We’ve had some fun with news of Mr. Gavin Scotti the Third’s felony arrest for trashing neighboring houses up in Edgartown, but some emerging details of the story, provided by one of the parents involved, add the necessary elements of pathos to make this story so compelling.
It turns out that a Greenwich girl wanted to celebrate her 16th birthday on Island, so her parents arranged for a private flight to take the girl and a dozen of her friends, all between 16-18-years-old, up to the family’s vacation home on Martha’s Vineyard for a weekend of partying. No parent was available (or willing — don’t want to inhibit their natural, creative energy!) to accompany the young savages, but an on-island adult acquaintance of the girl’s parents was asked to stop by now and then and see how things were going.
And things were going swimmingly, because the acquaintance limited her surveillance to brief cruise-bys of the outside of the property and so was unable to see what the police did when they finally entered: (empty) liquor bottles, Solo cups, overturned furniture, and every evidence of exactly what you’d expect from a non-stop weekend party by young, under-aged children. Our commenter/parent insists that none of the precious progeny had any idea that wicked Mr. Scotti and his 17-year-old accomplice were drinking on premises, let alone that they’d left to smash windows, break gates and kick in doors of neighboring homes, and I suppose that’s plausible: turn up “Jeopardy” loud enough, and Alex Trebek’s intriguing, challenging questions could easily capture the rapt attention of these brilliant children and drown out the noise of two rowdy teens tossing liquor bottles about the house. Still, that’s not what the police concluded, so they were probably miffed when the same Greenwich parents arranged for a plane to evacuate the kids (a prop plane, our parent/commenter insists, and not the charted jet that the Edgartown News reports - the difference probably added a full twenty minutes to the children’s escape from the Massacre of the Innocents, and this heart, at least, weeps).
I don’t particularly fault the kids here: at that age, they’re animals, or I was, at least, and the prospect of a weekend of partying at a house stocked with liquor and no parents in sight must have been a signal to go wild, so they did. I do fault the parents, who seem to have limited their parental concern to ensuring that their children had their birth control current and sufficient cash handy in case a credit card was lost, then sent them off with a kiss and a hug to go raise hell on Martha’s Vineyard. Raising teenagers is more like animal husbandry than anything preached in child care books, and this entire episode smacks of careless farming.
Residents of the Vineyard are calling for these kids to perform some sort of community service in repentance, but hell, the teens have surely accumulated enough volunteer hours to satisfy any college admissions board by now: it’s their parents who should be assigned to litter-patrols,