The Setting for Our Romance: Step 142

As summer drew to a close Marcy and I spent more and more days together. Looking back it is amazing how quickly the pain of rejection subsided. As swiftly as the name Donna faded from my memory my ego became willing to endure a repeat performance given the possibility what now lay ahead was the real thing. Of course that meant it was fueled with the hope Marcy’s memory of her romance with Hector was similarly transfigured by her feelings for me. Amazing is the resilience of the young.

Even though I had little experience getting familiar with the households of the girls I had dated up until that time, since most of them were of the singular variety, I still recognized the setting for our romance involved unusual circumstances. First, as noted before, the adults in the home were a series of rotating social workers. Second, besides her actual biological sister, Sandy, there were six to eight other unrelated kids from ages nine to sixteen living in the house with her. Finally, some of the kids in the house had parents living in the community, which was a constant cause of confusion for me.

One of these kids was a thin black haired girl about the same age as Sandy whose parents attended our synagogue. Nothing in her appearance or demeanor seemed out of the ordinary, and her parents looked physically and socially capable of providing a nurturing environment. Yet, there she was.

Turned out the boy Marcy considered a social deviant, Terry, was actually related to me. He had the same surname as my maternal great-grandparents and a number of great uncles and aunts. Although he had a constant scowl and rarely socialized with the other kids, as far as I could tell there was nothing menacing or deviant about him.

Some of the younger kids shared bedrooms upstairs, but Marcy had her own bedroom on the main floor. Whether the door was open or closed the rules forbid any male from entering. The living room, dining room and kitchen were a jumble of continuous traffic with little opportunity for anyone to enjoy a moment of privacy. There was a back hallway where boots and coats went during winter months, but it had peeling paint and a bad smell that made it less than ideal despite the privacy it provided.

While there was little if any backyard there was a wonderful side yard with a large oak tree sprawling over the lawn near the rear. From the street the ladder leading up to the tree house was barely visible. Like everything else at the home it had rules, too.

During the school year completion of homework was required before entrance. No fighting, profanity or indecent behavior was permitted. No one was allowed in it after dark. Finally, any non-resident friends had to be pre-approved by one of the staff before climbing up into it. Otherwise, it was the perfect place to go to neck.

More often than not there was no one in there and Mrs. Earl or Horny gave us a quick nod and we were on our way. Marge was stern, but usually just warned us not to put on a show for the younger kids. Occasionally Sandy and one or two of her friends were up there, but often when we showed up they would leave and go to Sandy’s bedroom giggling and laughing like someone had just let them in on a big secret.

We had some wonderful times in that tree house, and it wasn’t always just kissing or exchanging gum. Sometimes we came up for air. Many dreams and aspirations were shared up there, and I have to wonder if any of them came true.

Did you have a special place to get away to with your high school sweetheart? Tell us about it in the comment section.

LOOK FOR WORD ABOUT EVERY STEP OF THE WAY MOVING

APPEARING AT THE BOTTOM OF THURSDAY AND FRIDAY’S POSTS

Useless Mythological Stereotypes: Step 141

Growing up in a Jewish household I knew expectations ran high. Without any real discussion in our home my sister, my brother and I knew we were college bound. In an even more stereotypical sense we knew our parents wanted us to become doctors, lawyers, or at least scholars. Oy vay!

So, what were the expectations in the non-Jewish homes in our neighborhood? For the most part people in the area around Lancaster Avenue were church going Christians. Actually, from what I could tell most of them attended church every Sunday, and a few on other days of the week. Whereas the Jews who made it a point to show up for the High Holy Days, Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, which come in the fall but are better equated to Christmas and Easter in the Christian world, rarely made it to the synagogue on Friday night or Saturday morning.

Unlike the Jewish homes, however, it appeared the other kids in the neighborhood had choices. Some definitely planned to attend college, but others even talked about “dropping out” before graduating high school. What amazed me even more was a few thought they would drop out so they could make some “good money.” Maybe my parents had done too good a job of brainwashing me or some of those dropout minded kids knew something I didn’t. After all, Bill Gates dropped out of college and look what happened to him.

As Marcy and I started dating our worlds began to expand, hers into mine and mine into hers. My parents and siblings always seemed supportive of our developing relationship, but I will delve into that in due course. Her sister, Sandy, who was a couple years younger quickly became my friend.

Since Marcy was growing up in a world without parents it was only natural for me to treat the social workers in the home as surrogates. On the other hand there were the adult role models in her life before her mother died whom I would come to know.

Her mother had a boyfriend for seven years who picked the girls up every other Sunday, but who I did not meet until several months into our relationship. So, I will add him into the mix later, too.

When Marcy first took me back to her former neighborhood I have to admit I was shocked. Her home was part of a row of houses in a housing development known as Parklawn (see photo). Each little square house opened up into a small living room with a kitchen off to one side and two small bedrooms in the back.

Marcy introduced me to Doe, her best friend, who happened not to be Jewish, sometime before we went to visit her in the old neighbor. Her siblings, I don’t remember how many or what gender but all a lot younger, were playing on the floor. Her mom was doing something in the kitchen while her dad got up off the couch to shake my hand.

Then, he went over and turned off the television. It had been playing a western starring John Wayne, his favorite actor. We sat down in chairs across from him and Mrs. C brought over a bowl of popcorn to pass around and joined him on the couch. They talked about Marcy as if she were their own daughter. Laughing and sharing stories of how Doe and Marcy would get into trouble when they played together their warmth was contagious, and I quickly grew to like Doe and her parents.

After we left Marcy explained how Mr. C had traveled to Madison for medical school and was now finishing his residency at a local hospital. She helped enlighten me and allowed me to shed some useless mythological stereotypes.

Do you recall enlightening moments? Share them in the comment section.

The Movie We Saw on Our First Date: Step 140

One of the most popular ways to get to know a girl when I was a teenager, which if I am not too far off base remains popular today, was to take her on a date to a movie. So, I asked Marcy to go with me to a movie.

How we selected the movie we saw on our first date escapes my memory, but here again the protagonist in the story remains a popular character in motion pictures being produced today. His name is James Bond, and the motion picture released that summer was titled, You Only Live Twice. In the years since several actors have assumed the role of Bond, but in my opinion none of them have captured the essence of the character created by Ian Fleming in the novels I had read in junior high as well as the one on the screen that night. Sean Connery knew how to ask for his martini stirred, never shaken, so as not to bruise the ice when he portrayed secret agent 007.

Having spoken to Marcy on the phone several times prior to that first date I was aware I was going to have to answer a number of questions before we would be able to leave for the movie, so I arrived early. Hector had shared with me the story of her mother dying shortly after they started dating. Although neither the details of her poor health that led to her death, nor anything about what happened to her father were revealed to me at that time I knew she lived with her sister at the Jewish Children’s Home.

Since I had taken her home that night we met in the Pizza Wagon parking lot, I knew it was an older two story house in a neighborhood not too far from where Aunt Jane lived, and not some official looking building like the YMCA or JCC. From our phone conversations I learned she and her sister lived with about eight other kids. She said she got along with everyone except a creepy boy named Terry, who she said was always trying to sneak peaks at her while she was dressing in her bedroom.

The home was supervised by several social workers that worked rotating shifts and brought varying skills and personalities to the tremendously difficult task of raising teenagers. To their credit while each of them had their own unique method of enforcing the established rules of the home from what I could tell all of them performed their duties in a loving and nurturing manner.

That night Marcy’s two favorites, Mrs. Earl and Horny, a nickname related to his last name Horness and nothing else, were on duty. As I recall they mainly wanted to know about how I got along with my parents and siblings, a little bit about my interests, and most importantly if I planned to bring Marcy back on time to avoid their wrath. Other than Mrs. Earl being maybe ten years older than my parents and Horny being maybe ten years younger, they acted just like real parents did when I had picked up other dates at their homes.

When the movie was over I remember Marcy saying she could never be a “Bond girl” because she wasn’t petite and her boobs were too big. I don’t remember my response, but I know I thought she had a wonderful body, but then I was thinking with the mind of a hormonally charged sixteen year old. I also figured she was just fourteen and would change her mind as she grew older and wiser.

We had pizza at the Wagon before heading to Menomonee River Parkway where our lips became locked together for the better part of an hour. She had me wait on the screened in porch while she ran in to let Mrs. Earl know she was back before her curfew. Then, she came out to the porch where we kissed for another twenty minutes.

Do you remember your first date with your high school sweetheart? Where did you go and what did you do? Share in the comment section.

She Was So Cute: Step 137

Looking back with an analytical eye there appears to be a correlation between having your heart broken and a surge in popularity. Prior to the Beau Dance I don’t recall girls calling me up and asking me for a date. With the crushing of my heart there was a sudden up tick in the volume of girls who considered me worthy of their attention.

Unlike Mimi and Peggy, Cha was someone I knew. When or where we may have first met would be difficult to determine. We definitely had seen each other around Marshall High and at various BBYO activities. There was a chance we had spoken to each other about something, but none of that mattered when I answered the phone and heard her voice.

Cha was cute. In fact, she was so cute M and I decided she deserved a special nickname. So, just like M is a nickname that has stuck for a long time, so is Cha. Now, when she started to tell me about a summer party her BBG chapter was having I prepared myself to be told about some wonderful girl she wanted to match up with me. An image of Mimi quickly flashed before my eyes. That’s when I realized she wanted me to go with her to the party. Already having assumed the worst I almost said no. Fortunately, my mind moved ahead of my tongue and I accepted her offer.

During the couple weeks between being asked and the date of the party I continued to hang out with M, the two Jeffs, cousin Jim, and other friends. We still went to the Pizza Wagon parking lot to hang out, and to see what girls were flirting with Hector since his break up with Marcy. No matter what time of night there were always girls adoring his Spanish accent and button popping pectorals. A few of the well-lubricated patrons who stopped after the bars closed had to pull their wives away from the oversized kid guarding the back door.

One time when Jim and I were talking to Hector he waved to a friend without thinking. It was Donna. She and Hector both went to Washington High. Dennis, whose arm was around her, used to go to Washington but had moved to the eastside. I still didn’t understand what she saw in him, and if she was fickle shouldn’t she have dropped him by then. It was all quite awkward.

A few days later on a night Hector had off I was standing in the parking lot when Norman spotted some people he knew. I didn’t know the redhead he introduced as Randee, but I had met Marcy on several occasions when she was with Hector. She never seemed tall next to him, but somehow she seemed statuesque standing in that parking lot, and when we started to talk there was more going on than just words.

We ended up taking them home and when she asked me what I was doing Saturday night I told her about my date with Cha. She just smiled and said to let her know how it goes.

Even though I was quite aware I was with the cutest girl at Pippi’s house, and quite possibly in a twenty-mile radius, as Cha and I stood on the basement stairs my mind was someplace else. Then, to make things even more bizarre Pippi started talking about how she had seen Marcy recently and she thought she was having a difficult time getting over her breakup with Hector. Cha asked me if I knew who Marcy was and I nodded.

Here I was with someone I had sincerely wanted to spend time getting to know and there was something pulling me in another direction. Somehow, it didn’t seem fair.

Did you ever go on a date you had been looking forward to and suddenly realize you wanted to be somewhere else? Tell us about it in the comment section.

Something Good To Say: Step 136

To be honest I do not remember whose party it was but I know it was one I wanted to attend and was upset when I wasn’t invited. Naturally I accepted a date so I could go even though there was any number of reasons I could have declined. First, she had the same first name as my sister, which made it weird. Second, she was a lot younger. All right girls mature faster than boys, but when you are sixteen a girl of fourteen seems like a child. Third, she had a twin. He was a nice guy, but it just made it even weirder. Finally, she had not matured in the area guys at sixteen look for first. All right so it’s shallow, but Donna was quite mature in that area and it impacted my expectations.

One thing I realized right away was even though she had a twin brother there was no mistaking her for a boy. She had jet-black hair and big brown eyes. She was slender without being skinny. She smiled demurely, but not in a shy way but more in a provocative manner. In fact, there was nothing shy about Peggy; she was friendly, engaging and an excellent conversationalist.

As far as I can remember we never discussed civil rights, the war, or anything of a controversial nature. Before we arrived at the party we were talking about people we knew. It was amazing the number of people we both knew, and she seemed to have something good to say about each one of them. It was surprising to me that with so many mutual friends we had not been introduced to each other.

She told me how she had seen me at a dance with one of our mutual friends but didn’t have the courage to introduce herself at the time. When we reached the party I realized I not only was glad to be at the party, but I was glad to be with Peggy, even if she did have my sister’s name and a twin brother.

Although most of the details of the evening are vague I remember talking with a lot of mutual friends, especially girls who were in her BBG chapter, like Gilda, Rosie, and Debby Sue. Despite having only finished her first year of high school Peggy held her own with the other girls. Whatever lack of confidence she felt the night she chose not to introduce herself to me it was completely gone.

When we ordered pizza at The Wagon later that evening she told me how she was looking forward to the Packer season and asked what I thought about the merger between the NFL and AFL football leagues. I think I had probably talked about sports with girls before, but usually because they wanted to join in a conversation I was having with some other guys. This was different. She actually seemed to be interested in the Packers and football.

Besides the subject the other thing I remember about our conversation was her hands. Her slender fingers seemed to not only weave the story together, but also somehow add a tantalizing element to it. Given all the reasons the evening should have been a complete disaster it was not.

Yet, somehow I knew as we kissed good night we would probably not go out together again. She never called, but then it really was my turn to ask her and that never happened. A couple decades later I worked with her twin brother on a building project at the Milwaukee Public Schools. I may have asked about her, but I’m not sure.

Do you remember the first good date after a breakup? What set it apart? Were you able to follow it up with another one? Tell us in the comment section.

Back in the Game: Step 134

Shortly after I was elected president of Witt AZA one of the last orders of business Steve P had to preside over was the selection of the chapter sweetheart. In other chapters the completely democratic process known as who is dating the current or in-coming president, or failing that who has been dating one of our members for the past few months did this. In Witt since no one ever had more than three dates with the same girl this problem never entered the picture.

Now, in all honesty I have no idea whose name may have been offered in the selection process. If the selection took place while Donna and I were seeing each other I can be grateful she wasn’t selected. As it turned out we chose a rosy-cheeked blonde named Joy who through her vivacious smile, bubbling exuberance, and lack of a conceited bone her body endeared herself to our group of mostly self conscious sweaty palmed nervous nerds. All right, I’m not talking about Steve P, M, Brad, and a few others, but the rest of us were, making us all the more excited to have her as our sweetheart.

Another factor, which I am quite sure was merely coincidence, were Joy and Donna were in the same BBG chapter. Though I am not sure to what extent they shared a friendship this fact meant they saw each other at regular meetings and many social activities. It also meant Joy was likely to know quite soon after Beau Dance that Donna and I were no longer seeing each other.

One of the social activities their chapter organized every year was attending the fireworks on the lakefront. Since my days in elementary school one of my favorite holidays has always been the Fourth of July. In Milwaukee, dating back to the time when Schlitz Brewing Company was a major local employer and civic pride developer, there were cutting-edge fireworks the night of the third and a huge circus wagon parade the morning of the fourth. People marched folding chairs and blankets in hand for miles to get a spot on the hillsides or in the park to watch the sky fill with colors.

So, when I heard Joy’s excited voice on the phone I was hoping she was calling to invite me to see the fireworks. She was, only not with her. She wanted to know if I would go with someone named Mimi. Wow, a Jewish girl with a French name. The only French person who came to mind besides Charles de Gaulle was Brigitte Bardot.

All Joy would tell me was she thought Mimi was cute but a little shy. Compared to Joy most people I knew might appear shy. What mattered to me most was she was an attractive girl who Donna and her friends would see me with and know I had recovered and was back in the game.

My mother always told me beauty was in the eye of the beholder. She was right. Unfortunately for Mimi whatever beauty Joy was hoping I would see vanished when I picked up a quiet dark haired girl who reminded me more of de Gaulle than Bardot. After saying next to nothing in the car as we crawled through traffic, and even less as we walked to the park, I hoped against hope we would not see Donna.

Of course, despite the thousands of people who dotted the hillside there she was looking through his telescope at the grounds below holding the pyrotechnic display. Mimi suddenly came alive and started shouting out to her. I calmly said hello to Dennis.

We found a spot and laid out the blanket. As bright bursts of light whistled through the air I kept asking myself what she saw in him. He wasn’t as funny, intelligent, or good looking as me. Poor Mimi, she never stood a chance.

Did you ever have a blind date? How did it go? Tell us in the comment section.

You Don't Need A Sweetheart to Have a Good Time: Step 101

One of the events sponsored by the Milwaukee district office of AZA was the annual sweetheart dance. When I became a member of Witt AZA the chapter had already selected its sweetheart for the year. Sweethearts were selected at the end of their junior year to serve the chapter at meetings and special events during their senior year. Our sweetheart was Marlene slender, somewhat attractive, extremely gregarious, a young woman who would one day marry my cousin Earl.

About half of the guys in the chapter would get up enough nerve to ask a girl to be their date to the sweetheart dance. The rest would invent excuses like their parents didn’t want them to start dating until they were older, it cost too much, or my favorite they had to go to their cousin’s best friend’s brother’s bar mitzvah. Whatever the excuse the reality was usually lack of nerve or after being turned down by the girl they wanted to take they wallowed in the rejection.

For me it was a matter of pride. I knew I was going to graduate early, so while it was only my sophomore year I recognized I’d only have one more chance. If I wanted to make it into the realm of young Milwaukee Jewish society I had to attend at least one AZA Sweetheart Dance before my senior year. So, after getting turned down by the girls I could actually consider my sweetheart I enlisted the help of friends. Rina, an Israeli who had been in the states only a few years accepted my invitation.

Since it was my first formal affair I made the mistake of buying a traditional corsage instead of the kind girls wear on their wrists. After Rina took it out of the box she handed it to me to pin it on her. My nervous hands were sure to stay well above her bosom, but when I started to push in the pin I worried I would poke it into her flesh. Fumbling, I reached inside her neckline to shield her skin, but accidentally touched the strap on her brassiere. I shook as I quickly removed my hand. She calmly thanked me and pinned my boutonnière on my lapel.

Which one of the guys drove to the dance I don’t recall, but it was a typical westside car. Some of the guys from the eastside who I had seen around Brynwood Country Club when I worked there brought their dates in Porsches, MGs and Jaguars.

It was a beautiful night for a dance at the War Memorial Center that overlooked the dark shimmering waves of Lake Michigan. We spent a lot of time sitting out on the steps taking in the night air and small talk. When the signal came everyone who wasn’t already in the ballroom headed there.

People gathered on either side of the roped off white runner that ran the length of the room. Pomp and circumstance played as each chapter, its sweetheart and president were announced. Witt AZA was the last of the eighteen chapters, and Steve P who had succeeded Pidge as president beamed as he escorted Marlene down the aisle.

When the processional was over everyone danced as the lights in the ballroom dimmed. Afterwards we went to Mama Mia’s for pizza and garlic bread. Some of the guys went to the Pizza Wagon, but on a special night I didn’t want to celebrate at the place I worked.

As I remember it was a wonderful time. I only hope Rina thought so, too.

But She Has Personality: Step 99

In looking back over the stories of my years at Grantosa Drive Elementary School it appears one I overlooked was my relationship with Debbie Sue. She was the first of a number of Debbies in my life including the one I will be celebrating my twenty-fifth wedding anniversary with in a day less than seven weeks.

No one in the fourth grade could form better loops. Whether ascending in her h’s or descending in her g’s she had the loops with both the correct shape and the proper slant. More often than not her meticulous cursive writing, something Mrs. Lynman made us practice every single day, was the model selected for display on the blackboard.

Not only could she write well, but she also had jet-black hair, a twinkle in her eye, and smelled good. Artie M, a kid with white as snow hair, wanted her for his girlfriend, but I told him it wouldn’t work because he wasn’t Jewish so he should just take her friend Cheryl, which he did.

I was so taken with Debbie Sue I went to the dime store and bought her a genuine artificial diamond ring. Too frightened to give it to her I placed it in the basement window well of her four family apartment building on Villard Avenue. Then, I slid a note under their apartment door explaining where to find her “special gift.” I guess I figured if her parents found the note they’d still give her the ring. To the best of my memory she never said anything about the ring and I never went back to see if it was still there.

A couple of years later in the sixth grade Debbie Sue and a couple of her girlfriends organized a party in the basement of her apartment building. I don’t remember who was there with me, but a short while later she moved to a house near John Marshall Junior Senior High where she went to school while I attended Samuel Morse Junior High.

When I arrived at Marshall she was down the hall in the homeroom with Ron and Big Steve. Debbie Sue had always been easy to talk to and even though she did not hold the same attraction for me she had in grade school our ability to communicate was reason enough to accept her invitation to be her date at a party.

Rather than have a parent take us we were able to go on a double date. We went with Denise, who had been Debbie Sue's best friend for the past three years, and her date drove. When we arrived music was playing and the other guests packed the room standing and talking, sitting on folding chairs, or dancing.

One distinct smell permeated the room, hairspray. Nearly every girl at the party had her hair up in a beehive, a hairdo popularized by Audrey Hepburn and Leslie Caron, which had the hair piled atop the head with the outside layer swirled around and lacquered in place by a heavy cloud of aerosol.

At one point in the evening the guy who had been set up with Denise asked me if I wanted to switch dates. Although she was blonde and every inch as attractive in the physical sense as Debbie Sue, she had none of the vitality. She was not easy to talk to, she rarely smiled, she spoke in a monotone, and there was no twinkle in her eye. I’m not sure what I told him but I declined his offer.

Although Debbie Sue and I remained friends, and we “doubled” when we dated other people, we never dated each other again. That night, however, I started to understand what my parents meant when they said looks and brains will only get a person so far, it’s one’s personality that makes the difference.

Nothing to Say: Step 66

We met in Mr. Takarian’s general science class. He was the original Mr. T. long before the guy with the Mohawk showed up on The A Team. For those unfamiliar with the reference he can be found on imdb. Our Mr. T. didn’t have the strip down the middle; his hair had pretty much deserted him. If his good-natured jokes and ear to ear grin didn’t impress teachers and kids alike, his immense pecs, tight abs, and huge guns screaming to burst out of his white dress shirt back in the day when they were simply known as pectoral, abdominal and bicep muscles caught everyone’s attention. He used all of these attributes to charm his students and motivate them in a class he knew they took only because it was required. He also introduced me to her. Actually, the first day of class when he took attendance by calling everyone’s name I paid especially close attention so when he said Becky and her hand went up she would be sure to notice me smiling at her. In the days and weeks that passed and despite my best efforts to say hello to her every chance I had it became apparent there were quite a few boys in class who noticed Becky. Then, Mr. T. in his good natured way began to tease some of the boys that if they wanted her to notice them they needed to step up their science game, because he noted not only was she beautiful but Becky was the best student in the class. In fact I even read the book, worked through the exercises and experiments, and attempted to internalize some of the key concepts, but science was never my strong suit and there was almost no way my best effort would catch her eye. At the same time her genial smile, big brown eyes, and glistening black hair haunted my dreams. In desperation I decided to take action. For some long forgotten reason the Jewish Center was having a dance that everyone was talking about and I decided to ask Becky to go with me to it. Again I was glad Dad had put in a phone jack in the basement, so I could carry the phone down, plug it in, and dial her number in privacy. Her answer was what I wanted, but as soon as I hung up the phone it became a matter of be careful what you wish for because you may get it. Now that I had a date I needed to find someone to “double” with us. Cousin Jim, Big Steve, and Ron were all going to the dance, but none of them wanted to take a date. So I turned to her, but none of her friends wanted to ask someone to the dance. Came the night of the dance I put on my sport coat and tie, my stovepipe pants and Beatle boots. Dad drove me over to her house and waited patiently as I went upstairs to get her. She looked fantastic all the features I’d been dreaming about wrapped in a frilly white blouse and gray wool skirt. Dropping us off, my dad told me to give him a call about 20 minutes ahead of when we wanted to be picked up from the dance. Once we were inside I said the lead singer of the band, The Contrels, was wearing the same kind of glasses as one of the Byrds. She had no idea what I was talking about and that was the last complete sentence we shared all evening. We were friendly. We smiled. We danced a couple dances. We sat in the lobby. We talked to friends. We had sodas. We went inside. We came back out. We were bored. After a sufficient amount of time I asked if I should call my father. She smiled and nodded with relief. When we got to her house I knew what was expected and walked with her to the door. I didn’t know if I was supposed to follow her upstairs, so I started to ask her, but before I could she leaned over toward me as if she was going to kiss me on the cheek, and I pulled away. It was all very awkward. She just smiled, said good night, and went up stairs. Dad asked me if we had a good time and I just smiled. Years later I saw Becky. She was still beautiful. But we still had nothing to say.

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.