Since we lived in the San Fernando Valley, we were considered Valley girls. This gave us a bit of a reputation on the club scene. Had we been from Hollywood, we would have been taken more seriously, but being “Valley girls,” people figured we had a secure life. A privileged one.
We weren’t living on the streets like some of our friends we knew from the other side of the hill. But that didn’t stop us from hanging out at the worst places in town such as Skid Row, fires burning on the streets and all. These were intentional fires set in barrels for people to keep warm.
Skid Row was probably the worst of all the areas we went to. The place smelled of rotten eggs that had me gasping for air. It was totally gross, but not a deterrent to our desire to party.
The dingy neighborhood had trouble written all over it. The entire area looked like a riot zone: dirty streets, condemned buildings and families living in the gutters in the middle of the night.
No one asked us for money. Maybe because of our appearance with our torn-up thrift store clothes. We gallivanted in as if Skid Row was the most happening place in LA.
It wasn’t safe to risk our wellbeing, but to us, everything was a big bright adventure.
Being from the Valley meant that we had to drive over the hill almost daily if we wanted a life. Everything we did was on the other side of the hill, but I did have some friends that lived nearby.
I met this group of guys that were from Woodland Hills. They all lived in big houses and came from good families, but if you saw them, you wouldn’t know it. They appeared down and out, like the rest of us, with ragged clothes and wild hair. Hair was important!
These guys formed a band called Bad Religion. They were not bad: I’m sure they did anything to make themselves stand out. I mean, they were from the Valley! These rich kids might have been considered poseurs, but they didn’t care. They had started a band and had become famous, which was a shock to all of us since we thought their music was more like a hobby than a career.
Brett, the guitarist, was one of the rare guys I brought home to meet Mom. For some reason, she liked him and let him spend time with me in my bedroom with the door closed. This was unusual. I think Mom let it happen because Brett had a sharp personality. My mom appreciated his sense of humor whereas a lot of the guys I was bringing home were quiet and stoic. Brett, however, was the last guy any mother should have trusted to be alone with her daughter in her bedroom. She must have forgotten what it was like to be a young girl with all those hormones and guys that were even worse. Mom looked at me as her baby and couldn’t imagine me being corrupted by anyone. Especially Brett.
Even though I knew Brett and I weren’t going anywhere, for a while I was intrigued by him. He must have known that because he did try to work his charms on me when I was at his place (or should I say, his parents’ place) by getting me drunk and putting the moves on me.
“Brenda, come lie down,” he asked in a soft spoken tone that was not like him. Usually, he was outgoing, brooding at times, but he had never spoken so intimately to me. I didn’t expect his advances, and I wasn’t prepared to turn him down.
But that was what I did…in my own clumsy way. Brett wasn’t used to getting turned away. I could tell by his cocky manner and how the girls flocked to him.
Brett had to be over six foot five with a thick head of dark hair and a face that highlighted his strong masculine features. You could call him good looking, but in an unconventional sense. He hadn’t quite grown into his looks or height. I was attracted to him, and it was hard not to get pulled into the moment, but even so, I shied away from him.
“Don’t you think we ought to be going home, Brett. My place? You are so much fun to be with and as great as tonight has been, I really need to go home now.”
We were both drunk. Even though I was talking in slurs, I knew Brett was not the guy to sleep with.
“I love the way you laugh. Do you know how cute you are?” He was barely looking at me at this point. His eyes were half-closed with a smirk on his face. He kept reaching for my bikini bottoms that I wore in his Jacuzzi. I wasn’t making it easy for him. Even though we were practically naked together on his bed, I only permitted him to kiss me. You could call me a tease. That was what I was. Nothing was going to happen between us, even though I had a big school girl crush on this guy.
Eventually, he got the message, sobered up and drove me home in his minivan, which the band used to carry their equipment to and from rehearsals and gigs. I was immature and not even close to being ready to have sex, but I was infatuated with Brett. Not sure if it was just because he was the cool musician, or because he was a nice guy, but he caught my interest. I followed him around an awful lot.
The only person who could drag me out of a Bad Religion concert was my mom. And she did! I remember the night well. It was a school night, and it was going on at the Marina Del Rey skate park, which was over the hill. A great distance as far as my parents were concerned. Going over the hill, on a school night to boot, kick-started one of our usual family fights.
I refused to give an inch, while my mom and dad wouldn’t give either. Being the stubborn girl that I was, I went anyway. I knew I would be heading for BIG trouble as soon as I returned home, but I wasn’t thinking that far ahead. I climbed into Samantha’s Toyota and didn’t look back.
“Ohhhhhh,” Samantha teased, “you are going to be killed when you get home, sister.” I agreed with her. I was in DEEP with this one, but it didn’t stop us from going and having a great time. In those days, it felt as if I was living on the wild side.
“Samantha, if you see my mom, find me. I am sure she will come looking for me.”
“You mean you actually told her where you were going?” Samantha said between belly laughs.
“I know. I know. I’m a dope. What else is new?”
Sure enough, my mom arrived dressed in her big coat and God-knows-what underneath. I saw her out of the corner of my eye while I was hanging out with Steven and Mark, the kids from the band Mad Society.
I had never seen her look so angry.
Mom wore her expression well. She was totally pissed with me, and I could feel her energy as she got closer to where I was standing. The band hadn’t even gone on stage yet and here she was, ready to take me home.
I didn’t care how long she grounded me. I wanted to stay. Sadly, I had no say, and she proceeded to pull me out by my high ponytail that spilled down around my shoulders.
“Ouch!!!! Mom, please. You can’t do this. This is so important to me.”
Mom didn’t say a word when she first approached me, but I knew she was not to be messed with at that time. There was no arguing with her when her face depicted such a harsh expression or when she was in a mood as foul as this.
“Brenda, meet me in the parking lot. We are going home. Dad wants to talk to you.”
That was about the worst thing she could have said to me.
As it was, I feared my dad and his actions.
This was not good.
After I got into her Taurus, I slammed the door shut, letting her know how disappointed I was. Boy, was I having a MAJOR meltdown!
“You do not run the household, Brenda,” Mom said sternly. “Your dad and I have rules, and you need to pay attention to these rules. You are not an adult and while you are living under our roof, you will listen to us and act accordingly.”
That was when the tears started to fall.
The volcano brewing inside me was about to erupt. I was used to getting my way even if it meant fighting the good fight. Between sobs, I noticed my mom changing direction. I might have been having my own pity party in the front seat, but it wasn’t hard to see I was going to get my way after all.
Minutes later we were back at the skate park.
I was dumbfounded, but I wasn’t about to argue her change of plans.
“Okay, listen here, Brenda,” my mom stated firmly. “You can have your way this time, but you better be home by eleven.” She was adamant, but her expression showed the love she had for me. It killed her to see me upset, and I knew it did, and yet I couldn’t believe she came all the way here only to turn around, allowing me to party. I was a bit confused, but I didn’t ask any questions, fearing she would change her mind again.
When I made my way in, I felt like a tourist attraction with the looks I was getting. Most of the kids had run into my mom at some point. They knew how strict she could be. Even so, they were surprised to see me return. Bad Religion was already playing, and they were smoking hot, even by their standards, bringing down the house, better than ever. Brett was grinding on his guitar while Greg sang the rebellious lyrics that had us bouncing, pogoing and punching the air. Some of the guys were already forming a mosh-pit as the band played loud tunes about angry youth. When I found Samantha, we both squealed in delight.
Again, I had gotten my way.
Not too many years later, Bad Religion received a record deal and tasted some real success. That was a shock to all of us who knew them.
The odds of anything happening for them were huge, and yet their music thrives to this day. There are young people who think they are the real deal even though by the time Bad Religion formed, punk was just about over. These new kids didn’t share our cause. We were expressing our struggles and anger with society. These new punks just think it’s about playing fast music. They have no idea.