He Carried a Briefcase

I wasn't having much luck finding love in the halls of Fishcreek Elementary School, so I started broadening my horizon and looking for love in a place probable hardly anyone finds love- the Baptist Church Youth Group. I scanned the room for likely suspects and saw one boy that my Mom liked who shook our hands and said "May the Lord's blessings be upon you." when we walked into the church, and I was a rock and roll Baptist and he was far too holy and formal for me.

Then I saw a boy who was super cute and very dreamy, but my Catholic BFF Michelle was crashing Baptist Youth group with me to stalk him to the dismay of everyone. Her parents were furious, his parents didn't want him cavorting with a Catholic and I didn't want to get in the middle of that drama, so I kept looking.

There was a third option, a little on the questionable side, but after weighing my options decided this was the best path to pursue. He was very cute, but very weird. He wore a 3 piece suit and carried a briefcase at 13. This was not a popular clothing choice.

He was in some after-school Jr. Achievement Group that taught him to "dress for success" and he didn't realize that while a 3-piece suit may spell success in corporate America, it did NOT spell success at Kimpton Jr. High. It spelled "get stuffed into your locker and humiliated daily."

But- I was weird, too, so I wasn't put off by his eccentricity. I sat by him one night in church and kept inching my hand closer and closer to his until he got the hint and took it. We held hands. I felt electricity bolt through my body like lightning in my veins. A boy touched me. A real boy. Not a pillow boy. Not pretend Keith Partridge daydreams. Not imaginary Batman or Robin. (Yes, I fantasized about them, don't judge.)

That was it, We were an item. We held hands at church for weeks. We would get to youth group, join hands and didn't let go until our parents came back to pick us up.

But a few weeks into this hot romance, I noticed that his suit was smelling kind of sweaty and that I found that very unpleasant. I also noted that when I wanted to go talk to my friends, he kept being there and was clingy in a way I did not prefer. But I kept holding his hand for fear of ending up with the super holy boy my mom liked.

I was in a bind and had no idea how to escape. I didn't want to be his girlfriend anymore, but I couldn't be mean and hurt his feelings either. I had (and still have) ZERO killer instinct.

My escape came in a somewhat tragic way - his older brother had a mental breakdown, did some terrible things, and the family left town in shame. I never saw him again.

Lesson I learned? Don't stay with the wrong boy just because you're afraid of being alone or think the next boy might be worse. He might be, but you never know until you try.

He Made a Salt Map

With one heartbreak under my belt, I went my lonely way without JK, but kept the ring. Or as my friend Betsy would put it "Men leave, jewelry stays."

I was an avid reader, as was my mother. Reading was highly encouraged at home. We would pick a book and I would read it aloud to her while she was cooking or doing dishes. "What." you say, "You didn't have to help with dishes?" No. No I did not. Mama said I would have plenty of dishes to do when I was an adult and she'd rather hear me read. (Thanks Mama.)

Because of our reading passion, I was far ahead of others in my class on reading assignments at school and was very impatient for my fellow students to catch up when we had joint reading assignments. We used to use something called "SRA" reading cards which were color coded and had a section of reading for each color. I could read all the cards in my color before some kids could read one, and then I would go around the class and try to help the others, not because I was kind, but because I was bored and impatient and wanted them to finish.

I can't recall if it was 5th grade or 6th, and Mama isn't here to remind me anymore, but the school decided that there were a few kids such as myself who had progressed beyond the SRA readers and pulled us out of the normal reading class. They put us in some smart kids club where we could read higher level books and not disrupt other kids.

We would get projects to do that went along with the reading, such as making salt maps of the places we were reading about, or building Abe Lincoln's log cabin out of singed popsicle sticks. One could assume I had ADD, but back in the 60's elementary school world, there was no name for it and they just kept us busy or spanked us.

One day we got assigned to make a map of Ohio to go along with some local history we read and I got home very excited, made my salt dough map and took it to school the next day even though it wasn't due for the next week. (Giant nerd.)

A fellow nerd in this class of 5 was JH and he was very tall and very quiet and although we had been in school together since kindergarten he had rarely acknowledged my existence. But on this particular evening, our home phone rang and my mother answered and said it was a Boy. For me!

He was calling to get the recipe for a Salt Dough Map. For your enlightenment, here are the ingredients... Salt. Flour. Water. The end. I gave him the recipe and directions for how to make his map and bake it because after having done it once, I was, after all, the expert between the two of us.

I got off the phone and my Dad started teasing me. He said boys don't call girls to get recipes, that JH probably liked me and just wanted an excuse to call. Could it be? Was strong silent type JH secretly pining away for me? I got my hopes up. I went to school the next day with that Lucy/Schroeder vibe with giant cartoon hearts dancing above my head. I batted my eyes. I said "Hiiiiii JH"in the sing-songy way 12 year old girls can do. But JH did not notice and didn't speak to me just like all the other days prior to the Salt Map call.

I went home and relayed that info to my parents. It was their firm belief  that he was probably just too shy to talk to me and I should try again tomorrow. Writing and reflecting about this now, I think I would be justified in blaming my entire lifetime of trying to get men to notice me on JH and my parent's lame advice...

JH brought his salt map in and it was divine. His rivers so blue, his hills so pronounced. I complimented him on his artistry and he shrugged it off as though he'd made a million of them and this was just another. Only I knew his secret- that he didn't even know the recipe three days before!

After repeated (and embarrassing) attempts to get him to talk to me for the rest of the school year, I finally gave up and deduced that his shyness must be CRIPPLING.

JH called me a total of 3 times throughout our 12 years in school together. All three times was to get the Salt Dough recipe.

Lesson learned - Sometimes there are no hidden meanings and sometimes your parents are wrong.