Commentaries by Cynthia

Author’s note: After posting that tearfully nostalgic video, I believe this is an appropriate place to insert a column I wrote about two of my childhood friends. “Where they are now… I wish I knew…”

It was October, 1980. I was a freshman in high school. Along with my two best friends, Renee and Diedra, we decided to plot revenge against a former eighth grade teacher. Normally, we weren't the vindictive types, but somehow, this particular teacher seemed to deserve it, although for the life of me, I cannot tell you how or why we came to that conclusion.

Back then, it seemed innocent enough. We decided we would go to the annual Fall Festival at our former school, and when no one was looking, we would roll Mrs. Smith's car with toilet paper. So, after hanging out with other teens in the school's main parking lot, my friends and I went to the bathroom. There we grabbed rolls of toilet paper, concealing them under our loose-fitting jackets. Then we went out the back door of the building and headed for our object of revenge.

It was cold and dark. The teacher's parking lot was deserted. Working fast, we went round-n-round the car, giggling with devilish delight as we covered the vehicle in what appeared to be large white streamers. Since hi-five's hadn't been invented yet, we gave each other a round of low-five's as we reviewed our handiwork. Then we re-entered the building through the back door, tossed our empty cardboard rolls into the trash, and went out the front door before returning to the regular hang-out spot.

And here is where we goofed-up. Too excited and pleased with ourselves, we whispered to the other teens: "Hey, you should see what we did to Mrs. Smith's car. It is totally covered in toilet paper. It is so awesome. You should go see it."

Apparently, they did, because the next day at school, rumors began circulating that Mrs. Smith's car had been vandalized terribly. Someone said that her head and tail lights had been broken. Another person said that the top of the car had been dented, as if someone had been standing or jumping on top of it.

Appalled, my friends and I held an emergency meeting and decided we needed to do the right and proper thing - we needed to apologize and tell Mrs. Smith exactly what we had and had not done to the car. So we did just that, calling the teacher from our homes later that evening. She coldly thanked each of us for the information before hanging up the phone.

Confession might be good for the soul, but if we thought we were off the hook, we were sorely mistaken. The next day, I was called to the principal's office during sixth period. There I met a young woman who introduced herself as a law enforcement officer, then she promptly began reading me my legal rights.

Mortified, my mouth fell open. These were words I'd only heard on TV, and they usually precipitated someone being shoved mercilessly into the back seat of a police car.

My bottom lip quivered. Tears welled in my eyes. I had the right to remain silent… but did I want to do that? I had the right to an attorney… but I didn't know one. Images of me being hand-cuffed and thrown into jail urged the tears down my cheeks.

In a squeaky voice, I recounted the events that my friends and I had been a part of, then I sat back and prayed that God would get me out of this mess. The woman wrote everything down, then said I was free to go. As I prepared to leave, she ominously added that I would be hearing from her again very soon.

On the school bus, I learned that Diedra and Renee had also been called to the office that afternoon. Although we were close friends, we each had very different reactions to having our rights read to us. Renee was fuming, no longer feeling any guilt whatsoever over the damages to Mrs. Smith's car. Diedra, who had dreams of being a lawyer, stated coolly that she believed our rights had been violated and that she would be looking into the matter. With a few lingering tears here and there, I simply sat and listened to Renee's heated comments and Diedra's cool arguments.

Dad was a dear, going with me to Juvenile Court when the investigative hearing was held with Mrs. Smith herself present, as well as my two best friends, their mothers, and approximately six male classmates — each accompanied by a parent or guardian. But I soon wished that I had brought my mother instead of my father. He sat silent through the hearing and merely listened as my friends' mothers spoke up for their daughters, telling the legal panel how they'd never been in any previous trouble before.

Growing a little concerned, I turned to Daddy and whispered, "I'm innocent."

I wanted to, but was too afraid to add, "Speak up for me, please."

He motioned for me to be quiet by touching his forefinger to his lips.

I should have expected it. This was the same man who, even in my teens, would tell my teachers to "lay the paddle" to me if I needed it. Talk about embarrassment.

As the hearing drew to a close, Diedra's mother said something I will never forget. In the same coolly logical tone of her daughter, she stated, "It's apparent by all the people in this room that there were a lot of students out to get Mrs. Smith. And I think she should pause for a minute and ask herself…why?"

Daddy, bless him, leaned forward, raised his hand, and said, "That's right."

With those two words, my father had me beaming with pride. He believed in me - and it no longer mattered what Mrs. Smith thought — or anyone else, for that matter.

But, in case you're curious —the girls were found innocent and the boys were found guilty. Truth and justice prevailed in the end.

One might assume that, considering the stress my friends and I had experienced, we had learned a valuable lesson. But, no. The very next fall, we were at it again, only we'd graduated from rolling cars to rolling boys' yards. And this time, we were smart enough not to brag about it.

So I guess in our own innocent way, we were delinquents, after all.