My Parents Are Aliens: A Valentines Day Horror Story

For every teenager your life up to a certain point is fairly predictable - you will go to school, you will have homework, you will get acne, you will argue with your parents, but you still feel warmth and acceptance and a sort of belonging from your mom and dad.  But then, at that certain point, which is different for everyone, your parents do something that yanks all that out from under you like the proverbial tablecloth trick...and yes that is your teenage life crashing all around you just like the dinner plates, glasses, and silverware.  It is in one swift motion that you realize your parents are at worst, aliens, (not the nice ones, but more like the "V" ones) or at best, were kidnapped along with Patty Hearst, and are still brainwashed, to begin making your life miserable on THAT VERY DAY! For me that day was April 15, 1985. I was 16.

Now before I can continue, there is one important piece of information that is essential for you to know in order to grasp the true gravity of my ordeal - the one that happened on that fateful day in 1985. For all that know me now, with the image of masculine, rippling muscles and lumberjack-like rugged looks (hey! quit laughing), will find this hard to believe, but in high school...I was a nerd.  Yes, it's true.  Now I don't watch Glee, but from what I understand about the show, I would have fit in perfectly. I was even in (GASP!) the band. So as you might imagine, for me, getting dates with young ladies was the equivalent of the calf roping event at a rodeo. And the girls I was getting dates with could probably be best described as "unrefined"... I think one even shaved (not her legs).  So, you understand, dates were scarce, and dates with actual girls from this planet were unheard of.  Now back to the "my parents are aliens" part.

Well, apparently the week prior to "the day", the planets aligned, and  Lori K., at the time the most beautiful girl I knew (who would actually talk to me) said "Yes" when I asked her on a date...and also at that particular time in my life, my mother was the proud owner of a Triumph, a TR7 to be exact.  For those who don't know, it is a sports car. Enough said.  And apparently the stars were still aligned because she also said "Yes" when I asked to use it on my date with the lovely Lori K.  So, beyond my wildest dreams, I have a date with a real girl who I get to impress in my parents sports car.  For a teenage nerd, it does not get any better than this.  Then...the day came.

So I'm getting ready for my appointment with heaven, probably caking acne goop on my face, when I begin to notice some troubling signs.  I see my parents...also getting ready for what appears to be...a date.  So I nervously ask...and they are indeed going out on a date the same night as me, wow, what a coincidence...OR EVIL PLAN.  So, now as I'm shifting into panic mode I ask THE QUESTION.  "So", I ask my mom (who is beginning to resemble an alien) rather unassuming, "are you taking Dad's truck?" "No" she responded in a way that seemed both whimsical and evil at the same time..."we're taking the Triumph, you can take the truck".   Clearly, my mother was an evil alien.

NNNNNNNNOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Yes.  I had been relegated to a special place in Hell (in my unsaved mind).  With one fell swoop my entire life had been diminished into a parody of Shakespearian proportions. I had to take the truck. Now, you might think that most teenage boys wouldn't mind taking a date in a truck.  You would be right, except now.  You see, my dad's truck was the best kind of truck - for a contractor - it was pale black, not shiny or glossy black, more like primer and less like paint.  It had huge tool bins on both sides and a ladder rack.  And not just any ladder rack, he even had the "4"-high dog ears" attached to the ladder rack...you know...to keep the ladder from sliding around.  It gets better.  Since my dad, Lord bless him, was so frugal, he wasn't going to waste money on an automatic transmission.  No he had the grinding "four on the floor" that required a leg with the strength of the Hulk's to push down the clutch. Not to mention, dusty seats, skinny (read: not cool) tires and rims.  I really cannot think of how it could have been any worse. 

Well, to Lori's credit...she thought it was all very funny..she still went out with me,  we even had a good time.  We went to the Norfolk water front.  I parked in the parking garage. We had dinner. I had almost forgot how horribly I had felt only hours earlier.  Than, it happened.  Remember those 4"-high ladder rack dog ears...they are, as I found out, just high enough to grab an electric parking garage exit sign...and pull it down...sparks flying and all.  I think the tic's coming back. Happy Valentines Day.