The Letter Of The Law

Over the years, Mom repeatedly told me that I had missed my calling. I'm pretty sure she was convinced that I should have become a lawyer. No offense to my lawyer friends, but I just don't see it. You know what they say you need when you find a lawyer buried to his neck in sand; don't you?

More sand!

Anyway, I'm pretty sure Mom's comments were based on my ability to carefully examine The Letter Of The Law and discover any possible loophole that was favorable to me while conveniently ignoring any loopholes that would have been favorable to her. Perhaps nothing illustrates that better than the go kart incident.

It happened during the summer of 1975. I was thirteen and, since Dad had died, I was stuck living in a house full of women. One of those women was, of course my Mom. The others were her spies. Mom really didn't understand teenage boys since she had been an only child. I'm pretty sure she spent her days at work thinking up imaginative new ways to curtail my fun; knowing full well that Kim and Beth would happily tattle on any violations.

I spent my days finding loopholes in her oppressive policies and discovering new ways to hide my deeds from the spies. Overall, it normally worked out just fine.

To get back to the point; Ron and I had go karts. Not the fancy, powered go karts you see advertised in magazines. No, ours were crudely made out of wood and wheels and powered only by gravity. They also lacked any form of braking mechanism. Who needed brakes? The idea was to lie on your belly on the go kart and navigate from the start at the top of the hill to the finish line at the bottom of the hill; and be the first one to get there. Brakes would merely slow you down and that simply was not acceptable.

All of the locals knew that the neighborhood boys would be zooming down the streets on go karts. We watched out for them and only started down the street when there were no cars coming; and they watched out for us and waited patiently for us to finish our run before pulling onto the street. Even the local police knew we were there and, while they would periodically stop to remind us to watch for traffic, they typically would watch us zoom by with a smile and a wave.

Safety gear was, of course, nonexistent. We were the generation that survived go karting down residential streets and jumping off of roofs into snow or leaf piles and riding bikes without helmets and riding in cars that didn't even have seat belts. Who needed safety gear?

As the Fourth of July weekend approached, Mom - who was a perpetual worrier about all activities typically undertaken by teenage boys - was adamant that I could not ride my go kart over the holiday weekend because there would be far too many drivers around who didn't know to watch out for us.

Now the actual verbiage of her dictatorial edict was, "Scott, you are not to ride your go kart over the holiday weekend." The key word in that sentence was the word, "your." She specifically told me that I could not ride my go kart. At no time did she ever say that I could not ride any go kart; nor did she specify that I could not ride Ron's go kart. When analyzed according to the Letter Of The Law, one could make the argument that her ruling only carried weight as far as me riding my go kart.

So I did what every red-blooded thirteen year old boy trapped in a house full of women would do; I traded go karts with Ron for the weekend. It was a beautiful, sunny weekend and we certainly couldn't waste such a great racing weekend merely because of one little dictatorial edict; especially one that came with a loophole big enough to drive a go kart through!!!

Ron's street had a rather steep section leading into a sweeping ninety-degree left-hand turn before leveling out just before reaching his house. It was go karting heaven! Unlike the long, straight hills; this one took skill and guts. Whoever was willing to hold out the longest before diving into the turn would certainly win the race. You could feel the G-Forces on your body when running down Ron's street.

We ran race after race on the holiday weekend. Each one starting with great anticipation and ending with smiles, laughs and accusations of cheating leveled against the winner. Yes, it was a great weekend - until we hit the final race.

We didn't intend it to be the final race; it just ended up that way. I was in the lead as we approached the turn. I was in total control of the race! Unfortunately, the left front wheel broke away from the axle just as I started my turn. The go kart, now totally out of control, skidded wildly toward the curb; jumping the sloped curbing and flipping in the process. I managed to ride out the crash with only one, relatively minor injury. My left leg had smashed into the curb and then been dragged across it; leaving a large, gaping wound across my shin.

Mom was going to kill me!!!! She would use this to argue that our go karts were dangerous - and worse - that I had been riding on the holiday weekend. What now????

Well, someone "smart" enough to figure out the loophole in Mom's edict was also "smart" enough to hide all evidence of what she would likely view as a violation of her order.

I covered it up. I wore blue jeans for several days. The injury completely hidden from Mom's view. I would have gotten away with it completely if it hadn't been for a couple of minor issues like 100 degree heat, a little bit of infection and a visit from Kay.

Mom's friend Kay came over and I was obligated to come out to the living room to say hello and pretend like I was thrilled to see her. Kay had been a nun and, like most nuns, was out to get every teenage boy in trouble. She made a comment about my wearing blue jeans on such a hot day. Mom agreed and ordered me, over great protest, to go change into shorts. I did, but I also put on a pair of tube socks that came up to my knees to hide the evidence. Mom was not happy about the tube socks, but the real problem came when the wound began oozing through the sock.

Mom noticed the growing spot and questioned me about it. Explaining that I had fallen into the curb was not a satisfactory answer, but she was distracted by the obviously growing spot on my sock. Unfortunately, the sock was stuck to the wound by that time, so there was no way she could check my leg without either tearing the wound open again or coming up with a way to get the sock off.

Into the tub I went to soak the sock until it eventually came free of the wound.

The whole story eventually came out. I'm not sure which of the spies ratted on me. It may have even been Ron's sister who was a partner in their espionage, but it didn't really matter. Mom and I didn't exactly agree on whether I had disobeyed or not. I had, in fact obeyed The Letter Of The Law and stayed off my go kart. Whether I should have been expected to understand The Spirit Of The Law was a point of debate. In the long run, though, there was one guarantee when debating the nuances of the law with someone who didn't understand the fine points of legal interpretation.

I ended up grounded.

The spies celebrated another victory.