I’ll segue into a not-so wonderful experience that occurred at around the same time:
I met a neighbor boy at a scout meeting on the base. He seemed pretty nice and asked me to come hang out at his place. I’ll call him: Seymour. The husky kid with glasses lived in the barracks end unit above us. I was taken aback when I went to his home because it was nothing like our place by any stretch of the imagination. He was an only kid, so it was quiet there and it was incredibly spiffy spanking clean. We always lived with constant noise and plenty of clutter. So, I think, I actually gulped when I stepped foot in there. The couches were upholstered in a thick clear plastic.
The floor mats were also plastic and numerous, making designated walkways from room to room. He kept his head down as we walked by his mom, standing in the kitchen. She was short but her hair was quite tall. She wore an aqua colored apron and matching dishwasher-safe rubber gloves halfway up to her elbows. Maybe she was germ phobic or the family was prone to infection. From my pubescent viewpoint, she was a looker. Lifting a pencil-thin eyebrow, she nodded in response to my “hi!” Not a word.
If that wasn’t odd enough, we went into Seymour’s shipshape bedroom where he closed the door and piled pillows along the bottom. In filthy whispers he shared with me an unpleasant visual he had accidentally walked into the same night, a week previous. Getting home early from the Wednesday evening scout meeting, he found the front room dark and could hear a loud pounding noise from the back bedroom. Opening the door, he discovered his father and mother in an awkward predicament. With his khaki’s pulled down, shiny shoes still on, his father’s buttocks heaved as his mother, sporting a blonde wig, lay stiffly below pinned to the bed. I didn’t really need or want to know this, but good for them!
Like I said, it was the summer of love.
I didn’t hang out with Seymour after that and wondered if I needed to go to confession because I couldn’t get the aforementioned titillating romp out of my head for weeks. Every time I saw his mom, I pictured her naked sporting the blonde wig and those rubber gloves. Yeah, I should have gone to confession.