Life al Dente by Gina Cascone

Author:Gina Cascone
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: ATRIA BOOKS
Published: 2003-07-15T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 12

Driving the Cadillac

IWAS THIRTEEN years old when my father decided it was time I learned to drive a car. And not just any old car either, but his brand-spankin’-new, top-of-the-line Cadillac.

As with most of his decisions regarding family life, this one was made without a great deal of forethought, probably ten seconds tops. It was also a decision he made, obviously, without consulting my mother. “Don’t tell your mother” was an oft-heard refrain that invariably preceded some ill-advised adventure.

He never had to say that. My dedication to omertà was as strict and as sacred as that of any wise guy who ever held the burning holy card while swearing secrecy to La Cosa Nostra—“this thing of ours.” My father and I had our own little Cosa Nostra. It was called: “whatever Mommy doesn’t know won’t hurt us.” We both got away with lots of stuff because of it. But it also brought us very close together.

In a backward sort of way, it taught me that I could depend on my father, no matter what. So when the going got tough, I called Daddy.

There’s nothing in the world tougher than going to your first high school dance—all alone.

I was in a brand-new school, one that was not of my own choosing. I had wanted to go to public school, like all the other kids in my “new and improved” neighborhood. But my parents didn’t think that was good enough for me. So they chose to send me to an elite, private high school where they were sure that not only would I get the best education possible, but I would also be surrounded by the “best” people.

The school was elite all right, so elite in fact that it didn’t take me long to realize that among my peers—many of whom had been together since kindergarten—I was an “untouchable.”

I had no desire to go to the dance, no interest in socializing with kids who had done nothing but give me the cold shoulder for close to two months. Unfortunately, I made the mistake of throwing the flyer announcing the dance into the garbage at home instead of trashing it at school the minute I got it.

My mother found it and decided that it was absolutely imperative that I go. She insisted that it would be a wonderful opportunity for me to get to know my schoolmates better under more relaxed circumstances. She reminisced about all the dances she’d gone to in high school and how much fun they were. She wanted me to have all the fun she did as a teenager. She was immune to my protests, assuring me that what I was feeling was perfectly normal, but that my trepidation would dissolve as soon as I hit the dance floor. She even got my father to put the pressure on. “Look, I’ll give you a hundred bucks if you go to the stupid dance and make your mother happy. It’ll be the easiest hundred bucks you’ll ever make in your life.

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