Caught on the hop during my teen years

IWAS out with friends the other night and as we reminisced about our teenage years it suddenly hit me how lucky I was to have endured those turbulent times without social media.

When I was about 14 I was allowed go to the local tennis club ‘hop’ for the first time. The deal was that I would come straight home afterwards. I broke the deal. I was in love at the time and managed, that night, to ensnare the victim of my love. We kissed and chatted, chatted and kissed. Before I knew it I was two hours late. They came looking for me and I was caught red-handed. I wasn’t allowed out again. For years.

So when I was about 16, I fell for a guy about three years older than me who had a car. If truth be told the car was probably the main attraction. Anyway in order to meet him for a planned day trip, I had to fabricate a hockey match. Again I foolishly aroused suspicion by being late home. This time my parents were waiting at the end of our park. It was akin to Michael Collins at Beal na Blath.

To be fair, my dashing suitor jumped out of the car and tried to explain to my mother. Now the really traumatic part of this was that he couldn’t say his ths. ‘Wit’ and ‘witout’. Over ‘dere’. Even though it was pitch dark, I could feel my mother’s eyebrows raising. All by themselves. She told him to be quiet. Incorrect speech was more upsetting to her than my misdemeanours. But my beau must have regaled all his friends with the whole embarrassing event because whenever I bumped into any of them afterwards they enquired as to my mother’s welfare. Or should I say ‘mudder’.

I just thank God that Facebook didn’t exist then.