My First Date: Step 50

For various reasons most people don’t start dating until they reach high school. One of the obvious reasons is the fear of rejection. Most boys in junior high, myself included, would rather stand around with their friends at a school dance listening to the music, discussing how stupid the decorations look, wondering if the cute girl has the nerve to come over and ask you to dance, than cross over to where the girls are standing to ask one of them to dance. My assumption is the girls actually are glad the boys continue to talk because they fear if one of them does actually get up enough nerve to come over that she would not be the one asked to dance, or worse, she has to dance with the one with a bad haircut and awful breath. Given these conditions it is amazing to me that I actually had my first date while at Samuel Morse. I’m sure it helped that a number of my friends, including Ron and cousin Jim had been invited to Big Steve’s house party and were required to bring a date, too. Three factors that I recall may account for Big Steve appearing more mature than the rest of us. While we never actually called him Big Steve, a fictitious name I give him here to differentiate him from other Steves to come later, there was no disputing he was both older and larger than anyone else in our class, he never raised his voice to make a point, and his brother Frank, an outstanding wrestler, captain of the Custer High School team, and dating a cheerleader, was an inspiration to us all. I’m not sure why Big Steve’s parents let him have this party, but since he was older it probably was his fourteenth birthday. Still, whatever the reason, the thought of calling a girl and asking her for a date to a party struck fear and trepidation into my heart and conveyed an extreme sense of queasiness in the pit of my stomach. Now, there was no doubt once I convinced myself I was actually going to go through with the act as to who I was going to ask. Despite the fact she was a full year ahead of me in school and technically we were distant cousins, her father being the previously eluded to heavyweight boxer, Lolly was my only choice. Her willingness to talk about whatever I wanted to talk about, her ability to laugh without forcing it, her cute smile, not to mention some physical attributes that cause a hormonal teenager to salivate made her the target of my desire. Fortunately, she could not see my trembling fingers or sweaty palms when I dialed the phone I had taken down to the basement to maintain the necessary privacy for such a mission. Once again, the aforementioned attributes, not the physical ones, allowed me to get through the ordeal without vomiting, wetting my pants, or worse still, being rejected. My father drove us to the party but I have no memory of whether we sat alone together in the back seat or on the bench seat in front. Frank and his girlfriend left shortly after we arrived. Ron was there with Janice, and cousin Jim came with Carol, which I thought was cheating since her parents were like best friends with his and my parents. Most of the activities at the party are foggy. What I do remember is slow dancing to Paul Anka singing Put Your Head On My Shoulder. Looking over at Ron I saw his head was conveniently placed on an area just below Janice’s shoulder. Thinking if I just closed my eyes and imitated his innocent look I could do the same with my head, but Lolly was having none of it. I’m sure she laughed or covered up in some other friendly way, but my ego was definitely damaged. At the end of the night, my father had to remind me to walk her to the door. I did, but I knew my first date would be my last with Lolly.