In 1983, I was a punk ass little kid. A Hellion.
I was 13. I loved playing games with my Jr High GPA… seeing how close to the deck I could fly without crashing the plane. Spent a lot of time in detention and at the Vice Principal’s office. Drinking and drugs were less than 6 months away. I had already begun my career as a little womanizer. Vandalism was one of my favorite pastimes. It was soon to be joined by petty theft.
I was about to embark on a decade plus reign of terror that would put the kids from “The Omen” and “The Exorcist” to shame.
Why do I tell you this? To set the stage. See, kids like that (me), don’t want to spend time with their families. I would have rather been doing something else. Anything else. I was all about getting AWAY from my family at that age. But when you’re 13, you don’t have a lot of freedom, so you wind up doing what they do on Holidays like New Years.
What I didn’t expect… what none of us expected… was that that day, New Years Day, 1983, would be a day that would go down in Fogarty family folklore forever.
It was the day we all saw “A Christmas Story”.