Sometime in the mid seventies, a vague memory lingers of my parents taking my brother and me with them on a night out as stowaways. It was to a gathering at the K Club.

It was Christmas or maybe New Year’s or maybe just a celebratory Saturday night. I only remember that it was the first time I’d seen my mom really dressed up like an adult.
She wore a revealing red dress, perfume, and make up like I’d only seen in magazines. She was beautiful and sexy. I was only seven years old, but I knew what sexy was. I had seen the manuals hidden in my dad’s dresser drawers. She was oddly exciting to gaze upon and I could tell my dad was proud to show her off, even though they had been fighting the entire time they were getting ready. Fighting was usual and normal for our family. Not arguing, but fighting. If my mother could take or deliver a punch, they would have been throwing knockout blows at least once a week.

During their evening preparation, they had neglected to feed their children. I’m not sure if there ever was a plan for us, or the plans fell through, or the time was too constricting, or what, but it was obvious we were not prioritized at all. Maybe we were supposed to meet with a babysitter, or maybe they just forgot about us for a little while, but we were obviously not invited to the party and eventually had to be dealt with somehow.

I assume the plan soon became to figure something out in a pinch. I hope the actual original plan was not what they did, but it totally could have been.

We all squeezed together on the cold vinyl bench seat of the 1977 green Chevy 4×4, and rode twenty plus miles into the city. I remember mostly a calm silence, as if my parents refused to speak in fear of ruining any chance they might actually enjoy the evening. The overpowering smells of perfume and cologne might have also collectively altered our brain patterns, rendering us silent and passive.
I do remember a certain energy surrounding my dad. It was as if he was hyper focused on the coming events of the evening, and he would let nothing alter that path. We all assumed he would be content with leaving us on the side of the road if we posed as an obstacle to his upcoming enjoyment.

On the way to the building, we stopped by a small grocery store where we were allowed to shop for snacks. Anything our childish hearts desired, just to keep us quiet. No rules of nutrition applied. This was also our dinner.

Upon arrival, my brother and I were quickly, silently, and covertly guided down a dimly lit hallway to a dark, unheated office room. My mom had no part in it. I’m not even sure she knew we were there anymore. The fluorescent lights blinked and flittered as the room illuminated. Among the unemotional office carpet and grey tweed and false leather office furniture stood a television on a rolling cart. My dad turned it on and silently rejoiced as he turned the loud clicking, giant rotary channel knobs, discovering at least four channels. It was as if it was sent by God. A babysitter God. We did not have an operable TV at home since no signal existed that could reach our rural area. My dad left us with a stern warning. I don’t remember what he said, but it may have been the only time in our lives that my brother decided not to anger me for his own entertainment.

So for hours, my brother and I ate our dinner of powdered sugar and waxed chocolate coated donuts, M&M’s, bags of chips, candy bars, and multiple soda pops. We watched adult themed sitcoms and violent cop shows on the clean signaled tv channels as the steady roar of the distant party echoed down the hallway. We didn’t argue or fight, or at least enough that required an intervention.

After hours and hours, and hours, our obviously inebriated, red faced parents came to get us. We were once again snuck out like prisoners of war. Most of the guests had already gone so it was a successful super secret covert operation.
I believe it was against the rules for children to be present, but it must have been worth the risk to my dad. A reprimand? A possible exile from the K-Club? At least he would have been publicly shamed, maybe.

My mom would have never had a rational opinion about it, so there is no point in trying to guess what her thoughts on the matter even were. That would be equivalent to trying to understand why cats suddenly run out of the room sometimes.

At that time, there were no actual laws against driving drunk, with or without your kids. We obviously made it home to tell the story. I remember that we were so tired, and it was so late, and we were exhausted from eating so much sugar.

I also remember that my parents actually had a good time. It was rare and overdue, and probably the last time they enjoyed each other’s company, in public or private. And looking back in even further depth, I wonder if it was really just a sex party? I hope not, or I hope so. Mom and Dad sure were excited.