Parents Lie. Teachers, Cops, and Judges Lie. My Neighbor Lied, and Smirked While I Got My Ass Beat

1981, ‘nuff crazy shite, and the day I chose rebellion, Chapter Three.

Secret Services agents and police swarm a gunman, obscured from view, after he attempted an assassination on President Ronald Reagan outside the Washington Hilton hotel on Monday, March 30, 1981. The Secret Service later identified the suspect as John Warnock Hinckley, 25, of Evergreen, Colorado. (AP Photo/Ron Edmonds)AP

“As he was walking to his limousine at 2:27 p.m. from the side entrance on Connecticut Avenue, John Hinckley Jr., 25, who was armed with a .22 caliber revolver, began shooting.” Deb Kiner dkiner@pennlive.com

A betrayal of trust, and a bit of violence obliterated my fixation with the developmental rat race. An honest confession fractured my confidence, and trust in authority. My opinion of any, old, talking-head face, from any institution — and of their so-called qualified appraisal of my complaisance capacity, dissipated like sulfurous smoke after a good bottle rocket fight. All across America, Kids like me were catching glimpses of the Beast behind the Curtain.

1981 Sucked. Fifth grade sucked. My grades slipped. This, and performance anxiety hanging over me since that Spirit of ’76 essay, propelled my withdrawal to the cosmos of rebel lyrics and soundscapes of deafening music.

I didn’t care about charming the handlers. If I didn’t know the right answer, I’d bullshit my way into a passing grade. A minimalist’s concession to schoolwork kept my GPA treading water while I spent time running…