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Story - The Party



 
 
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Old November 9th 03, 01:37 PM
Kandice Seeber
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Default Story - The Party

Oh, man. Talk about busted!! Wow - if I had ever done anything like that,
I would have been out on my ass the next day. Eeek. I bet the whole city
remembers that. How scary for you! I am glad your daughters have that
story to remember when they think up ideas about having unsupervised
parties. Whew! That's a humdinger of a story!

--
Kandice Seeber
Air & Earth Designs
http://www.lampwork.net

I've told this cautionary tale to the girls, and it has made a huge
impression. What makes a bigger impression is when strangers tell us that
they were at "The Party," which occurred more than twenty years ago.

My sister was a very popular girl in high school. Extremely popular. To
this day, people tell me that they never knew that our family had two
daughters - they only know my sister. Everyone knew her, but I was flying
under the radar, and no one knew me. Fine by me, I like it that way.

Anyway, I was off at college and decided to come home unannounced for the
weekend. I took a couple of trains and a bus, and let myself in, waiting

for
the rest of the family to arrive home from school/work. I didn't have to
wait long, but the "welcome" wasn't quite what I expected.

"What the hell are you doing here?!?" raged my sister.

Immediately, my radar screen went up. "I LIVE here, you idiot. I don't

have
to check with you before I come home. Why do you care?" I shouted.

"Well, you've gotta go. I'm having a couple of friends over this evening,
and I don't want you around wrecking things." stormed my sister.

I found out that our mother was off at a church retreat for the weekend,

and
that my sister had invited a few friends over, and told them that there

would
be no adult supervision. Being the bossy sister that I was (am), I said

that
no one would be allowed in the house, and that they could party out in the
backyard. My sister ranted and raved, but I held all the cards and she

knew
it.

As darkness fell, the cars started arriving. Looking out the kitchen

window,
I could see kegs being unloaded from trunks, and joints being passed

around.
People pounded on the door, demanding to use the bathroom. I kept the

doors
locked, and shouted that they could crap in the woods for all I cared.

As the evening progressed, our neighborhood became a parking lot. Picture

a
mosh pit covering an acre, and you've got the right idea. The band

arrived,
and the music was deafening. Then a local radio station's van arrived and
began giving away tee shirts and bumper stickers. Times Square on New

Year's
Eve was less crowded than our backyard. In the middle of it all, I was

alone
in the island of our locked house, making sure that no one came in. (and
cursing my sister. Big Time.)

At 9:45 p.m., the phone rang. It was a friend's father, who was a

neighbor
and a policeman. "Kathy, I'm coming to get you outta there. At 10:00

p.m.,
the cops are coming in to break up the party, and they're prepared for a
riot. Wait near your front door, and when you see me, come out and lock

the
door behind you."

I did exactly as he said. We walked back down to my friend's house, and

her
dad clued me in. He had been listening to his police radio all evening,

and
three towns were sending in their officers (in riot gear) to break up the
party, which they estimated to consist of nearly a thousand people. This

was
the biggest thing to happen in our sleepy neighborhood, ever.

We sat in their dining room as the police got out of their cars and walked

up
the hill, wearing helmets and carrying batons. Within fifteen minutes,
people started pouring down the hill, through the woods, and off the

street.
By 11:00 p.m., the police had arrested a few holdouts and it was all over.

I
spent the night at my friend's home, afraid of what I would do when I got
ahold of my sister.

The next morning, when I woke up, I thanked my hosts and went home. My
sister and a couple of her friends were cleaning the yard of broken glass,
cigarette butts and roaches. They had already cleared the toilet paper

from
the woods, and gathered many bags of plastic cups, bumper stickers, and

god
only knows what. Actually, the yard had never looked so good. My sister
looked one heck of a lot worse for the wear: she had spent the night

hiding
in the basement, in fear that the police would find out that she was the

host
of the party and arrest her.

After calling her any number of synonyms for idiot, I gave her an

ultimatum:
either you tell Mom about this when she gets home, or I will. You have

until
it's time for me to leave to go back to school. I got called a bee-yatch,
but I stood firm. My sister was bigger and taller than I was, but I had
right on my side, and I knew it. We had reached a stalemate.

Mom arrived home, and I started giving meaningful looks toward my sister.

In
turn, she gave me meaningful finger gestures when Mom wasn't looking. I

kept
hissing that she only had a short time left, but she chose not to spill

her
guts. Finally, when Mom went to drive me to the train station, I told my
sister that this was her last chance. At her hissed "F*ck you!" I knew

that
I was going to have to tell Mom about the party.

And I did. Not all of it, of course. Just that my sister had thrown a

big
party in her absence and the police had broken it up. Mom got very quiet
(that scary kind of quiet), told me to have a safe trip back to school,

and
dropped me at the train.

Later, I found out the rest of the story - the police visited my mother at
work the next morning, threatening to charge her with criminal neglect for
leaving my 17 year old sister alone overnight. They also talked about the
"riot," the illegal drugs, and accused her of any number of bad parenting
practices. At work. In front of her co-workers. The local paper ran a

half
page article about three town's police having to break up drug party and
melee. It didn't mention my sister, because she was a juvenile, but it

did
mention my mother as owner of the house.

Then there were the neighbors, each of whom had to go visit my mother and
tell her their own personal horror story. Mom ended up paying tons of

money
she didn't have for repairs to people's lawns and personal property. My
sister was in a LOT of trouble at home. Mom made her earn the money paid

out
for the damage, plus interest, and had her grounded for what seemed like a
year. Grounded at our house resembled maximum security prison. No phone
calls, television, visitors or much of anything else. Go to school, work

and
sit in your bedroom. You didn't even get to have meals with the family -

you
got to sit at the kitchen table alone, under Mom's watchful eye as she did
the dishes and glared at you. Mom doesn't own shackles, or I'm sure that
they would have been featured at one time or another.

Not surprisingly, all this turned out to be MY fault. My sister, to this
day, tells people that I "ratted her out," and caused the whole punishment
thing. She steadfastly refuses to believe that if I hadn't said anything,
the neighbors and police would have been quiet, and Mom would have never
found out. Because the yard was so clean. Also, if I had only been
"reasonable" and allowed people in the house, the crowd wouldn't have

become
so unruly. Yeah, right.

My mother wasn't all that happy with me, either. She somehow got the idea
that I could have headed this party off at the pass, and should have been
supervising my sister. Uh-huh. She didn't really get the idea that I was
trying to save her house, and if people went to jail, I really didn't

care.

Ironically, one of the police that broke up the party ended up buying the
house when my mom sold it a few years later. At the closing, he told her
that he remembered the party quite well, and said my mom seemed like a

nice
person, despite it all.

---------------

The girls have heard this story over and over, for years, from several

people
- my sister, my mom, me; as well as from various and sundry strangers who

all
claim to have attended the party. I didn't know it had made such an
impression until last night. P/T D's mother is away for the weekend, and
gave P/T D permission to stay home alone.

P/T D called us at dinnertime, asking to come here. She said that she was
afraid to be home alone, and wanted to be with us. As Bob drove her here,
she confessed that she had considered having a few friends over for a

party,
but then she "remembered Kathy's story about The Party," and decided

against
it.

Good thing. We owned the house when my sister had her little debacle.

P/T
D's family rents, and gets a subsidy. If something similar had happened,
they'd never be able to stay in their apartment. When I mentioned that

fact,
P/T D went pale and said she was "really glad" that she decided to come to
our house instead of having some friends over.

hehehehe.

Kathy N-V



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