This is a cautionary tale of what not to do on the March for Life, and how not to handle the damage after the fact.
When you go on the March for Life, do not sit with or talk to that kid that your parents told you always gets you in trouble.
When you go on the March for Life with a huuuuge group of people, do not assume that you and your three nitwit friends will not get caught doing anything you're not supposed to do, like something that's not even legal for a sixteen year old, like smoking cigars. It's a waste of cigar.
If you fail to heed the above warnings, you might want to give your parents a heads-up on what occurred over the weekend. No mother wants to get a call from Brother Carl on Monday morning, "Hello Mrs. Thornton, I was wondering if Peter told you about the incident that occurred over the weekend."
Her heart may stop. Her stomach will clench. She will have many disturbing images, starring you as the victim of something truly terrible in most of them. And you as the perp of something truly terrible in the rest.
And for the love of all things holy, if you are Brother Carl, please do not downplay the crime by saying something like, "Well, these are really good kids, Mrs. Thornton. It wasn't drugs, or alcohol, or sex. It was only tobacco, and I started smoking when I was twelve."
She will not be more sympathetic. Or lenient towards her son. It Will Hit the Fan. Starting with the phone call to Dad.
And ending with this blog post on the international internets. You can thank your lucky stars that I'm still using your pseudonym at this point, "Peter."
You will probably get grounded. You will realize your stupidity has reached new highs (or in this case, lows).
And because God is all just and all merciful, you might just get the stomach flu too.
We love you my son. And we just might let you go on the March for Life next year too.