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Showing posts with label jolt. Show all posts
Showing posts with label jolt. Show all posts

Thursday, August 27, 2026

1996 Changed Everything: Pt. 5 - We'll Meet Again Old Friend



This is part of a series of articles about 1996, as it holds significance for me since it was the year I graduated high school. This fifth article is all about the friends we make, the friends we lose, and the friends we keep.

Thirty years ago I walked across a stage, strutting like pro wrestling icon Ric Flair, grabbed my diploma, and began the slow walk from childhood to manhood. My sister Kate recorded much of that graduation ceremony on my old Sears camcorder. I cherish every second of it.

Even today, as the young faces pass by the camera on that tape, I remember so many of them like they are frozen in time. I feel as though those people who held the greatest importance in my life back then still do today.

The classic 1986 film Stand By Me has an iconic quote at the end that sticks with me to this day. Richard Dreyfuss as Gordie types: "I never had any friends later on like the ones I had when I was 12. Jesus, does anyone?"

I wasn’t twelve when I graduated high school, but that line perfectly encapsulates how I feel about the friends I had back then. I’ve never had any like them since.

We were all learning and experiencing life for the first time together. We were succeeding, failing, laughing, loving, achieving, hurting, rebelling, being overwhelmed, and clinging on to each other as we rose and fell with the waves of teenage life. Those friends I made were not just friends; they were lifelong brothers and sisters.

When looking back at the people I called my friends as I graduated high school, I don’t look at a strict timeline. Many of those I’d have taken a bullet for I had already known for years by the time of caps and gowns. It was as if I already knew I’d found my tribe.

Doing some work in photography class.



Making friends is hard at any point in life. As an adult, it can feel like you’re applying for a job. As a kid, you’re putting yourself out there hoping that a stranger finds you worth getting to know better.

Being as shy and introverted as I was during my childhood, it’s a wonder I made any friends at all. Without luck, I’d have had to wait for a kickball to roll my way and use that as the opening to befriend whoever retrieved it.

My two oldest friends, Barry and Matt, came into my life through luck. Matt grew up across the street from me, and Barry happened to live a few doors down from my aunt. I’d go and visit her and invariably end up with Barry. I met both of them around the age of seven. Barry ended up being one of the most important and influential people in my life.

It’s interesting, as I sit here mining for memories going back 40 years, how I can’t remember those first meetings with people who went on to become chosen family. Oh sure, I can give you the Cliff’s Notes version of when someone crossed paths with me. I can share some early memories. However, the first meeting is a blur in virtually all of these cases. I guess you don’t realize that someone has become an integral part of your life until a certain amount of time has passed.

Hasan lived a few streets over from me. I know we bumped into each other during the summer before 6th grade. We built a bond like steel. He came from the city to Cape Cod and taught me about late 80’s/early 90s Hip-Hop. We played basketball. Rarely was it one-on-one because he’d crush me every time. So we’d do these two-against-zero games against opponents we called the ‘invisible ghosts.’

Tim lived further away, but our origin story is similar, revolving around a shared love of basketball. I remember sleepovers at his house often being punctuated by freshly made donuts the next morning by his parents. It was the Jerky Boys, walks through the woods to get to a nearby strip mall, and countless hours of me trying to figure out how to defend his patented ‘Fishy Swim’ fallaway jumper.

John I had seen around in middle school, but only when we sat next to each other in Freshman English did we connect. It was our just slightly wacky sense of humor that made us friends. I wish I still had my English notebook where we’d one-up each other with foolish lines and drawings, rarely paying attention to what the teacher said. To be honest, I would have had an easier time hearing an ant speak than that teacher, though.

Rob, much like Matt, happened to live close by. Our families were heavily intertwined, but it was only when I entered high school and bought a camcorder that we truly connected. He and I were the typical feral Gen Xers. Out all day on our bikes, going places we’d probably have needed permission to go, junk food, caffeine, crazy ideas, and laughs that brought tears.

Liam was another stroke of luck. We happened to work at the same job at the same time. Standing side by side with him, preparing food while music blasted loudly off the walls, ended up becoming some of my fondest memories of high school. Some funny lines we said back then we still bring up to this day.

There was a massive influx of new friends when I got to high school. My high school saw two neighboring towns’ middle schools combine into one blended family. It was an interesting transition. I played for the basketball team in middle school. A few of the new faces in the halls of the high school were once rivals on the other middle school team. It took a minute to realize we were all on the same team now.

New faces like Steve, Greg, Mike, Kevin, Pete, and others quickly went from strangers to major parts of my crew. Our interactions varied depending on the person. Greg, Mike, and Kevin became frequent subjects of photos during senior year.

An attempt at an artsy photo of those three.



I was taking a photography class and had to practice using a film camera. Those three would pose, or something like that, in the middle of classes. It was my job to hit up the darkroom and develop the foolishness that we created. To this day, Mike insists he wasn’t in any of those photos. The joke is on him, though. He has aged very well, so he looks almost the same today.

During high school, I was at the mercy of my bike, walking, or occasional rides to hang out with friends. I didn’t get my driver’s license until senior year, and even then I had infrequent access to a vehicle, what with me being one of five kids and having a mother working full-time and going to nursing school full-time.

It was a different era in the 1990s. You didn’t sit inside on a phone, playing video games, or watching television. Well, sure, we did all of those things to a degree, but for the most part life consisted of calling friends, quickly getting off the phone, and getting out of the house to have some sort of an adventure.

You quickly learn who your ‘ride or die’ friends are based on the level of stupidity they were willing to join you on. Wandering through the woods? Sneaking into a construction site to explore half-built houses? Hanging out of the back of a station wagon riding a skateboard? Drinking Jolt and creating caffeine-soaked skits with a bulky camcorder? These were only a few examples of what I’m talking about.

Yes, we drove something like this while someone rode a skateboard out of the back.


A classic ride-or-die story happened freshman year. Hasan and I went to a party at another friend’s house. It was in the next town over; we must have been dropped off there. It was populated by probably 8-10 more kids, but it was over thirty years ago, so my memory is hazy. What’s not hazy is how the party ended.

I am sure we were loud. I think there was at least some alcohol there, but I don’t think Hasan and I had more than a few sips at most. It was when the red and blue lights started flashing that we knew the jig was up. The police were there.

All of us 15/16 year old kids scattered. People were going in all different directions. Hasan and I though stuck together. One wouldn’t leave the other. We ran through yards, behind houses, tearing through trees and bushes until we were safely behind a nearby strip mall. It was part terrifying and part exhilarating.

At the strip mall, I called my mother to come and pick us up. We stood in front of a darkened store and waited, letting our heart rates come down. The fact that we hadn’t drunk worked in our favor. When my mother showed up, we didn’t reek of alcohol, so when we told her the story of what had happened, it was believable.

I feel like growing up in the 90s, I had a lot of near misses when it came to danger. I don’t think I’d have gotten in much trouble if the police had snagged me, but who knows? Being a minor, I knew I could do nearly anything I wanted with little repercussions.

That doesn’t mean that I went out defacing people’s property, or starting fights, or stealing. It just meant that the voice in my head telling me something was dangerous kept quiet a lot of the time. Maybe it wanted to see how I’d react to adversity?

I find it interesting that I didn’t go out drinking, or smoking, or partying until all hours of the night, and yet I feel my high school years were filled with adventure. That comes down to who my friend group was.

What the ‘cool kids’ would have thought of as adventures I saw as dangers not worth the time or risk. Now I can’t say for sure that if I was asked to go out drinking and partying and randomly hooking up that I would have said no. I can say that, looking back at the classmates who got DUI’s before they were of legal age and those who held their own children before holding a diploma, I am happy with my choices in friends and adventures.

I chose wisely when it came to friends. I also didn’t restrict myself to any certain subset of people. Only in the last few years have I noticed just how all-encompassing my friend groups were. Yes, I said ‘groups.’

I can rattle off a handful of different groups of friends. These had very little, if any, cross-pollination with other groups. I tried to be friends with anybody who wanted to be friends. It’s the way I was raised by my mother. I tried to fit in with anyone while also staying true to who I was.

Being seen as a poser is a kiss of death in any generation. If you lose your authenticity, you lose credibility. At least that’s how it was in high school. The way I navigated those waters was by amplifying traits around certain groups. I never hid who I fully was; I just shined a brighter light on the things I had in common with the people I was with at the time. Does that make sense?

I must have done a good job in my choices of friends because, as I said earlier, I still consider many of those same people my friends to this day. There are also no friends, not acquaintances but friends, that I regret knowing or having in my life. I think it’s rare to look at your friend group and not find someone who turned out to be a bad apple. I mean, unless we all were bad apples and none of us noticed the difference?

Friendships in high school changed and evolved along with all of us. You start with needing rides to someone's house to using your bike or your own car. Adventures go from walking to the corner store on a summer afternoon to driving to Boston for a killer, loud, AC/DC concert. Relationships could come and go, but friendships tended to stay.

A replica of my concert T since I have no clue where it is.


In my life today, I have more than a handful of friends of over thirty years. Now we don’t get to see each other all of the time due to work, family commitments, and location. That being said, if a friend reaches out to get together, I try my best to move whatever I need to see them.

I still remember inside jokes. I still remember certain foods certain friends liked. I still remember who was in what class. Mainly, I still remember how these people made me feel and why they became my friends in the first place. I think that is the most important thing.

Over time, specific memories might fade. That’s just the price of doing business in life. Feelings remain, though. If I hear any of a few dozen names from high school, whether they are still fixtures in my life or not, I get a smile and a blast of warm positive feelings.

We were all teenagers. We all went through the experience of finding ourselves in the world. If we are lucky, we have a solid crew of friends to navigate the choppy waters with. Very few grow up on one straight, clear path. It’s typically filled with twists, turns, dead ends, heartbreak, confusion, anger, and possibly, if a Gen Xer, indifference.

To wrap things up, I found one song that stuck out to me as far as my high school friendships went. Not surprisingly, it is a Red Hot Chili Peppers song. They were a band that made you cool if you listened to them, along with the Beastie Boys. At least it was in my circles.

The song is My Friends off of their less-than-stellar One Hot Minute album from 1995. The entire song weighs heavily on my memories of high school. The hook, I guess, is the lyrics I gravitated toward.

I love all of you
Hurt by the cold
So hard and lonely, too
When you don't know yourself





It’s a perfectly fitting sentiment. We were growing up, trying to find ourselves, but also knew that even as alone as you might have felt at times, if you were lucky, you had some friends to stand by you through those formative years.

In my next post, I will take a look at my family dynamic during senior year and a look at the role of family in the life of any high schooler. All families are created differently, as was mine.


Thursday, August 13, 2026

Wait, Did I Just Almost Get Robbed?: A 1990s Summertime Tale




Wait, did I just almost get robbed?

That was the thought that was swirling through my head after one of the strangest encounters of my teenage years. The answer was, maybe? I guess?

For this story, we need to take a trip back to the good old days of the 1990s. The summer of 1995, to be more specific. It was nearing the end of the summer, at least the part of the summer where kids were out of school.

I was seventeen years old and getting ready to begin my senior year of high school. Being that it was the 90s, and I was a nice, responsible young man, I had already been working during the summers for the last five years.

Granted, I wasn’t raking in loads of cash as a dishwasher and food prep boy, but it was good enough that I was looking to secure a little bit of a status symbol. No, it wasn’t a car, or some fancy sneakers, or anything like that. What I wanted was something different. I wanted something to show off my minuscule financial wealth to my friends. I wanted an ATM card.

ATM cards, debit cards, whatever you want to call them, had been popular since the 1980s. Before then, you had to go inside the bank and write a slip and go to a teller to withdraw money.

Being an introvert, having a way to get money from my bank account without having to talk to anyone was a dream come true. The bank I had my account through was Cape Cod Bank & Trust. They went out of business after being bought in a merger in 2004, to show how old I am.



Typically if I was out riding bikes with my friends, I’d stop at a CCB&T ATM so I wouldn’t incur a ridiculous user fee. However, for this story I would have had to have gone in the opposite direction to where I wanted to go to find a branch. I decided the dollar surcharge, which I believe is what it was at the time, was worth it.

It was later in August. The sun was setting around 7:30pm on Cape Cod. I wanted to get some money from the ATM and then hit up the nearest convenience store for some surely healthy snacks. It was probably some bottles of Jolt Cola to fuel late-night outdoor adventures.

My friend Rob came along. It was getting close to dusk. We had been having fun messing around after dinner, so we started off from my house later than we should have. Our neighborhood was always quiet, so we rode right down the middle of the road as the streetlights began popping on over our heads.

At this time in 1995, the nearest ATM I knew of was a branch of Cape Cod 5 located on the outer edge of a shopping plaza near a highway entrance. The ride to that ATM was roughly 1.5 miles. We were in the parking lot in a little over ten minutes.

The bank in question.


Rob and I laid our bikes in the grass. This ATM was an indoor one. I had to slide my card into a reader to get the door to open after hours. Being teenage boys, neither of us looked around as we did this.

I slid my card through; the door beeped, and we both entered. I was laughing at something funny that Rob had said. I wish I could remember what it was. Suddenly the laughter was cut short by banging on the door.

We both spun around, and standing at the glass door was a man. It was hard to tell how old he was, as the light was brighter inside the bank than outside, so he was silhouetted. What was for sure was he was trying to get in.

He banged on the door again, and this time he began shouting.

“Access the door!” He screamed. Rob and I were both confused and scared. I believe one of us shouted, ‘What?’ This only angered this guy more. “Access the door!” The man shouted again.

This was 1995. Neither Rob nor I had cell phones. There were payphones nearby, but this would have meant having to go outside and past this stranger who was furiously trying to get inside with us.

We needed one of these inside the bank.



Looking back, I don’t know what the best course of action would have been. Fear took over a little, and I foolishly opened the bank door to let this person in.

Why was he there? Because he believed that we were thieves who had somehow stolen someone’s ATM card and were now going to use it to steal their money.

How do I know that? Because he said as much as he angrily demanded that I give him my card. That was a bridge too far. I refused and told him it was mine as he accused me of being a thief.

This man had to be over fifty. I have no idea where he had been or what led him to think that pursuing a pair of teenage boys into a bank after hours was a good idea, but it was irrelevant at that point. We were trapped as he stood looming over us.

“I’m going to watch you as you make this transaction,” the angry man said. I think he thought he was calling my bluff. Rob stayed facing the man while I turned my back. I punched in my code, hiding it from the man.

I believe I withdrew ten dollars. The machine spat out the cash. I quickly grabbed it and stuffed it into my wallet along with my card again. At this point I turned around and faced the man.

Seeing that it was indeed my ATM card and that we weren’t thieves, he muttered ‘ok’ or something dumb before getting out of there as fast as he could. He must have had an epiphany of how the whole situation looked and knew he had screwed up.

Rob and I waited a minute or two before stepping out into the darkness. It was a beautiful, if humid, night on Cape Cod. We were thrilled that the lunatic hadn’t done any damage to, or stolen, our bikes.

I can’t remember what exactly we said to each other after, but I am sure it was something along the lines of ‘what the hell just happened?’ We had gone to grab a little cash for a snack run and ended up in the middle of a scene from America’s Most Wanted.

Teenagers are resilient though. We hadn’t been hurt. We hadn’t been robbed. So we chalked it up to some idiot thinking he was going to be a hero but ended up being a complete jackass.

We still did our snack run. We returned to my house, and there were a few other kids around. In the 1990s and in that neighborhood, darkness didn’t mean everyone went inside. Rob and I dropped our bikes in the wood chips at the very edge of the front yard near the quiet street.

Loads of bikes in the front yard were common in the 90s


The retelling of our story likely began with ‘you won’t believe what happened.’ I remember telling the story to at least one of my sisters, maybe one of Rob’s brothers and my brother, and also Mikey, who was down visiting Cape Cod during weekends in the summer as he did back then.

As the years go by and some details, like what we got at the convenience store after, get hazy, I still firmly remember the sound of the banging on the glass door and that guy shouting for us to ‘access the door.’

The other kids looked at us in shock and awe. We had survived a brush with death, or at least we made it sound like we did. It was certainly not an average adventure that I was used to on Cape Cod.

I can’t remember when I told my mother about what had happened. I know that when Rob told his mother, she was livid. She wanted to go to Cape Cod 5 the next business day and ask them to check the security footage to see the guy who had caused this trouble. Nothing came of it, though.

It has been thirty-one years since a man shouted at me to access the door of a dark and relatively isolated ATM. I have never had an experience like that again. I will say that I didn’t go back to that Cape Cod 5 ATM for any withdrawals for many years. It was like I expected that weirdo to be lurking in the bushes waiting for me to come back.

For as much as Rob and I made jokes about that guy after the fact, there is no denying that it was a scary situation while it was happening. Until he vanished into the night, there was no telling how things were going to end.

He could have been an addict trying to get some cash for drugs. He could have had a gun, or a knife. He could have been a whack job looking to get his rocks off by assaulting teenage boys. These were all real possibilities as we stood face to face with an angry older stranger.

Luckily it never got to that. I stupidly accessed the door, and then he watched ominously while I used my ATM card to withdraw some of the money I had earned by working. Then he scurried away after realizing what a stupid mistake he had made.

I do wonder if we had tried, if Rob and I could have beat the hell out of him. It would have been the ultimate irony. This guy thinks he’s going to foil some thieving kids like he’s a Scooby-Doo villain, but we end up not only not being thieves but then whopping his ass.

That Cape Cod 5 location is still in business, and on the off chance I go by there, I can still hear ‘access the door’ ringing in my ears. I wonder what ever happened to that guy? Did he ever tell the story to someone? He probably didn’t. Or if he did, in his version, he thwarted a pair of giant meathead guys trying to rob a little old lady.

I am so blessed and lucky to have grown up when I did. There really will never be another time like the 1990s. It was the last decade where you weren’t bound by technology. When you spent summer outside until the streetlights came on, and sometimes even after.

It was a time I wish I could go back to. A time that I wouldn’t trade for anything. Even if every now and then you had to deal with creepy older guys looking to chaperone your bank visit. But hey, that’s a fair trade for all of the good stuff.

The 90s on Cape Cod were something else.