I was just seventeen when I learned a very important life lesson – it was the same day that Jerry and I found that acetone could separate the plastic covering of our drivers licenses so we could carefully change the last numeral of our year of birth. As newly ordained 21 year old’s, we went down to the local bar for a sixpack.
Looking and acting like 13 year old’s the bartender took my ID, grabbed me and called the cops, Jerry escaped. Later in the bowels of the police station after hours of being water boarded and still refusing to rat on Jerry, the nice cop came down to make a deal with me. If I gave them the name of my friend so they could take his ID, they promised to not tell our parents. So I told them and they called our parents. Lesson learned. I suppose African Americans learn that way sooner than we did.