[Note: This blog makes more sense if you've first read "Relating in the Classroom" - Part 4 (10/01/09); Part 1 (12/08/09) and Part 2 (12/11/09). You don't have anything better to do, do you?]
Home alone one night during Christmas vacation of my senior year in High School, I organized a new set of proofs of my senior portrait. I hated the first proofs from the regular school photographer. They looked like my Dad or Grandma—not me. The photos from the second photography studio were a little better. But I still didn’t look like Cheryl Tiegs.
I had spread the miniature pix over the dining room table, trying to decide on the best one. I heard a knock at the front door.
It was not unusual for kids to pop by my house whenever. Since my Mom was rarely there, my house was a place to congregate. You get enough kids together and you end up with a party. I had plenty of parties at my house.
I flipped on the porch light and opened the door. It was Paul (wow-exciting!), an old friend/classmate for many years. Paul hadn’t been over much. He was busy: quarterback of the varsity football team; worked at Jack-n-the-Box; had a girlfriend. It was a nice surprise to see him. Too bad I didn’t look better, I thought. (Who puts on makeup to stay home alone?)
I was embarrassed Paul saw all my photos on the table. But he seemed interested in them. He looked them over and picked out the one he liked best. (That’s the pose I had prints made from.)
We sat at the table and talked. He told me he was house sitting for his girlfriend’s family. They were vacationing in Hawaii for the holidays and wouldn’t be back until after New Year’s. He asked me if I wanted to go out with him later that week.
“What about Monica?” I asked.
“She knows we’re friends,” Paul said.
Fine with me then! And yippee I might add. Before the date I thought about what it meant. Paul was popular enough that he could have picked almost any girl to take out (including way back in sixth grade), but he chose me.
Paul picked me up in Monica’s parent’s car, a white Mark III Lincoln Continental. It was luxurious. Ordinarily Paul drove a beige VW bug. When he first bought it during our sophomore year, he told me he could fill up the gas tank and drive around all week for $1.00.
We drove to Ports O’Call Restaurant in San Pedro, about forty miles away. I have no idea why we traveled so far to have dinner, unless Paul liked driving the car, the Pacific Coast Highway was a nice drive, or he wanted to be so far away that no one saw us together! Or maybe he picked that restaurant because it was romantic?
I remember standing outside on a patio, decorated with lights, next to a railing overlooking the Pacific Ocean. Definitely romantic. I remember thinking I was having a grown-up date with a gentleman admirer as opposed to a teenage make-out grope fest. This was somebody who wanted to be with me—just for my company.
On the way home in the car the song “My Sweet Lord” by George Harrison played on the radio. I know that’s a song about George worshiping his God, but the lines:
I really want to know you…
I really want to be with you…
summed up the evening for me.
On this date I noticed that when you’re in the presence of someone where you both have a mutual affection/attraction/admiration, it’s a powerful feeling. Like being in a universe of two—connected by a silent bond. Your senses are turned on HIGH toward only one entity. And everything else going on around you isn’t happening in the same world you’re in. Well, that’s what it felt like as a teenager!
And that’s what I call a great date.
There was no good-bye kiss. Not that kind of date. We were “just friends” afterall. But that did not diminish the special time I had with someone who I had genuinely liked since fifth grade.
A few days later on January first I called Paul’s house. His Mom answered the phone. I told her to tell Paul Happy 18th Birthday for me.
For graduation ceremonies that year I was a Seal Bearer, meaning I got good grades. In the procession, I marched out near the beginning of my class—after the class valedictorians and salutatorian. I needed a boy partner to march with and I asked Paul. He said yes. My Mom took LOTS of pictures of him. But none of me. Typical.
Don’t need photos. I have my memories.
