About Last Night’s Party

(Saturday night…1:30 a.m.)

My twentysomething-year-old son, Jake, is having a Halloween party for himself and his twentysomething-year-old friends. There may be some alcohol present. Now at five minutes past midnight, the festivities have been underway for five hours. That is, the party is in full swing (translation: noisy frenzy).

Some of the characters here look/seem somewhat… corrupt. I walked out into the kitchen earlier just in time to hear this blonde kid with a big zit say, “Yeah, I’m about to get some p—y.” He didn’t see me, but from around the corner I said sternly, “Pardon me?” I didn’t have the presence of mind to declare, “Not here you’re not, asshole. Go home.” I’m rendered to stunned silence by blonde, pimply horndogs, I guess.

And it’s unsettling to have gross men in my home, which normally feels so safe and comfortable. Earlier there was a kid barfing in my toilet. Luckily I wasn’t on it at the time. (Ooo, that’s a disturbing visual.)

This age that Jake and his friends are in, these young men and women… life is so changeable for them. I’ve watched some of these kids grow up. Now I see them interacting, being the same kids they’ve always been, but running with and being influenced by the rest of the world. Each kid is like his own piece of artwork, but time and experience and setting change the statement. “Friend X” will always be a depressive bluebell who, at some point during every party, will have a momentary breakdown. (Seen it a hundred times.) “Friend A” is the same logical wit he’s been since 5th grade, but he’s now so worldly and mature. Inevitably, he’ll be the voice of reason that pulls Bluebell out of the funk. These seem to be their assigned party roles. And ever it shall be, eh?

If I put these kids in a line-up and predicted how their lives would go from this point on, I couldn’t guess on their career paths, but I could (if I were a curmudgeon) take a pretty decent stab at how far each will climb up the corporate ladder. Or if they’ll build their own ladder. Or how likely they are to be crushed by a falling one.

Maybe it’s unfair to condemn him so readily, but I predict Mr. Blonde Pimple Horndog will someday be a deadbeat dad who steals from the boss. I don’t know. He probably wouldn’t have made such a crude comment had he known I was there. And since when do 20-something boys ever talk about how much they “respect” a girl?  Whatever… I wouldn’t hire him.  But I’m sure his mother loves him.

Day After(word)…

At the end of the party, Mr. Horndog turned out to be one of the few “designated drivers.” Naturally I scrutinized the authenticity of his claimed sobriety (clean!), as well as the gender-ratio of his passenger list (all boys). Therefore, I concede that you can’t always trust first impressions… or that you can, but the impression maker will try to keep his nose clean long enough to secure a second chance for a first impression.  (Curmudgeon!)