u/IfIKnewThen

I was a sophomore in highschool. A couple "friends" and I were definitely up to no good. We decided that we wanted to go joyriding. There was only one problem, none of us had a car. I can't remember for sure who first came up with the idea but full disclosure:

I was always an avid reader. Like a compulsion. Which was great of course. But I do wonder if reading Theodore Weesner's book "The Car Thief" contributed to my early juvenile delinquency. The main protagonist, 16 year old Alex Housman was stealing cars. Not for profit, but "as an expression of his inner turmoil" as mentioned by the critics. There was definitely a few similarities between Alex and me. I'm just going to say that perhaps there was a casual relationship between the book and my own juvenile delinquency. To be sure 14-15 year old Kevin, thought 16 year old Alex, was someone to be admired. Anyway, I digress.

We (I'm not going to mention any names, only because I can't be certain of who was who) had stolen more than a few cars. There was no magic to it. No hotwiring or anything like that. We would just walk by and look in the ignition. Keys? Well let's go for a ride. We never stole a car that didn't have the keys left in the ignition. I suppose that should be a warning to people. But how could you not feel like it was safe to leave your keys in the car in your own driveway? Yeah, I actually did that. More than once. One particular time, the hose was still running because the car owner was washing the car. In their own driveway. On a nice sunny Saturday afternoon. I think they were actually still in the garage. To be sure, they chased the car down the street as I was laughing at my brazenness.

We never damaged any of the cars we stole. Well, except for one. The last one. I was by myself.

After school, I usually rode home with my sister. I had a part-time volunteer gig at the Children’s Medical Center in Tulsa. And, as insane as it sounds, I was developing and printing 35mm film used in chromosome studies. Like, actual medical research.

I’d learned my way around a darkroom thanks to an early fondness for everything photography related and somehow spun that into a job helping with genetic karyotyping. Looking back, I still can’t believe anyone let a half-feral 15-year-old near a microscope or a tray of fixer. But hey, science needed film techs, and I knew my way around shadows.

How fucking crazy is that?

So on this particular day I had hung out and smoked some weed with my cohorts. Turned out,. everyone was going their own way that day and I had a decision to make. I walked across the street to the Burger King and got a milkshake and some fries. I sat there drinking my shake and eating my fries and trying to decide: Go to my volunteer job (only a block or so away), or start walking home. If I went to work, my dad would swing by and pick me up on his way home. I decided to go ahead and go to work. Responsibility and all you know.

As I left the Burger King, there was a van parked out back. It was a work truck. A Ford Econoline. Either the first or second year after the extended nose vans had come out I think. Anyway, this had the longer hood. I was going to walk right past the drivers door. That little voice in my head.

"If the keys are in it, we're going for a drive". What an idiot. But that was the entire calculation of whether I was going to commit grand theft auto or not. As luck, or more appropriately, fate, would have it, the keys were indeed in the ignition. I was hesitant. Honestly, I didn't want to do it. I'd already been thinking about how fucked up it was and that odds were stacking against me with each joyride.

Youth and stupidity overruled common sense and I hopped in the van. The initial moments driving off, were always like the thrill of the caper. It usually wore off pretty fast. Then it was the thought of being caught. Being pulled over. Then what? I didn't have any sort of plan for that. None. I just tried to not think about it.

I was really high. Like seriously, about as high as you can get smoking weed. I had absolutely no business doing anything that I was doing. Certainly not driving off in a stolen van. I didn't even have a driver license yet, although I had actually been driving for quite some time from when I worked for my dad. So I definitely knew how to drive. In fact, if I hadn't have been so stoned, the following events might never have happened.

I decided that heading over to the house of one of my partners in crime was the best course of action. We could go joyride for a while, then I could drop him off and head home. Somewhere along the way, I would simply park the van against a curb and walk the rest of the way home. That's what we always did. It's a wonder I was never connected to any of the other cars. Heading that way, I look over and believe it or not, there was Rob in the passenger seat of his mom's car. He saw me and smiled. He already knew exactly what was up. I imagine him thinking, or hoping, that I was smart enough to give him enough time to get in and out of his house without his mom seeing me driving the van. Of course, I thought to myself, I'm not an idiot. I don't want to have to explain anything to your mom. She already didn't like me. Turns out, she would like me even less in just a few more minutes.

The intersection was under construction. On the other side of the intersection, the lanes reduced from four, down to two, one in each direction. Of course this led to traffic backing up on the other side of the construction zone. Backing up to a stop on this day. If I hadn't been so high, I might have been paying closer attention. I might have seen the stopped traffic a moment earlier. I might have hit the brakes a couple of seconds sooner. I was high though.

By the time I realized that traffic was completely stopped, I slammed on the brakes, I'm pretty sure it was with both feet. I jerked the wheel to the right, hoping I could maybe run off the shoulder. Too late. About two feet of the left side of the front of that Econoline, plowed into about two feet of the rear of Rob's mom's car. Screeching tires, crushing steel, shattering glass. Talk about a buzz kill. HOLY SHIT!

The impact was hard, like really hard, surprisingly hard. I didn't have a seatbelt on but incredibly I was completely uninjured. I hit them with enough force that they hit the car in front of them. The car in front of them, hit the next stopped car. Yep, from a simple joyride to four cars crashed in a split second. Fuck! This is really bad. What am I supposed to do now? I had no plan for this. It was never supposed to happen. Damn!

So I got out of the van. Rob's mom was just getting out of her car. She saw me, the moment of recognition.

"YOU? Driving that car!??

"The van?" I stammered. "Yeah."

"Oh my God!" She screeched.

The gravity of the situation wasn't apparent to me yet. Again, this was never supposed to happen. We had never planned for such an eventuality. I don't remember seeing Rob or not..I assume he got out of the car, but I can only guess at that. I looked around. There, off the right shoulder. A row of evergreen trees. Beyond that, houses. If I could make it to the trees I would have some cover. It's the only thing I saw that might work for an escape.

"I'll go over here and call the police, one of those houses..." I don't know if anyone heard me, I didn't care. The trees, at least temporary safety. How child like is that? If they can't see me, I will have gotten away. Perhaps in fantasy world it works like that. No matter what I might have hoped for, I knew that there was no safety. There wasn't going to be any safety. Not for quite some time.

Once on the other side of the trees, I ran. I just started running. Towards home. Where else does a 14 year old boy go when they're in trouble. Home, was 7 miles away. Can we take a moment here to admit that the President's Council on Sports, Fitness & Nutrition, started around the early sixties I think, actually worked pretty well. I ran. All the way home. Over 7 miles. Perhaps I jogged some, but I fucking ran. It even feels now like I was running for my life. I would be safe at home. I'm pretty sure I knew that was far from the truth, but I wasn't ready to formulate the actual scenario yet. I knew it was going to be the worst thing ever, by far. But for now,. my mind seemed content to just ignore everything else and just get home. Somehow I did make it home. Safety finally. No police cars in the driveway or in front of the house. Only my sister's car. I looked in the garage... empty. Mom and Dad neither one was home. I have time to figure this out. How much time?

. I had a transistor radio that had police band on it. In fact,. I still have it. It was at my Dad's house when he passed away. I used to listen to the police department all the time when I went to bed. I was familiar with all the 10 codes and every now and then I would be able to break the news to the rest of the family about some major incident I'd heard on the radio. I did the logical thing. I burst through the front door and ran to my bedroom, maybe I said hi to my sister. I grabbed the police radio and tuned into the dispatch frequency. This was old school, not a scanner radio, but a real transistor radio that you had to tune with a dial. It's a Panasonic. This is honestly unbelievable, I'm about to write it and I'm thinking, no one is ever going to believe this. (It's crazy how many times I've written that) But once again, God as my witness. My sister has said more than once when I told this story to someone, "yep, it happened exactly like he said, I was there. My brother was genuinely an idiot". No sooner had I got the radio tuned to the police band, then the dispatch crackled over the airwaves...

"Pick up suspect, 1234 E Main St"

My sister was walking by my bedroom door just at the precise moment.

"Was that our address on the police radio?" Calmly, no apparent concern in her voice. Just curiosity. Like, surely she heard it wrong, or somehow there was a perfectly innocuous explanation for what she thought she heard.

PANIC! Full blown panic. This wasn't supposed to happen. It was just going to be a joyride. The world was crashing down around me. I was in more trouble than I had ever been in before in my life. Nothing even came close to this. And it was only the beginning. SHIT!

"Shit, Kathy! I stole a car and crashed it!"

The look on her face. She didn't believe it. There's no way he just said what it sounded like, that's the look I saw. I was in full panic mode. All the tension and fear and contemplation of the looming consequences, arrived at once. My meltdown cleared things up for her. It's exactly what she heard.

Still, "OMG, what?"

"I stole a van over by school, I was going over to Rob's house and I crashed the van at 15th and Maple. I ran all the way here!"

She was standing there in my bedroom doorway, I'm sure trying to make sense of what she was hearing. I did some stuff that I shouldn't have done, sure. I got in some trouble every now and then. But I was on the honor roll. Overall, I was a good kid. Stealing cars? Driving? Crashing? Hit and run? I didn't even have a driver's license!

"I'm going to run away"! That's all I could think of. What else would I do? What else could I do? There was no further plan. Just run away. Away from the trouble. Somehow that would have to be enough.

"That's what I would do." Kathy said.

That was terrifying. If my sister agreed that running away was the thing to do, I was in WAY more trouble than even I thought.

I headed for the front door. I opened it and there was a Tulsa police officer. Standing on our front porch. How was that even possible?

"Are you Kevin?"

Fucking hell I wanted to be ANYONE else at that moment.

"Yes".

"Turn around for me and place your hands behind your back."

Poor Kathy. She stood there and watched her little brother get handcuffed.

"Where are you taking him!?"

"We're taking him to jail!"

She was beside herself. I don't know whether she watched me being walked, in handcuffs, to the patrol car or not. My guess is she went straight to the phone and started spreading the good news. I'll have to ask her about it because I can't remember ever talking about it. I assume she called my dad at work.

In the car I was asked about the stolen van. What could I say. I was fucking caught. I plowed into someone that knew who I was. There wasn't going to be any way to talk my way out of this.

"I didn't know it was stolen". That was the only thing I could think of to say. That, of course, didn't excuse the hit and run, the no drivers license, etc, etc.

I don't remember any additional conversation on the way downtown to the PD. Once I was there, I think I remember being fingerprinted, having my mugshot taken and whatever else. They placed me in a one person cell. I could only stand up. Not even a seat. He didn't even shut the cell door all the way. I just stood there.. I don't know for how long,. not very long. Maybe an hour?

"Your dad is here to get you, c'mon, this way".

I was glad I was leaving to be sure. But Dad. Shit, couldn't they have sent like, I don't know, anyone else? I dreaded facing the reality of my situation. It was easily a 20 to 30 minute ride home. I was not looking forward to the conversation that was going to take place during that ride.

Turns out, I didn't need to worry about that. I didn't need to have any story prepared yet. Not a word was said. The entire ride home, he never spoke. He kept glancing over at me, but said nothing. Honestly, that was worse. I would have preferred that he said something. Anything. Somehow that would have been better. I remember that I wanted to cry. Probably because I thought it might generate some sympathy. I knew better though. I didn't cry, not on the way home I didn't. There would be plenty of time for crying.

We arrived home and we walked into the dining room from the garage. Surrounding the dining table was everyone. My grandmother and grandfather, (Dad's parents) were there. My mom, my two brothers and my sister are there. Everyone was there. Everyone's eyes were on me. It was awful.

"I don't want to talk about it." I said.

Seemed like the thing to say I guess. I started walking towards my room.

My dad was rarely ever angry. He never was physical with any of his kids. Ever. So what happened next was unexpected and as I remember, pretty scary. I felt his giant hand around my neck from behind. He literally picked me up with one hand. He just lifted me up and placed me in a chair at the dining table. In spite of the situation and what it might sound like, it was done gently. Certainly much gentler than the circumstances called for.

"You don't want to talk about it!?" He growled.

I don't remember what was said during that conversation. This rarely happens as I recount events from my past, but I don't have any recollection of what took place. I mean obviously there was several mentions of "what the hell is wrong with you?" and similar, but I don't recall any of it.

I was seriously in trouble, I know that without any doubt. I'm just going to assume that I was grounded for a pretty long time. I can't say for sure what my punishment was.

Going back to school was pretty weird, I do remember that. Of course, because I hit a classmates mom, the whole school knew about what happened. My partners in crime only wanted to know one thing, did I rat anyone out? I didn't. I never mentioned anyone else and I never mentioned the other cars. I do remember fearing that through fingerprints they would connect me to the other cars. They never did. I don't think I ever talked to Rob again, for the obvious reason.

My dad of course hired a lawyer and I remember going to court a couple of times. I remember it being very intimidating. The courtroom in all it's grandeur. Paneled walls, pew like seating. Kinda like church I remember thinking. I wanna say it prompted me to pray. I probably did, certainly would have been appropriate. The black robed authority figure, he was no nonsense. I was wisely dressed in my Sunday best. The judge was overwhelming in his obvious authority. I remember thinking I dare not get any of this wrong. I had no idea what to expect, my imagination ran wild with the possibilities. I'd heard stories about juvenile detention. I was asked a bunch of questions, I think that I was so intimidated by everything that I don't remember the specifics

In the end, it was basically, "don't ever do that again". In regards to the legal system, that's all I remember. I was otherwise a good kid, doing good in school, honor roll even, from a good neighborhood, intact family with involved parents. Dad was a business owner. It was my first experience with being in serious trouble. (I mean it mostly was perhaps I shouldn't spend too much time thinking about that).

I never stole another car, that's for damn sure.