The Adults in the Other Room

In the Eighties, we’d often end up at the Wilson’s house for parties once or twice a year. The kids were put in the garage where we had oversized bottles of Coke to drink, large bags of O'Gradys (extra-thick) potato chips to eat (Domino’s would be delivered later), and a stack of Duran Duran audiocassette tapes to listen to. The cross-section of kids was all over the map in terms of age and different neighborhoods but during those late nights, we were like old war veterans.

Because my parents were teachers, this meant that most of their friends were teachers. And this meant these parties gave me unprecedented access to the personal lives of some of my past and future teachers and administrators. There are a couple of teachers I had in middle school who I had seen sloppy drunk before setting foot in their classroom.

I think a lot about the noise coming from the adults in the other room — about how comforting and revealing it was. There was always the consistent hum of conversations and laughter. And every once in a while, someone would get too loud or too rowdy and the air was just electric. My parents didn’t sound like the people I knew when I heard them through the door. They sounded happier, maybe even lighter. And all the other parents sounded the same.

In the garage, the kids were struggling to figure out life while pretending to have it all figured out. We were too cool to be this uncool, like, you know?

The later it gets, what we’re hearing from inside the house is telling a story that, well, maybe the adults haven’t figured it out yet either. Are they pretending too? And before we know it that comforting noise starts to feel foreign and strange.

It’s the opposite of when you’re little and you fall asleep at your grandparents’ house or a dinner party. Your parents come to scoop you off the couch at the end of the night. You’re both asleep and awake — you’re hearing everything from a foggy distance — and even though you can’t make out the words, the persistence of that adult percussion tells you that you are safe and loved.

The cheers and the drunk laughter from the adults in the other room aren’t about safety or love. It’s escape — a moment of respite from drudgery and repetition and responsibility. After a while, the kids turn up the boombox to drown out the noise. The song playing is about lonely children waiting by the park and finding treasure in the dark. The world is uncertain. Even Simon Le Bon agrees.

I think a lot about the adults in the other room — how I saw it then and how I understand it now. But mostly, I think a lot about so many of these people who were there are gone now.

If we all got together again (something that feels impossible these days living abroad — like wondering if I’ll ever get to visit Narnia), we’d all be in the garage but there’d be fewer adults in the other room because of things like old age and accidents, but mostly cancer.

And the kids aren’t kids anymore. We can’t stack up our music in plastic cases — it’s all in the cloud. Some of the food we ate then doesn’t even exist anymore, and the ones that do don’t taste the same. What’s up with that? Is it the recipe or is it us?

Before we know it, we’re not in the garage anymore. We’re inside the house and it’s our kids in the garage instead. David Byrne sang about this very moment decades ago like a Cassandra in an oversized suit. I mean, how did we get here?

But the adults these days are different. It’s still all drudgery and repetition and responsibility, but no one wants to drink. Hell, none of us even want to smoke the good stuff. Why are we so tired? We just want to fall asleep somewhere.

If the only way to find treasure is in the dark then let me close my eyes, let me sleep. Let’s hope that someone scoops us up and makes us feel safe and loved — the best treasure of all.

“How 'bout how good it feels to finally forgive you?”

One of my childhood friend’s father passed away last week and it got me thinking back to those parties as a kid, and the above piece is what I was able to process. Not sure if I said everything I wanted to say, but thank you for having read it.

Penny U

Here’s another page from the Penny U book…

What is this book?

Last minute gifts…

Are you so busy fighting the War on Christmas that you don’t have any time to do holiday shopping? I understand. You are not alone. And I am here for you.

Might I suggest some of my books as gifts?

If they like funny and unusual short stories, they might like KILLING IT.

If they like Marvel comics, they might like GO WEST.

If they like reading on the toilet, they might like FAILED PILOT and SMASHED.

If they are literary they might like NOTES FROM PARASPACE.

Click the picture for more…

We good?

I think this is going to be it for this year. I’m closing the office on Thursday and I’m going to take some long walks to break some stories in my head. And hopefully, make my reading pile…less of a pile.

Whatever holiday you’re a part of — whether celebrated already or not — I hope it’s grand for you and the people you call your family. And if next week is just another week for you, I hope it’s grand as well. We all deserve grandness. Yes, even you.

See you next year.