Good Morning.
After yesterday's testimony before the Senate Judiciary Committee, I realized that I grew up in very sheltered circumstances, even though I thought my social life was nothing short of spectacular. We did not drink at parties during high school although the guys may have hidden a few beers in the garage. Most of the time they were in training for various sports and if they got caught smoking or drinking, they were kicked off the team. It was serious business.
The format at a high school party was to stock a tub full of ice with Coke and 7-Up and have a church key nearby because soda was bottled with a top that had to be pried off. The standard food was a dip made from a carton of sour cream and a package of Lipton onion soup mix. There was a huge bowl of potato chips, the kind that broke off when you dunked them because Pringles and Ruffles with Ridges hadn't been invented yet. I still prefer the original style chip, the more fragile, the better.
We danced in someone's living room or rec room in our stocking feet, and a pair of loafers from the Bass company in Maine was the only item of apparel that was removed all night. Sometimes the lights were turned off, shortly turned back on by a parent, usually a father. Otherwise he stayed upstairs and watched TV with a mother unless he was determined to be really annoying. I had a father who flicked the porch light on and off if I was parked in the driveway for more than five minutes. I came in the house and played the piano, and when I was about forty, I was told by my parents that they always knew how the date had gone by what I played. The Chopin Nocturnes were not a good choice.
There were dances, organized by the town's dowagers at the country clubs, and yes, these fancy dancy cotillions were populated with the private school kids rather than those who went to the public high schools. There were chaperones, sometimes in plain sight, sometimes around the corner, and the refreshments consisted of a punch that was never spiked and a plate of cookies.
The drinking increased dramatically in college, particularly at the fraternities. There was an enormous amount of beer in bottles, cans, and kegs, but the parties were still relatively harmless. I didn't like beer so I continued to drink soda unless I was with someone who had enough money to buy me a fruity drink like a Whiskey Sour. I still like a Whiskey Sour now
and then.
Nobody ever had to worry about being assaulted or drugged. Sex consisted of a kiss good night at the door for those who chose a slower process of growing up or an hour in a vehicle or anywhere a couple could find some privacy to play a little baseball. An empty house because the parents were out of town was, if anything, underutilized because there were rules about what you did and with whom you did it.
The kids after my generation drank, smoked pot, and had a lot more sex. I don't have even a hint of an explanation about why the change took place, but I know that it did, and the situation was probably worse among the prep school students and those who attended the prestigious institutions of higher learning because they had more money, felt a great deal more entitled, and could buy what they wanted to numb themselves and get a hotel room. It goes without saying that getting boozed up does not make for more reasonable behavior, and with a pattern of
increased drinking among adolescents, the country entered into the era of what is commonly called date rape.
Yesterday's hearings from start to finish were gut-wrenching and tragic. We had two grown human beings who were weeping in a public forum. One was soft-spoken, likeable, and wounded to her core. The other was combative and outraged that anyone would accuse him of doing anything that could derail his ascension to the Supreme Court. One of them is lying
through his or her teeth because that's also part of the decline of decent conduct - the ability to sweep aside the truth under almost any circumstance but particularly when it benefits the liar.
I think I'll have my coffee now and listen to Frank Sinatra.
Best regards,
Elisabeth
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