Free A Carlin Home Companion by Kelly Carlin Page A

die-cast toy cars) was way easier. The best time I ever had with Tom was the weekend my dad taped New Year’s Rockin’ Eve on the Queen Mary in the fall of 1973 (it had been retired to Long Beach in 1967). Tom came with us on the ship for the whole weekend. I thought I’d died and gone to heaven. Not because I got Tom all to myself or because we had the run of the entire Queen Mary , or even because we were hanging out with Dick Clark, Billy Preston, and the Pointer Sisters, nope. It was because there was an onboard toy store devoted to selling Corgi cars from the UK. Talk about your sexual sublimation. As Freud used to say, “When is a cigar not a cigar?” When it’s a Corgi car.
    As I approached my twelfth birthday, my body made the inevitable changes—hair in places I’d never seen it, painful little mounds on my chest, and emotions that felt more like demonic possession than something human. Although Amanda was only two years older than me, her body was way ahead of mine. She was fourteen going on thirty. She already had boobs and hips. While I actively hid my budding sexuality under layers of oversize T-shirts, Levi cords, and Wallabee shoes, Amanda’s was front and center. When we were around boys, she just knew how to work it, which made me feel even more invisible than I already felt in my “boyish” body.
    Amanda fully embraced her budding womanhood, and did what she could to show me the way. She showed me how to shave my legs, put on eye shadow, and how to use the waterspout in the bathtub for more than just filling it up with water. But still, it wasn’t an easy transition for me. And my mom didn’t make it any easier. When she saw that I had shaved my legs, she flew into a rage.
    â€œYou’re too young to shave your legs! Now you’re stuck having to do it for the rest of your life! Why didn’t you come to me?!”
    I broke down in tears, even more ashamed of my body now. I stormed into my room to cry and sulk. But really I was just so mad at her for being mad at me. I wanted to say to her, Sorry, Mom—next time I start puberty, I’ll make sure to check your calendar to see if there’s an opening somewhere between you and Dad raging and you passing out on the couch.
    After that encounter I kept any and all questions, curiosities, and anxieties I had about sex, boys, or my body to myself. The closest our family ever came to “the talk” was when I accidentally walked into my parents’ bedroom and saw my dad walk out of the bathroom with an erection. Horror! That sight alone scared me off sex for another four years.
    One of my biggest joys during those days was when Amanda and I choreographed skateboard ballets. Living on a steep hill made normal skateboarding rather treacherous. Luckily Amanda had a long and flat driveway—the perfect skateboard-ballet venue. One of our best was a lyrical modern piece we did to the Rolling Stones’ “Angie.” While we crisscrossed the driveway, we streamed colorful scarves behind us. But the crowd favorite (the “crowd” being our parents) was the one we did to the Beatles’ “Maxwell’s Silver Hammer,” a rather silly romp. Although I loved doing them, I knew there was no future in skateboard ballet, so we turned to variety shows instead. Our tour de force, in the summer of 1974, was a three-ring circus/variety show starring Amanda, Tom, me, and my abundant stuffed-animal collection. We were clowns, acrobats, and had animal acts, too. Gunderilla, my blue-velvet-jumpsuit-wearing stuffed gorilla, stole the show. But of course he did! Who wouldn’t, in a blue velvet jumpsuit?
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    In the summer of 1973 the Carlins hit the road again. Something magical always happened when we went on the road together—all the friction, fighting, and frustration would just melt away. After my dad did a few gigs in New England, we rented a