Have you heard of the overused label "rebellious teen"? Well, how about "rebellious preteen"? Probably not the latter.
At the mere ages of ten and nine years old, I was with one of my close friends Caleb (whose grandparents were my neighbors for my entire existence of a decade in the small, but large to my young adventurer mind, island called Campobello). We were inevitably bored. The island, to two less than preteen children, was intimidating, yet boring. We wanted to explore. However, we were so young, our parents wouldn't let us adventure beyond our road.
After roughly two hours of Caleb and I sitting on his grandparent's bedroom floor, watching reruns of "SpongeBob" and eating our favorite shark gummies, Caleb proposed an intriguing idea. "We should go to my aunt's house," he said. "She isn't home, and she has more gummies that we can have!"
I looked at the year younger boy with fire in my eyes, because even though this adventure wasn't crazy, it still sent shivers of excitement through my small body. "Lets go." I smirked.
Now, between you and me, I knew my parents wouldn't be thrilled that Caleb and I were entering a house without an adult with us, especially if they found out that the primary resident of the house wasn't even on the property. I think that I went with Caleb anyway just because that inner punk inside me told me to. It told me I hadn't rebelled enough lately and that it was an important part of growing up. Maybe it was just because I'd let the Green Day lyrics get to my head way too early in childhood and now I was abiding by their rules. Nevertheless, Caleb and I set off down the road on our main mode of transportation, our bikes. We were on our way to the small house at the end of the street.
Walking up the wooden steps of the house, Caleb was aware of where they hid their house keys. He lifted the door mat, pulled the key out and unlocked the house. We entered, and I strongly remember the scent of dog food. I looked around the very modern house, and it felt wrong to be in there. I remember how scared I felt, but Caleb kept reassuring me that we were allowed there. That it was okay.
We ventured around the downstairs, in fact I had never discovered if there were several floors to the house or not, because we only viewed the first. Caleb poured us each a glass of milk from the fridge, and he sat at the computer, trying to unlock it so we could play some game. Honestly I don't remember what we planned, but he never cracked the password.
Next, we looked at the fine assortment of tropical fish in the homeowner's large aquarium. Caleb said that his "aunt" fed the fish dog food, and that we should probably feed them since there was no food in the tank at the moment. He threw a handful in and offered me some, but I was so awestruck by the clown fish that I didn't bother.
Our fantastic, yet anxiety filled adventure was cut short by the sound of a loud truck engine being revved in the drive way. We immediately recognized the sound of my father's vehicle. His truck was very loud. As we exited the house, I discovered that my purple bike, with flames on the sides, was already loaded onto the back of the truck. I could tell by the look on Dad's face that he wasn't necessarily pleased. He had some choice words with Caleb, and told me to get my "ass in the truck." After about two minutes outside talking to my friend, Dad got in the car and sped out of the driveway, I swore he left a burnout track behind him.
The ride home was dead silent, and when I got out of the truck, Dad gave me a look. The look was full of disappointment. The rage was gone, and he just looked extremely upset with me more than anything. I looked next door, seeing Caleb's grandmother not so patiently waiting for him to get home on his bike. Dad must've told her where we were.
My father set me down on the deck in our backyard, and we had a good talk. He asked me why we broke into the house, I told him that Caleb said it was his aunt's house and that he'd done it plenty of times before. Dad gave me another look, this time he was very confused. Apparently the woman whose house we had trespassed in wasn't even distantly related to Caleb. In fact, she barely knew him which is very rare when you live on the island, because everyone knows everyone there. After that, it was my turn to be shocked.
Then I just remember crying in Dad's arms for a good half hour or so. He rubbed my back and told me it was okay, and that it was a learning experience. He told me he was disappointed in me, and that there would still be consequences. For the rest of the month, which was probably a few weeks, I was banned from riding my bike or hanging out with any friends outside of school. In my opinion, this wasn't the worst that he could've punished me.
To this day, I always make sure the owner of a house invites me before I enter, unless I'm visiting. Either way, I have their permission before I enter their place. In addition, my father still views Caleb as a nuisance and he will forever think so. If you want to know what I learned from this experience, I could honestly list off 100 things. To sum it up, you should always respect other people's property. Don't trust everyone you meet, even if they've been your friend for a long time.
If all else fails, don't hang out with a boy like Caleb.
