Pt.8 -Never Have I Ever? Hold my Coffee!

The Misadventures of 1980s Teens: The Hatchet mishap.

Growing up as a teenager in the 1980s was like being in a constant state of adventure (and mild peril). A time when "be home before dark" was the only rule. Our parents had no idea what shenanigans we got up to, especially in the woods behind our house. Those woods were the epicenter of our youthful escapades, a place where my three brothers, many of our neighborhood kids, and I reigned supreme sans adult supervision.

One fateful day, we decided to build a fort – the ultimate castle and secret hideout. Armed with raw determination and a questionable understanding of carpentry, we set about chopping down small trees. Safety equipment? Pfft In the 80s? That was a foreign concept.

As we started on our construction, one of my brothers took on the role of lumberjack. With all the finesse of a wild bear, he swung the hatchet with gusto. However, fate and poor aim intervened. Before we could blink, the hatchet rebounded and hit him right in the corner of his eye. Yes, the most 80s injury ever – hatchet to the face.

There we were: a bunch of kids in the woods with an injury way above our pay grade. But did we think of getting an adult? Nope. Our first thought was: "How do we hide this from the grown-ups?" Priorities, right?

So, we concocted a cover story. It was a story so outlandish it involved heroic deeds and physics-defying feats. Our injured brother, now sporting a very pirate-esque look, agreed to our not-very well-thought-out plan. We rehearsed our story as we marched back to civilization (i.e., home).

Our mother, however, wasn't born yesterday. She saw right through our tale. There were raised eyebrows, knowing looks, and that all-too-familiar "I'm waiting" stance. The truth came tumbling out faster than our hasty retreat from the woods.

The fallout? I'll leave out the details as it may scar the younger readers. But my brother did have a cool scar afterward.

Looking back, our childhood was a wild ride of freedom and adventures. We rode our bikes without helmets, roamed the neighborhood until the streetlights came on, and built things without the slightest clue about safety or consequences. Our parents trusted us to be responsible, and we... well, we did try.

But here's the thing – we wouldn't trade those days for anything. Those adventures, or should I say misadventures, shaped us, taught us resilience, and gave us stories that we still laugh and sometimes cringe about.

So, here's to growing up in the 80s in our neighborhood, to the recklessness of youth, and to the scars (both physical and emotional) that remind us of a time when life was one big adventure. And to my brother, the unintentional hatchet daredevil: thanks for the memories and being a good sport.

The 80s might be long gone, but the spirit of those days lives on in our stories and, more importantly, in the lessons we learned: about friendship, about the importance of a good story, and about always, always being careful with a hatchet.