For my seventh birthday, I asked for and got(!) my very own record player!!
It was sweet.
My father painstakingly went over how to handle a record and place in on the turntable and how to gently set the needle on the vinyl without scratching it.
I was in heaven. I finally had my own a stereo system in MY room all set up on cement blocks and lumbar yard wood, which even today I think would look very cool.
My first record was the Grease soundtrack.
I played those records (it was a double set, remember?) to DEATH. I knew every word to every song and made up dances based on the one single time I had seen the movie in the theater. I was just like every other little girl in 1979.
Only, I had a mother with very bad eyesight.
My mother came into my bedroom, probably without knocking and caught me shoo bop shoo wadda wadda yipitty boom de boom-ing to We Go Together and saw the pencil, jumped to conclusions and then started yelling at me about writing on the album cover and not taking care of the things she and my dad had given me, etc., etc. Once she calmed down we had a good laugh. Well, my dad and I did.
C’mon mom, there are worse things I could do, but deface my precious LP? Never!
The best is yet to be.
I don’t know if it’s allowed, but this is my second post this week for Mama Kat’s Writer’s Workshop – Prompt #4: The craziest reason I ever got in trouble as a child.