When I was a kid, I was a little bastard. I myself don’t think that is the case, but I have been assured by my family – on numerous occasions – that I was, indeed, a little prick. However, it was not completely my fault. Apparently, I was diagnosed with ADD at a young age, but since my mother didn’t want me on medication, she figured I’d grow out of it. Keep in mind, this was back in the mid to late 70s, so ADD wasn’t the throw away diagnosis it is today. So, in a nutshell, it’s more or less my mother’s fault that I was an ass, not mine.
So, one night I was acting particularly dickish and my mother was getting quite fed up. I don’t know where we were going, nor do I know where we were coming from, all I remember is my mom was driving, I was in the front seat and my sister was in the back. And it was dark that night. Very dark.
Anyway, I was acting up, my mom was getting pissed and my sister was teasing me ’cause she knew I was going to be in trouble when we got home. But my mother managed to shut me up before we got home.
As we were coming up to the local graveyard, my mother said that if I didn’t stop acting up, she was going to drop me off. In the graveyard. At night. Right now.
I, of course, did not believe her, and told her so. I was smart enough to say so after we passed the graveyard, because there was no way she would turn around and actually do it. Yeah, 7 year olds aren’t that smart.
She stopped the car, threw it in reverse, backed it up, made the right into the cemetery and headed up the hill and deep into the boneyard.
At about smack in the middle of the place, she put the vehicle in park, got out, came over to the passenger side and pulled me out of the car. I kind of went willingly, because, even though I was scared, I knew there was no way she was going to leave me there. Again, 7 year olds know less than they think.
My mother got back into the car and locked the doors. Then she left.
And there I was, 7 years old, standing in the middle of a graveyard in the middle of the night. Fear is too tame a word to describe what I felt.
After about 2 hours, I saw my mother’s car coming back to pick me up – hopefully. Okay, maybe it was more like 2 minutes, but it sure as hell felt like 2 hours.
I did not act up again that night. Or that week. Or, quite possibly, that month.
I found out later from my sister that mom just went around a bend and turned off the lights. She could see me the whole time, so I was never in any danger (unless you count the possibility of the dead rising and having me for dinner “danger”).
I never felt any ill will towards my mother for doing that – not after I got over it anyway. Looking back, it was actually a hell of a way to get me to shutup.
I can’t wait until I have kids.