I was a super moral martha. Except that I did take a pillow from a hotel for our car on the trip. This was way back to Los Angeles, back when, before I was me now with all the moral divesting, and still partly true.
(I'm reading Richard Rodriguez's autobiography now, Hunger for Memory, alternately pulled in and yelling at him as I read.)
I was seventeen.
That trip was already loaded. My father got a job doing a industrial film, easily within his background but also when he wasn't very well, for a big meatpacking company, and ...... me, I was set to enter the convent as a postulant, a whole 'nother story told on a2k before, my freaked parents thinking the trip would be good for me. Freaked is my description, not theirs. It was a good decision, looking back, whatever their mixed views. I was the script girl. But there wasn't a script I then knew about, just the shot programming. It was a good industrial film at the time, my father no fool, but I am dismayed by the product now and he would be too.
Anyway, I learned how to drive highways on that trip, and that some film editors can be men to love, if only in my case from afar as I was treated correctly and kindly - but I still had the time of my life.
It was a gentle introduction to humor between women and men. The guys jokes were light in retrospect, but an entirely new thing to me.
I learned to play pool in downtown Omaha in some dive, and what a Las Vegas casino was like late at night and early morning.
I remember one of the guys, the one I had a crush on, disappeared some nights.
Remember dragging my father who had lost money he didn't have back to our room.
Seeing a jackrabbit on the golf course around 5 a.m.
So, anyway, re the pillow.
I sent it back to the hotel at some expense.
That may be on their records as a first.
I retracted my application to the Sisters (etc.)
My world opened up.
Very sadly now, I can see that my mother's take would have been that my father had lead me astray, thus cementing their disparance.