I think I was in the sixth grade. My best friend Brian — who lived just up the street — knocked on the front door of our family’s house, and I could tell right away that he was hiding something under his jacket.

We hustled upstairs to my bedroom, unnoticed. I couldn’t wait to find out what he had.

No, it wasn’t booze, drugs or cigarettes. It wasn’t even a dirty magazine. Not this time, anyway.

It was a record album.

Half of us can still remember record albums. Before cassettes, before compact discs, before “music downloads” — whatever those are — there were these things called albums. They had cover art and were made of vinyl, they were big and black and shiny and round with grooves in them, and when they were new, they smelled good.

“You’ve got to listen to this,” my friend told me.

Our family record player was down in the living room — down where my parents were — so that was out of the question. My little sister had a record player in her room, where my sister was.

I gave her 50 cents to let us use her record player. I offered her another 50 cents if she would find somewhere else to be while we were using it. She held out for an even dollar. We compromised at 75 cents, but I don’t believe I ever paid it.

You hear that Sis? I still owe you three quarters.

I flipped the cover up on the record player — it was pink or yellow or something and had girlie stuff on it like dolls or unicorns, but we didn’t really mind at the time. Brian put the album on, and we adjusted the speed to “33.” Brian found the right groove on which to set the phonograph needle.

The selection was called “Seven Words.”

We listened, and we couldn’t believe what we were hearing — every dirty word we had ever known, plus a few we didn’t know, along with explanations of why those words couldn’t be repeated on television. It was hilarious. We laughed until our bellies ached.

That comedy bit by George Carlin became better known as “The Seven Words You Can Never Say on TV.” As kids, we memorized it and repeated it — when we were sure no parents were around. It became one of the most famous comedy bits of all time. It even became a footnote in United States Constitutional history about 30 years ago, when the U.S. Supreme Court said that it was OK to ban radio stations from playing bits like “Seven Words” at times when children were likely to still be listening.

The entire world was trying to keep us sixth-graders from listening to George Carlin. Our parents wouldn’t allow it. Our teachers frowned upon it. Even the government of the United States was coming down on us.

So we felt like a bunch of rebels whenever we put that record album on. And we always laughed.