By Lori Welch Brown
When I was a teenager, I chomped at the bit for freedom and independence. I wanted to break free of my parents’ rules and wanted to be independent to live by MY rules—which would be non-existent because—hey—how can you have fun with rules?
I was tired of living my life without any agency over it. Between dad enforcing his militant commands to teachers burdening me with their ridiculous rules such as no pencil fighting or gum chewing. Obviously, phones were not a thing and pagers didn’t happen until high school. And General Welch put his foot square down on that technology for which I am forever grateful.
At the time, the only freedom within my reach was a driver’s license and a car. I would no longer be tied to my parents’ apron strings and could drive away with the wind in my hair. I wouldn’t have to ‘just wait a minute’ for them to finish whatever they were doing to take me to Burger King or the movies or my friend’s house. I could leave when I wanted and arrive on my own time. If I wanted to stop at High’s for a can of Diet Coke, I could. If I wanted to do a drive by at the pool to see if Mike’s Camaro was there—which would mean my crush Philip would be there—I wouldn’t have to make up an excuse to tell my mom. And, let’s face it, nothing says uncool like doing a drive by with your mom as your pilot.
So, I got a part-time job after school when I was 15 so I could save for the down payment for the car—which I got just shy of my 16th birthday. She was a beauty—a bright apple green 1976 Pontiac Firebird. My uncle even gave her a new paint job as my birthday present.
Freedom was mine at last.
As I would quickly learn, however, the bank also had rules in the form of a payment book which was promptly given to me with my name inked on every page. They expected their money by the 15th of each month. Then there was the guy over at State Farm who wanted his money every six months. Kind of him, right? Then there was the Texaco gas station that gave me the freedom to swipe my card, but sent a lovely bill to the house—again with my name on it—every month.
The rules had been replaced with responsibility.
That was okay though because I loved my independence, and I craved more so when a couple of “more cooler”, older friends invited me to move in with them when I was 19, I jumped at the opportunity. Bye, bye rules—hello, adulthood.
Little did I know that roommates also had rules—which is not a bad thing—otherwise, we would have been living in squalor. Contrary to popular belief, girls are not averse to dirt and filth. Common bathrooms had to be cleaned daily—same with the kitchen. No leaving peanut butter smears on counters after 2:00 am grazings. Dirty dishes had to be cleaned and put away. Group chores were done on Saturday mornings. And rent could not be late. Utilities would be divided three ways, and our parts were to be paid on time.
Bosses had rules too, but at least I got a paycheck in return.
I say this as a reminder that while freedom is sweet, it comes with a price which we all have to pay in some way—some more than others—and to those who pay the ultimate price, words are not enough.
As we celebrate our independence on the 4th, it’s a good time to remember that our founding fathers didn’t toss their powdered wigs up in the air after winning the war, kick their feet up, and await the bounties of life—without taxation—to be tossed into their laps. No—they rolled up their sleeves and got to work creating a new vision for our country which some 200+ years later, we still reap the benefits of.
Freedom isn’t free and nor should it be. We should all be willing to earn our way and pay it back to those who fought with their lives, and pay it forward to those we can. Although I do often wish I could go back to a time when freedom was on someone else’s dime—namely, my parents’.
Cheers to a happy and safe 4th!
About the Author: Lori is a local writer, painter and pet lover who loves to share her experiences and expertise with our readers. She has been penning a column for the OTC for over 20 years. Please follow Lori online on Medium for more missives like this.