“Lord, have mercy on our souls,” I mumbled to myself as my friend Marvie turned the key in the ignition. She was 16, did not have a driver’s license and was behind the wheel of my father’s car. I was 15, was a nervous wreck on the passenger side and had just pulled off an unlikely scheme to fool my dad into handing over the keys
.Our mission was to make it to a gospel concert at Detroit’s Northwest Activity Center. We were determined to fulfill that mission. After all, we both loved good singing, and it wasn’t as if we were sneaking off to a Jackson 5 concert. It was a gospel concert, for goodness’ sake.
Needless to say, it didn’t take long for the whole plan to unravel. Although we made it to the auditorium, we never heard one note of that good singing.
One of my brothers was in the audience and spotted us right away. The questions came fast and furiously. We were totally busted. Within the hour, I was back in my bedroom on Woodingham Street
When Dad found out that Marvie had showed him a fake ID and that I had lied to him, he didn’t say anything; he simply shook his head. The look of disappointment on his face as I told him the entire story made me want to run and hide in shame.
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