beep Beep …There's something wrong here….
Beep Beep… The enthusiasm is covering up some fatal flaws – I guarantee it
If there is ever a wager on whether or not I'll be attending functions in Salt Lake, Utah.... there's 50/50 shot it could go either way.
The LDS and Warren Jeffs make me nervous but it can be so much fun to play with them - having had an insiders view into the life.
On second thoughts, the fact that the area is dry and I wouldn't be able to go and celebrate my Mormon bashing with some good hard liquor... leaves the probabilty of me being there... quite slim.
Now bring me a couple of those boys with the black backpacks - combine it with a bottle of scotch and after they leave I will toast to Fiona and her coverted question "Do you smoke?"
*** I think the inital request was for the story of the mormon boys coming to visit.... that in of itself is a tale - albeit a much shorter one. It wouldn't hold the same impact if you didn't know my colorful history with the mormons***
( the mind altering substances reference was complete poetic license - it just worked better than the real reason).
For those of you that don't know, the Mormons do not believe in the use of mind altering substances apparently it interferes with the brainwashing process. By mind altering we are talking: drugs, alcohol, cigarettes, coffee, tea, soda – anything caffeinated and no excessive meat consumption.
This is strangely reassuring to me. Take a bunch of men that are entitled to multiple wives and have hoards of children and tell them they can't crack a beer after work with the boys at the local bar and grill. It is yin and yang at it's finest! It's ok to live your life oppressing the fairer sex and their offspring as long as you don't indulge in a big old steak and a couple of cold ones. I mean really, why should they have it all? I am here to tell you they suffer too.
You probably just have one wife and I'll bet she drives you to drink sometimes…imagine having six or seven? Shudder the thought!
Although I am not and never was a Mormon, every other weekend since the age of twelve – some part of it was spent in conjunction with the Mormons and their church. They brought their best game forward to get me over to their side of the fence. Sadly, for them, they hadn't gotten to me soon enough. I had already been out in the world of strong women and had proof that as "one complete gender" we weren't second class citizens. I was a very frustrating subject for them. Luckily they had blind faith or they may have strangled me. I just never understood why all the Mormon boys got to go on a 1-2 year mission, usually overseas, which is exciting and adventurous…. Meanwhile the girls were expected to stay at home and develop their homemaker skills. They may have had me if they had offered me an overseas mission. I have always had a love for travel and exploring new places….. So a ticket out of town fully paid for? I may have overlooked some of those weird beliefs of Joseph Smith and grabbed the offer.
A difficult child to live with, I'm pretty sure. Independent and opinionated with a lot of angst. I was a runner, nope not track or field like the good kids, some shit went down and I was outta there – I ran. I had been running away from home back when I wasn't even allowed to cross the street. I either had to walk around the block or go sit in a field and convince myself – this was my new home, my new life.
My Fourteenth summer was a burden on everyone. Don't all fourteen year olds know everything? Hormones, puberty, blended families, trouble at school, no longer a child and not yet an adult, ugh it was painful.
That was the summer my step-father and I decided to declare war.
What did I do? I ran away from home.
I didn't have too many options and although I was terrified of my father, my teenage hormones kicked in supported by my determination to punish my parents and move out completely. I'll show them!
My Father was happy to take me; if it meant hurting my mother in any fashion he was onboard. I moved into their guest bedroom among my stepmothers craft supplies which she couldn't be bothered to relocate. The room was small and sticky. From their bedroom window you could see right into the guest room, it creeped me out – every night. I had too much pride to call my Mother and tell her I wanted to come home and I had too much fear to tell my Father that I wanted to go home. Not a good combination. My stuff was at home, my room, my life, my friends…. Freedom was at home…
The stepmother was not happy with the arrangement and would much rather I didn't exist. I was her tool for discipline with her own kids, "See, how you will turn out if you don't listen to me" ever using me as the example. I hung out with a girl down the road, we smoked cigarettes in her garage… it was an empty joyless pastime.
My newly mormonized father came home from a meeting with the "elders" and announced he had signed me up for Mormon camp! I confess, it was like music to my ears. I was getting out of there, away from the fiery redhead and the preaching religious zealot. Anywhere sounded better than where I was. I packed my bag and I was ready to go.
I arrived in the middle of bloody fucking nowhere, England, There were hundreds of us, it was crazy. Apparently, Mormons had kids like the old school Irish Catholics. The girls' dorm was huge and we all slept on the floor. Each with our own bedroll and a sleeping bag. Since these were not exactly the kind of kids I typically hung out with, I gravitated to a blonde girl who had a great haircut. How bad could she be, she obviously had some personality and flair. It was my best call all summer.
Fiona
Fiona came from a family of seven kids, she and two of her sisters were at the camp. The four of us found floor space at the furthest possible point away from an adult supervision. The girls were born into the religion so they weren't as fanatical as the recently converted families. They were fun and normal like the kids I grew up with. I was so desperate for peer company I would have done just about anything for Fiona's attention. It was also the year before I came out – it's a pretty safe bet to say I was enamored with her. She was hot in that short haired, girly tomboy way. Looking back, I'd like to think that it was kinda mutual… she squeaked me through the necessary Mormon rituals barely leaving my side. The great thing about Fiona… she was open to every crazy ass idea I had. We were sidekicks with trouble brewing.
The very first day Fiona showed me where the camp store was. We stocked up on supplies. We bought junk food and candy. I bought packets of instant coffee and 2 litre bottles of diet coke (Fiona and her sisters drank soda). Back at the dorm unloading our loot, a fellow camp attendee wanted to point out to me that I had contraband and it was against the rules to have it. I tried to explain to her that I wasn't a Mormon and therefore those rules did not apply to me. She didn't much care for my explanation and was threatening to turn us in for having diet coke in our possession. My partnership with Fiona flourished in the face of adversity – so the sales pitch began.
We tag teamed the argument. Fiona explained that her family drank soda and it was an old religious rule that not too many people followed anymore. We had gathered quite the crowd and the debate took on some life. Now I don't care what your opinions and beliefs are but if you are willing to enter into a debate and think for yourself, you're alright in my book. Fiona scored us some plastic cups and we began to pour samples for any of the girls that wanted to try it… free will – right? As we are getting ready to hand out these samples two of the camp supervisors walked into the dorm to see how we were all settling in. Not a good moment, I could see the anger below the thin veneer of control – this little ducky was pissed at me. I made it clear to my new friend that I was to be the one and only fall guy for this.
The contraband was disposed of and I was taken to an office where it was clearly explained to me what were unacceptable supplies to have in my possession whilst I was at the camp. Properly chastised, I was returned to the dorm where to prove to my new friend that I truly was a renegade….I proceeded to make myself a cup of black coffee. The mischievous glee that she gained from my refusal to conform was worth every second of Mormon prayer I had to sit through. Then, I fell in love. Fiona looks around and whispers "Hey, do you smoke?". It was all over…. I could have kissed her, well maybe I should have… I couldn't speak, the grin on my face wouldn't let my mouth make words – so I just nodded through my laughter. "I have some and I know where we can go so we won't get caught". Things in my life were definitely looking up, this wasn't going to be an empty joyless smoking buddy – she was my partner in crime. I followed her outside.
Whatever we did, we did together. Late at night we would have pillow fights and wrestling matches. Our punishment for disturbing the dorm was an interesting choice; we had to stand outside in the pitch black for half an hour. That first night we weren't prepared for our punishment. We were cold and suitably scared. The woodland creatures make all kinds of suspicious noises at night not to mention the wind and creaking trees. It's amazing what you think can hear when you stand outside and just listen. Every twig snap was underneath the foot of a half crazed killer coming to get us. We weren't like most of the other girls who were easily kept in line – so even though we were scared out of our minds, we tried our hardest to get kicked out every night thereafter. Each time not forgetting to be dressed warmly with a supply of ciggies on our person ready to go.
The other girls were drawn to hang out with us, you could see it was a moral struggle since we had gained a big reputation in a short amount of time. How could you not? We were always laughing and goofing around – making the best of every situation. Rebellious girls aren't high on the attendance list for Mormon events and these girls had mixed reactions to us. You could see the ones aching to break out of their shells but just not being able to. To some degrees it was quite sad.
The shower block was a standalone concrete building. Girls entrance on one side, Boys on the other. Midweek, the hot water broke on the girls side and we were told it would take a few days to fix it – so we had to suck it up and take cold showers until then. The boys would come around and brag about the nice hot showers they had just taken. Finally it became too much for Fiona and I to bear – we sprang into action. We enlisted one of the boys to scope out the showers and when it was totally empty we would stand guard at the door allowing the girls to shower in groups. Even the most prim and proper girls thought it was a brilliant idea and were desperate to take a hot shower by any means necessary.
Of course we got caught. We thought our idea was ingenious. Apparently the elders thought differently. We had organized naked girls to go and stand where naked boys had previously been standing not too long before. I didn't get it then and I don't get it now. They were livid! There was some serious wrath to be had that day. I got the lecture of what a good man my father was and all he had done for the church and how I was disgracing him by my poor behavior and if I didn't start to show some promise I would be on the next bus out of camp Mormon. My penalty was that I had to lead morning prayer every day for a week. Now I was horrified, I had no idea how a non believing person would go about such a thing. Fiona squeaked me through it – somehow.
We kept our heads down for a couple of days and earnt the sympathy of most of the girls. After all – they just wanted to take a damn shower too.
Camp Mormon was fast losing it's appeal. The boys got free reign to do whatever they wanted, including midnight hikes. The girls had early curfews and were not supposed to be wandering around unsupervised. There were ways around everything but it was a lot of hassle for a little freedom. All the women at camp– even the ones from other districts – knew who my father was and wanted to talk about how wonderful and great he was. He was the Brad Pit of Mormons… ugh, it was disgusting.
The camp's annual tradition to end the summer on a high note was to have a big bonfire and invite parents and elders from the church districts to come and join the last night of festivities. Because this was such a big event every year they had built benches into a hillside around a hollow. The first week of camp the boys were assigned the task of building this humongous bonfire and trust me the thing was huge!
Fiona and I were constantly on the lookout for new smoking hideaways – that way we wouldn't get seen going to the same place over and over. The campfire was in our rotation of locations. We headed down to it for our afternoon smoke. The boys had done a fabulous job, the fire was built and ready to go… kindling, newspaper, everything. It was impressive.
It rains a lot in England and in my defense… the newspaper looked wet. When I lit my cigarette with a match and tossed the match away – I did not know the paper was so dry it had yellowed giving it the appearance of being wet. That is a mistake you only make once in a lifetime. The blazing inferno was a shocker, Fiona and I panicked… we ran.
We had gotten into trouble for so many things already but nothing that we had done was malicious or damaging. We were just teenagers trying to have fun and break a few rules. Neither one of us would ever deliberately do something like this – it truly was a stupid accident. We both realized the gravity of the situation and for the first time, we had nothing. No plan, no story – a big fat nothing.
How did we get caught?
Everyone on the camp ran to the burning bonfire, to see what was going on. The only two very obvious absentees… yup – you guessed it. Me and my sidekick.
We were cold busted!
At this point the elders realized that their stepford'esque indoctrinated children weren't rubbing off on me as they had hoped – I however, had definitely left my mark on the girls in the dorm. We had been like an Olympic debate team on crack every night – no girl left out of any discussion. Slowly, they had all begun to explore and push boundaries in their own ways, no matter how small. Even if it was them trying to tell Fiona and I not to do something, I respected that it came from their point of view and was open to debate. Sometimes we even listened, mostly we did not.
I was frog-marched to pack up my stuff. Like a prisoner being sent to her fate, I was allowed one last phone call. I was told to call my father and tell him what had happened and give him the time he could pick me up at his local church.
I, called my mother.
She was at work and I begged her to move mountains if necessary to get me a ride at the exact time the bus pulled in so I could come home. God knows, I had learnt my lesson for the summer. She called my step-father who in turn sent Roger the Dodger (one of his employees) to come pick me up. As the bus pulled into the church parking lot I spotted a familiar face. Roger was waiting for me; the wave of relief that flooded through me was like ten thousand muscle relaxants hitting your body at the exact same moment. I could breathe.
I threw myself into his car, I hugged him, I kissed him. I had never been so happy to see Roger in my whole entire life – Roger wasn't without his own creepiness to a teenage girl but I cared not one jot… I think I would have done a pole dance for him – just because he was taking me home. As we pulled out onto the main road – I spied at the far intersection, My Fathers Jaguar, stopped at a red light… I had just made it!
It seems my lovely Mother had anticipated that I would be coming home at some point and had decided to do –over my bedroom as a surprise for my return and I suppose as a sweeping gesture to tell me how much she missed me.
My room had previously been a light green with record albums and magazine lay-outs of Duran Duran and Spandeau Ballet – taped wall to wall. It was now a stunning pepto pink! The curtains and the bedspread were matching fabrics, a combination of pink and white love hearts in a reversive pattern. Never having been a pink love heart kind of girl … It took me a minute to digest what I was seeing, and then I began to laugh…..
This was truly defining, Poetic Justice. It appealed to my twisted sense of humor. In a serves you right kind of way, I loved it. I believe my room stayed that way – under the wall posters and crap – until they moved out of that house. No pink or white love heart was going to chase me out of that room any time soon, that's for sure.
I had no way to get in touch with Fiona and it was probably better that our rebel without a cause friendship stayed in that summer… I know we could have gotten into some serious trouble together. I still gravitate to people who have funky haircuts, it's a detail that speaks to me, it says something about a person's individuality.
Many years went by, I had relocated to America and the Mormon experiences were just distant memories. I excitedly picked up the phone to call my Mother in England….
"Ma! You'll never guess"
"Guess what?"
"Who was just here"
"Who?"
"Guess"
"The entire cast of Footloose? Really how would I know?"
"The Mormons"
(audible gasp)
"No?"
(Me, proud as all get out)
"Yup"
(My mother begins to laugh with expectant glee)
"You invited them in, didn't you?"
"Yup!"
"You've waited years to make this phone call"
"I sure have and it was worth the wait, I got one re-evaluating his faith and the other one couldn't get his buddy out of here fast enough – they are gonna black list this house, for sure!"
"Congratulations, Honey"
"Why thank you Mother, you would have been proud"
I stopped apologizing for who I was a long time ago. Please forgive me if you are one of those people who laugh at everything – giggle nervously – say something not pleasant and immediately laugh to soften the blow…. You people make me nervous. Religious nut jobs do that. They tell you about an angel named Moron and then they laugh nervously as they continue with the invisible plate theory…. See they too, know it's a crock of shit – but they are "praying" you buy it – along with 15% of your annual income in tithe fees…. nervous laugh…..
I have little tolerance for people who hide behind their beliefs – the bible bashers wig me out. However, you can usually find me playing with them at the Boston Pride Parade.... a girl has to have fun somehwere!
Anytime someone is supercharged with enthusiasm for any reason – my radar kicks on and starts scanning the situation…
Beep Beep ….what's wrong here?
Beep Beep …There's something wrong here….
Beep Beep… The enthusiasm is covering up some fatal flaws – I guarantee it
If there is ever a wager on whether or not I'll be attending functions in Salt Lake, Utah.... there's 50/50 shot it could go either way.
The LDS and Warren Jeffs make me nervous but it can be so much fun to play with them - having had an insiders view into the life.
On second thoughts, the fact that the area is dry and I wouldn't be able to go and celebrate my Mormon bashing with some good hard liquor... leaves the probabilty of me being there... quite slim.
Now bring me a couple of those boys with the black backpacks - combine it with a bottle of scotch and after they leave I will toast to Fiona and her coverted question "Do you smoke?"
*** I think the inital request was for the story of the mormon boys coming to visit.... that in of itself is a tale - albeit a much shorter one. It wouldn't hold the same impact if you didn't know my colorful history with the mormons***
( the mind altering substances reference was complete poetic license - it just worked better than the real reason).
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