Toni Dockter: Filosophy with a Fuchsia Flair

The boy with the highest I.Q. in my class was Paul. He was also the most popular boy, along with his good friend Donnie. Paul was extroverted and athletic. Donnie was the first kid in my class to know about the Beatles, which made him cool. He was also the cutest guy. But it was Paul I kept my eye on—if you get my sixth-grade drift. Our teacher, Mr. Allen, had a nickname for Paul — “Loquacious Boy” — because he talked a lot.

Donnie lived near me; Paul didn’t. Sometimes Paul and Donnie walked home from school to Donnie’s house, which meant walking down my street. Sometimes they lingered in the front yard. My Mom invited them in and gave them Fudgesicles or ice cream sandwiches. When Paul and Donnie were in the kitchen, I hid in my bedroom. No way I was going to chat with them. My Mom didn’t care if I didn’t say hello. She liked talking to the boys herself.

I walked to school (usually with JoElla and/or Diane), but I rode my bike everywhere else. My Mom’s second husband had bought me a new bicycle—a Schwinn Stingray—cobalt blue with a wicker basket on the handle bars. I used to fly like the wind on that bike!

The only place I hated to ride my bike was for piano lessons, because I hated where my piano teacher lived—right next door to Paul. If he were outside, there would be no way he wouldn’t see me. I dreaded that event because it meant I might have to talk to him. I learned to park that bike and dash into the piano teacher’s house in a flash.

[Lucky for me there were only a few Paul sightings. I think I just waved.]

So imagine my complete surprise when after school, I walked down the hall and Donnie came up to me. He said he had something for me—from Paul.

From Paul? Are you kidding me?

Donnie said Paul was too shy to give it to me himself. He wanted Donnie to do it and ask me if I would go steady with him.

Go steady with Paul? Are you kidding me?

Donnie held up a St. Christopher medal dangling on a silver chain. I gaped at it. I wanted it badly. As I reached my hand up to take it from Donnie—Mr. Allen zoomed up to us in his wheel chair—like a bat out of hell—like a thief in the night!

Where did he come from? How did he even know what was going on?

He grabbed the necklace away from Donnie. He said to me in a gruff voice, “You don’t want that!”

Oh yes I do, Mr. Allen, really I do.

Mr. Allen barked at Donnie, who slumped away. He said to me, “You need to say to what Priscilla said to John Alden: “Why don’t you speak for yourself, Paul? You don’t want someone who doesn’t speak for himself!” Harrumph!

I don’t?

Mr. Allen wheeled away with the necklace in his clutches.

He had been referring to the Henry Wadsworth Longfellow poem (from 1858) called The Courtship of Miles Standish. I vaguely remembered it. But I wished Mr. Allen had never heard of it—as I never even got to touch the necklace.

Of course I never said to Paul, “Speak for yourself.” Saying hi was hard enough. And he never mentioned the St. Christopher medal to me—or going steady or anything like that ever again. Bummer.

About a month later while shopping at the Orange County Plaza with Jo Ella (the only person I told about the incident) I saw a St. Christopher medal similar to the one Donnie had almost handed to me. The outer circle said: St. Christopher Protect Us. The middle circle was an engraving of the saint. I bought it for myself.

I didn’t pretend it was from Paul or that we were secretly going steady or anything weird like that. But I thought maybe it would bring me luck—in my next romantic venture—if I ever had another one.

I thought it had already brought me luck. Because just knowing that Paul wanted to go steady with me for a little bit of time was good enough (almost).

And I continued to keep an eye on Paul for many years after that, which makes this story to be continued….