The Day I got my Driver License

I either had a perfect guardian angel or the luck of the Irish the day I got my driver license. I remember that I was seventeen and invincible! I always did whatever I wanted to do and dealt with the consequences later, like the day I got my driver license.
As soon as I returned home from the DMV that day, I got a call from my friend Kelly. He said a bunch of people were going to the Bay to party and wanted to know if I was interested in going. “The Bay” was Alamitos Bay in Long Beach, California. It was a popular place for water skiing and hanging out. I told him to come over and I would ask my dad for his truck so we could go get a keg of beer to take to the party. Kelly was one of our older friends of the group and of drinking age, so we often relied on Kelly to get our alcohol. When Kelly arrived, I asked my dad if we could take the truck to go to a party. “Well, I don’t know,” my father said, scratching his head. “Do you know how to drive a stick?” I felt all kinds of butterflies rising and turning in my stomach as I lied to my father, “Yeah.” I couldn’t even look him in the eye, but inside I was screaming, “Score!”
We got the keys and, as soon as we were in the truck, I asked Kelly to teach me to drive a stick shift. My dad’s little truck was a green Datsun short bed with a shell on the back. Not exactly a camper shell, but the roof of the shell stood about a foot higher than the roof of the cab. My dad customized the back with green shag carpet and built wooden compartments where the bed curved up to give room to the back tires. They were great for storing his tools and camping gear like blankets, pillows, or paper plates. Our first stop was to McDonald’s to pick up some fast food to eat along the way. This was very exciting for me, driving myself and a friend to a party on the Bay and bringing a full sized keg! That should boost my popularity status for sure. By the time I drove to the liquor store to pick up the keg, I actually had the clutch and gas pedals coordinating without giving us whiplash. We got the keg of beer and made our way to the Bay. People were starting to gather on the flat land that laid across the water from one of the richest neighborhoods in Long Beach, Naples. There were about fifty cars parked on the gravel along the bay. Most of them were 70s muscle cars. The rest were either beaters, which were old run down cars of any make or model that barely ran and that teenagers could afford on their own, or their parents’ car, like a 1977 Buick 4 door. I swear there ended up being about a hundred people mingling all around with Van Halen blaring from the designated car stereo and the sweet scent of cannabis moving through the air.
The sun had just set and, like three year old children, we didn’t realize that sound carried very well, especially over water. It wasn’t long before we spotted a couple of police cars pulling in the parking lot as a result of some unhappy neighbors in Naples who didn’t seem to share our fond opinion of Led Zeppelin. I bet the drum beats sounded really good sitting on one of the balconies across the water.
As soon as we realized what was happening, the weather changed from a nice, warm, starry evening to a downpour of marijuana joints. No one wanted to go to jail, especially me! I could just see my dad so upset. He would ground me for the rest of my natural born life. I would never be able to drive again. My social future was at stake here, so I had to be on my toes. The officer in charge asked if any of us were of legal drinking age. I begged my friend Kelly to admit his age to the officers. “I don’t want to be responsible for all these teenagers!” he said between his teeth so no one else could hear. “But Kelly, I swear, I can’t go to jail. Please tell them you are?” I was evidently very convincing because Kelly walked out in the open and told the officer that he was 21. The officer looked at his driver license and then proceeded to tell us what our fate was. “You all need to pack up and take this party to one of your houses. Think you can do that?” It was amazing that any of us were able to respond at all. For myself, I was in utter shock. He continued, “I better not catch you somewhere else like the beach or a park. You take it indoors and out of trouble.” I was really starting to wonder if I was dreaming. Then the last thing he said was, “And if I do find you out and about again tonight, I’ll be calling a paddy wagon and that’ll be the end of it.”
As soon as they were facing the other way and taking off, everyone bent over scrambling to pick up any survivors that didn’t get ruined by water or being stepped on.  We all piled in our cars and caravanned over to Ray’s house. His parents were out for the evening and they didn’t care if Ray drank or smoked pot. We sat there for awhile, probably long enough to drink one cup of beer from the keg sitting in the back of my dad’s truck, which we backed into the driveway at Ray’s house. We were at a loss for entertainment, so we brain stormed and only came up with going to the drive-in. It was probably not the best solution, but it sounded a lot better than sitting around staring at each other. I guess we lacked imagination.
I couldn’t tell you what we saw that evening at the Circle Drive-in in Long Beach, California, but it was fun. We probably took up two rows of cars towards the back behind the snack bar and play ground. I used to love swinging in the play ground before the movies started when I was a kid. There were a couple of employees riding around on bicycles, patrolling the area. They came over to my dad’s truck to strike a deal. If we shared our beer with them, they wouldn’t turn us in. Everything was going my way that night, even though we didn’t get to stay at the bay and enjoy ourselves like we had originally planned. In years to come as I looked back and realized how lucky I was that evening, I knew I needed to be careful in the future. Going to jail was not something I wanted to experience.