I Was a Teenage Punk

I was in a car with five guys, most of whom I didn't know very well. We had one more guy to pick up who had to sneak out of the house and into the waiting car down the street. His strict father was picky about who his son hung out with. We were going to the State Fair, or so we thought.

We stopped for gas and strict father pulls up behind us and commands his son to get out of the car. He walks up to the front passenger side window and asks for my name.

"Why do you want to know?"

WHAMMO! strict father hits me in the face with his fist. My nose gushes blood. Strict father goes to his car and pulls out a miniature Louisville Slugger baseball bat. Everyone is yelling at the driver to start the car, he's coming back with a bat!

The car finally starts and we pull away in time. I'm still dazed from the punch in the nose. I look up and there's a spray of blood on the inside windshield and all over my shirt. I look at the other guys in the car and they're all wide eyed and white as ghosts. I thought I must look pretty bad.

We stop at the driver's home, I clean the blood of my face and we ditch the idea of going to the fair. I come home with a bloody shirt and a fat lip. I told the story to my father. He calls strict father and he comes to our house and offers apologies and tells him that he has anger issues and problems with his son. As I recall he may have been a minister...probably Baptist.