I was a junior in high school when I went to Florida for the first time. It was a big deal. I never spent the night at a friend's house growing up, let alone getting on an airplane by myself and flying 1200 miles away from home. I was invited to attend the high school graduation of my "summer friend," Gregg. He was two grades higher than me, and it was his time to make the transition. He went to high school in New Port Richey, FL, where he spent the non-summer months living with his mother and her new husband. My dad was totally against me making the trip. He was against most things that involved his children acting independently (like a sleepover). But Gregg's mother called and wrote my parents a nice note, saying how much it would mean to Gregg and to her if I could fly down and be a part of the festivities.
I think it was her letter that changed his mind. She must have been very convincing because my dad rarely changed his mind. Like the time I was invited to go to the homecoming dance with our neighbor, and brother Ira's ex-girlfriend, Lisa Brown. Elk Grove had an 11:30pm curfew on the weekends, and my father adhered to the letter versus the spirit of the law. We knew that the dance would be over long after curfew, but my father insisted that I come home at the expected time. I even went so far as to call the Illinois State Police to ask for special permission to break curfew so I can go. They verbally told me that the curfew wasn't always held to exactly 11:30 on special nights, as long as those breaking the curfew were being respectful (read: not drinking or doing drugs). When I told this to my father he was firm about his decision.
There's Illinois law," he said, "and then there's my law." I didn't go to the dance.
My trip to New Port Richey included several "firsts" for me. It was the first time I ever flew by myself--hell, it was the first time I ever traveled by myself. It was the first time I went to a real party; one where there were no parents, one where there was several kegs, and one where there was an actual backyard band as entertainment. It was the first time I got so drunk that I both felt numb, and puked. It was also the first time I tried chewing tobacco. More specifically, it was the first time I tried Skoal.
Gregg and his then girlfriend, now wife, Bernie, "dipped" and were my pushers of sort. They made it look so inviting, so enjoyable. It was something they did together, slapping the tin with their pointer fingers as the can was loosely held between their thumbs and middle fingers. Snap, Snap, Snap, Snap, the finger loudly called. They would each put a generous "pinch" between their cheeks and gums, and share a spit cup between them. Even though I was already, I wanted to part of their inner circle. I wanted to be in the inner inner circle. So I did.
At first, it was a small pinch. Even that was enough to cause significant issues within my body. My heart raced, I began to sweat, I felt nauseous. But it also felt great. It gave me a buzz, like drinking or smoking pot. I didn't dip as much as they did, but the times I did join them, I felt special. And that sounds kind of silly now, but back then, it didn't. I felt a closeness with Gregg and Bernie that I thought would last forever.
My time in Florida was short. I proved to everyone, including myself, that I was getting older; that I was maturing. It may have been a turning point for my father, as well. He eased up on his strict ways, less concerned about whether or not his youngest son could take care of himself.
I took things back with me from Florida. I took back a new fondness for country music. More specifically, a love for Hank Williams, Jr., the artist Gregg and Bernie listened to most. I took back some sand from Clearwater Beach--the first "real" beach I had ever visited. And I took a new habit home (I even wrote a short story about it when I was in college). The habit remained a part of my life for over 15 years.
It lasted longer than my relationship with Gregg and Bernie.
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