Dad had his air of suspicion all through 9th grade, and from fall on, I was entered into the Juvenile Justice for doing absolutely nothing. How can this be? He was a juvenile probation office for the state agency in Baltimore City. He would take me along with him to work, to meet his, "Clients." These were the youthful offenders that had committed crimes, were processed, convicted and ended up on the child version of Parole.

I went around on visits to these clients, who were located in Baltimore's poorest and most dangerous communities. In one project area, we were walking to the kid's house, and had to pass a group of nasty looking black adults. One of them told my father, "I'm gonna fuck you up, you fucking pig!"

I was scared to death, but my father laughed at him and replied, "I like that, but I'm not a fucking pig. I'm more like a wild boar that you don't want to trap." He proceeded to back the man up against the wall to embarrass him in front of his friends.

"See Mike, everyone's afraid of a crazy person. Criminals and police alike, but I wouldn't be acting crazy with the police. They most likely shoot you." Yes, everything was matter of fact with my father. We visited the homes and he always gave me the kid's background, mostly the kid's parents were in jail or abandoned them and the grandmother was raising several of them. They did the best that they could.

Dad, was also giving me advice on how to deal with the police. "Never question an officer or give him attitude. You never know just how bad a day he had and he might go off and shoot you. If you feel a police officer is a problem, take the information down and later, talk to the watch commander."

I would also see that there were actually two police departments in Baltimore. The official one that investigated crimes and arrested people and a person to person, word of mouth type that either tried to get intelligence or deal with things, unofficially behind the scenes.

In one case, we were visiting the victim who was a neighbor of the teenage boy who vandalized his property. Dad said to me, "The police think he is a mobster in organized crime, let me know what you think."

Well, it appeared that way with dad knocking on his door. "I am Lou Kohlman of Juvenile Services, I want you to know that we are dealing with your complaint and I am here to make sure there haven't been any further problems. Have there been?"

It was obvious that there wasn't and the man tried to get Dad to leave as fast as possible. He also didn't like my father's enthusiasm or looking around. He looked middle class, but had a definite, "Do not tread on me," feeling about him. I told Dad in the car that I believed he was a mobster. Hell, I felt dead as soon as he put eyes on me. Dad told me that the police forced the filing of a complaint in the fear that without the intervening, that he would retaliate against the kid.

We also visited many group homes, which were a combination of a person sincerely wanting to help a person out and make money at it. We visited Wayne in one such home; to me the man in charge was fantastic. He rescued a pipe organ from a theater and set it up, we were there not only to meet Wayne, but also for a recital. This is one of those very old, Baltimore row homes that had to be haunted. It only added to the atmosphere of the lights diming, every time he hit one of those complex augmented chords that Bach is famous for, as the organist yelled to check various parts of the house to make sure that things were turned off.

Wayne himself was a very scary fifteen year old. His hair was bone white and balding, his face also formed a skull shape. One look in his eyes, just told you he was bad news. It wasn't even a couple weeks, before he attacked the man in charge of the group home. Unfortunately, the guy broke Wayne's nose and was sentenced for child abuse charges; an injustice that my father fumed against.

Wayne would then be placed in a Military Academy and within a sort while, would put twenty-four cadets in ICU for getting them high with Jimson weed seeds. Though hallucinogenic, it has a poisonous alkaloid base. After the poisoning, Wayne was held in a secure juvenile facility. When out, he pissed off my Dad, who asked Wayne to do him a favor, "Fuck over a prostitute." Well he did and was sent to the adult courts for rape and a conviction.

There was an element of sadness to group homes and the most striking was a black boy who talked about how he wouldn't have these problems if he lived in Africa. His knowledge, thoughts and feelings were so romantic and baseless, that I knew more than he did. I said things like, "You may not have to work for money, but you will have to scrape for your meals. Much of Africa is an inhospitable place and it takes much to survive. If you can't make it here, forget about there." He seemed interested in what I had to say, but I don't think that he believed me.

At Christmas, we visited several of my father's clients at an actual Teen Challenge Center. Having read the book, it was the neatest experience of my life, but one that would drive me crazy. I was called, "Little Brother," and every time that I said something, was always given an "Amen! Brother!"

I asked that they stop it as if we met on the street, they would beat me up for being a son of a probation officer. They were shocked at my candor, and even more surprised that I partied. I told them we're the same, except that I am lower key than they were and hadn't gotten caught yet.

The worst that dad had inquired about with me was my finger print left behind on one of his pills. I was able to BS that one away, getting only a stern warning. It was spring that I started to get caught. It wasn't the drugs, but the whisky.

Over the period of the year, I had skimmed whiskey off my Dad's supply, for a rainy day. Well my friend and I went to the park and drank it, getting blistering drunk. My friend wanted to go to McDonald's and I told him to stay put. Suddenly, he wasn't there and I totally panicked.

I was making my way home, by walking 25 feet at a time and collapsing. A man walking a white dog asked me if I was OK and I replied, "No I'm drunk and I lost my friend!" I convinced him that I could make it home, but finally out of the park and after throwing up about six times, I could at least walk again.

I made it home and Dad was in the basement, where I completely broke down and told him that I lost my friend, also what had happened. My friend made it to my house about six hours later, he basically made it to McDonald's locked himself in their bathroom and passed out. Dad took him home and said that for now, he'll keep things cool.

The next day Dad took me to an empty parking lot, "Yesterday was a real fuck up for you, now you're going to tell me everything that you had done. Don't tell me that you haven't tried pot."

Boy if he only knew, "No Dad, I have tried it a few times."

"I know you used speed. How much and do you still do it?"

"I did that about six times, but haven't in about three months."

"I believe you because I started losing weight again. Other pills?"

"No. Not anymore."

"What about LSD?"

At that point, it felt that I was in a dragster that just took off. I literally had the feeling of being pressed into the seat of his car and everything started to streak by. I was thinking, "Don't freak out ... Don't freak out!" "No Dad! Why would I ever do that drug! I mean like, man, you would never know when a hallucination would pop out and you may like, really flip out at the wrong time."

"What's the worst drug that you have ever done?"

I replied, "Over the counter medications."

"That's interesting, why?"

"They have the most side effects, like with breathing and irritably, and they are so watered down that what makes you get high, also makes you sick."

"You probably right, but the worst is huffing. I'm going to tell you something, with all the drugs that my kids do, huffing is not only the worst, it's so addictive that they will never recover. I never had one recover yet, they just become severely brain damaged."

That was it, but it was only another two weeks, before I would find trouble again with Dad. This time my scouting friend and myself would be around his house and find a man to buy us beer. Since it took so long, I had to immediately bike home, so we chugged our share of the six pack.

I made it home, right when everything hit me, and in our hallway, Dad demanded, "What the hell's wrong with you?" He was looking right into my eyes.

I spouted out, "I'm fuckin' drunk! Asshole!" Just for an instant he lost it, hitting me in the chin with an uppercut. I came two feet off of the floor and landed three feet back, on the corner of my mattress. From there, I launched upside down with my back hitting my speakers.

Mom was freaking and shrieking, "Lou, you really hurt him!"

What was my opinion on it? I thought to myself, "Damn! That was really cool, something like this only happens in the movies. I'd make a hell of a good stunt man!"

Dad helped me up and said, now was not the time to talk and to go and sleep it off, the problem was that he faked another uppercut. I side kicked him in the gut and he completely got knocked on his ass. He came up and overpowered me, but I was still fighting him. He had to knock me down several times, ending the fight with his fingernails in my neck, cutting off my air.

The next day was to be a very simple talk, he actually sat in Mom's normal position on the couch, "We're going to talk, but this one is one way. I'm telling you right now that you are headed the way my kids are and if you get into trouble, don't come running to me. I will not help you. You are going to suffer the consequences alone."

Dad continued, " You have two strikes against you. One, is the Kohlman curse. We are designed to be decent, God fearing and honest. We are not permitted to get away with anything. The second strike against you is, I publically speak out against my agency, and I am hated for this. Rest assured, if you end up in the system, they will make an example out of you!" That was it, but that was Dad.

Not long after that, I was with a friend walking down the street with a bottle of whisky. I no sooner commented that were in the clear, when a police officer hit his siren and asked us to come over. We did. "What's in the bag?"

If we were busted, I saw no sense in lying, "A bottle of whisky, sir!"

"Going to the park to get drunk and cause trouble?"

"No sir, we just find a quiet spot to drink and have a good time."

"I see. Well you two do that, but I will be very upset if I find you two in trouble there. Don't take this as a free pass, I'll be looking for you two later."

We did exactly as we promised, and my friend lauded me as the man. I didn't feel that I was, and realized that if we have the police's attention; it isn't a very good thing. We were getting sloppy and we did run into the officer again. He did call us back over and checked us too and made sure that we we're fine.

If that wasn't enough of a warning, we were due to go on a field trip for 9th grade, and I decided to be a super partier! Just going high wasn't going to be enough, so I decided to mix it up. In addition to the usual activity in the track field's parking lot, I dropped a hit of acid and pulled out my 500ml boiling flask of whisky and downed that too. No one thought this was a very good idea, but wished me luck.

In homeroom, Mrs. Mosely was giving me dirty looks and I had no idea what her problem was. We went outside to board the buses, and I felt a second hit of acid was in order and all of a sudden, Miss Ross, my black Algebra teacher caught me,as she wanted to know what I put in my mouth. I BSed my way out of it saying it was a piece of lint that must of got stuck on my finger from my pocket. She would end up sitting next to me on the bus.

The field trip was great, though I don't remember much of it. Somewhere along the lines, I had just about every freak checking me out and it was a good thing too. They had to fish me out of the Maryland Science Center's planetary exhibit. The Planetarium show was awesome, as the individual stars were making music and the meteor streaked by so loud it vibrated the building. I also had to have my hands pulled of the railing of the observation deck of Baltimore's World Trade Center as the whole building tilted towards the bay.

It wasn't until the next day, when I was asked by Mrs. Caldwell to wait after class at the end of the day. I was busted, not because of my behavior, but because Mrs. Mosely smelt liquor on my breath. Though I could have been expelled, they would give me two other options. I first had to admit to them I was an alcoholic. This really bothered me as that was the first time that I drank before school and really, only about the fifth time I drank.

I did admit to being stupid, but totally argued until I realized that was the only way that I would satisfy them. I totally broke down and admitted to them that I was. My options were to have my parents called, or go to the guidance councilor for help. I'm no dummy, I opted for the guidance councilor. The best decision of my school life, he agreed that I was stupid, but didn't seem to feel that I was an alcoholic. He did feel that things were coming to the point that I was going to walk away from it all soon.

I was getting into trouble with many facets of other behavior as well. We still had our BB guns, and instead of bottles, cans and paper, we took to shooting at each other, but very often, there were groups of boys from other areas and we would agree to wage war. Our goal was to slightly hurt, not intentional so.

Not all groups were like us, we got ambushed when we were unarmed and the other group had their rifles at full power and even took head shots. My friend from scouts and I, ran home as fast as we could and filled our pockets full of M80s as well I grabbed my sling shot. We were masters of that explosive and to prevent not knowing when the fuse was lit, we took off a bit of the safety coating and mushroomed the fuse.

They had just left Suicide Hill and were walking back home when we yelled, "Fuck You!" They immediately turned and started shooting at us and we sent about ten M80s their way. They were confused and wondering why we weren't shooting directly at them. Until they started exploding, as we sent them running home too! We were out for blood.

We turned our pellet firepower on innocent people as well, again never to hurt them. I came up with a bright idea of sniping a man sitting down on a log, drinking a soda, "Tim you shoot the bottom of his boot and I will shoot the can from his hands." At the exact same time, we fired and with the soda flying out of his hand, he took off running!

Tim and I were celebrating at the top of Suicide Hill, when I saw a shadow move and dropped my rifle. He grabbed the gun in Tim's hand and knocked him down with a punch to the face and then broke Timmy's rifle, then gave us a good ribbing. It turned out that we picked on a Vietnam vet.

Still we didn't learn our lesson, from his bedroom, we sniped a neighbor, just shooting at the bags in his clothes. Not thinking anything about it, we set up a tomato on a rock outside and shot at it. Until our attention went to a voice that was holding a Maryland State Police badge. We immediately went to Tim's mom and the Trooper explained that we were not shooting safely and our BB's were ricocheting from the rock just below and hitting his neighbor. That was the neighbor two doors down from him, and we were lucky that he didn't nail us, because he was amazed at the accuracy of the ricochets.

We had also befriended a homeless person living at Double Rock Park, named ole Smoky Joe. After several visits, we had our guns, but decided it was best to stash them in the woods. After talking to him, we slipped back to the woods and decided to scare him. We shot at his loose clothing and he erupted, "Hey you sons of bitches, why are you shooting at me? I wished I still had my hand grenade to toss your way. Come out, and face me! Why are you shooting at a stupid old man like me?"

We were actually having quite a good time at this, but it is amazing how an attack of conscience can come about. He started to cry and yelled, "Hey guys! Come back, I need you! I got people shooting at me and need your help! Please guys! Come back and help me!" I noticed that everyone of us had that attack of conscience and were now shooting at objects around him, as not to admit our guilt. We slowed our fire and beat a retreat, back home.

Boydie, summed it up best and it was the only thing said. "Well, we sure proved that we can be stupid fucking assholes." A few days later, we went back to check up on Ole Smokey Joe, but he was no longer there.  Tim got tired of taking the punches for my ideas and I found myself generally alone for my adventures. I also found myself punched in the face many more times, by adults.

No threats of calling the police, no adults walking away in disgust and I didn't even think about threatening them. I got caught destroying a park bench; a man walked up to me and said, "You're a real fucking asshole, aren't you." With that, he punched me in the face so hard, that I rolled down the hill to the stream and had plenty of time to reflect on that.

There was one event that changed me and made me decide to stop my partying and getting into trouble. I hit all of the cars with spray paint on the street below where I lived. Again, I didn't think nothing of it until, about two weeks later a, "For Sale," sign went up on my favorite neighbors house. I inquired and he said, "Well, I enjoy living in this neighborhood and the boys like you, but living on the corner, I get hit with too much bull shit and I am tired of it."

It broke my heart, as I realized how I had been and decided not only, to not do the delinquent behaviors, but decided to stop using drugs as well. How could I as a Boy Scout do such things? I wondered about this my self and realized that I was living my life as if I was one of those multi-channeled CB radios. A mode of operation for this and a mode for that, it wasn't until things heated up and those channels started to cross talk and interfere with each other that I could realize that.

Near the end of the school year, we partied as usual and went to Klinies to drink. I had to be home so Tim dropped me off, which he didn't want to do. He argued that I would be in less trouble in being lats than I would be all fucked up. As I was getting out of the car, he simply stated, "You're going to get busted and get all of us in trouble." He was right, this time, Dad immediately spotted that I had been drinking and before I went out, I told my mom where I was, so all the parents got called. My friends still picked me up for school, but the reception was chilly. Instead of partying after school, they would drop me off home first. While this hurt, I wasn't bothered as I felt that was best as well.

Then I was at Tim's house when he had a surprise for me. He had the one thing that I wanted and was going to help me out. He picked up the phone, dialed a number and said, "Hey Jean! Mike loves you!" Turning to me he said, "Hey that's funny she hung up" He dialed again and said, "Hey Jean! Mike loves you!" This time, I heard Jean yell something and slam down the phone. "Well, she's a real bitch!"

I was beside myself and told him that he is going to call one more time and apologize. He refused and I told him that I was going to break his nose. "Come on Mike, that's crazy. I'll beat the shit out of you. I'm bigger and stronger, and you're not going to win a fight."

"Hey man, come on Tim! You'll win the fight, but you know me, I'll still break your nose. Come on, this is important to me, call up and apologize! Is this going to be like the time you sliced my head with ice in the snowball. It took you two years to apologize to my Dad. This time, our friendship will be ended forever."

Tim, grudgingly called Jean back and apologized, and said it was a surprise for me, as he wanted us to get us together. What happened next totally pissed me off, they started talking about me in hush voices, so I couldn't figure out what was said. After they were done, Tim handed me the phone.

"Jean, you know, I am sorry for all of this. I know you number is private and I wanted you to give it to me, so that we could talk. I am making him rip it up (which Tim did to my tears), now you're the only one that I will accept it from."

Jean said that she appreciated that, so I continued as the devil took hold of me, "Now Jean. I am only apologizing for what Timmy did, not what he said. Jean, it true, I really do love you!"

Jean responded, "Eck! Ffffft. Awe-eeeee. All so ho soprav." What followed next was too mouse like to translate, but after she finished and giggled, she slurped out a, "Go-od Bye-eee."

I now knew how things were going to end. Being a senior, Tim was going to have his last day of school earlier then mine. I would go with them to school and party with them one last time, which I did. We partied, shook hands, I congratulated them and simply walked away with friendships intact. I loved every minute of the adventure of that year, but really looked forward to moving on.