Last night, I went through a drawer full of papers Caleb has brought home from kindergarten so far this school year. Most of the papers were completed homework assignments and worksheets for practicing math and reading; however, within the stack, I found a crude cut-out of a heart with "I love you" scrawled on it in pink crayon. The heart is from Caleb's current "girlfriend." I won't name her, but will say, this has been a fairly serious relationship, if there is such a thing between a five- and six-year old. And yeah, I said "current" because she's not his first little romance.
Now today, he came home with a different cut-out hot pink heart with the words "I love you, Caleb. Love [insert name of other girl here]." As I came upstairs tonight, I heard Brent giving Caleb a bit of a hard time about it, but explaining proudly that it's good to have a "back-up or even several back-ups" in case something goes awry with the girlfriend. I mean, you never know, right?
"Don't tell him things like that!" I yelled at Brent. "No girl wants to be the designated 'contingency' or 'back-up' girl!"
"Nonsense! It's a win-win for everyone. Girls don't mind being the next one in line." Brent explained to me.
"Okay, as the 'contingency' girl in school, I can tell you from experience that I did NOT like being the back-up." I tried to explain.
As I think back to my days in elementary, junior high and senior high school, I recall having crushes at an early age; probably the same age as these little girls who so boldly give our son the little "I love you" messages and aren't the least bit shy about smothering him with hugs and kisses whenever they can get their little mitts on him, except I don't remember little girls being this brazen "back in the day." [I realize that saying things like "back in the day" just serves as a stark reminder of how much time has actually lapsed since adolescence and the teen years. Ugh.] For anyone with daughters, don't underestimate your little darlings. I've already seen the receiving end of their early affections and I'm eternally grateful there's no equivalent MTV show like "16 and Pregnant" for teenage boys.
I can easily count the number of times a boy asked me out, told me he loved me, or even that he really liked me before the age of 18. Yeah, so that would be ZERO. That's right. None. I think I was *possibly* someone's "back-up" once or maybe their "tier three contingency girl," but I don't ever remember being anyone's #1, not even for like a day. I'm not ashamed to admit it, but I wanted to be that crush just one damn time.
I remember going to a junior high dance with one particular dumb ass and I'm pretty sure his mom and my mom finangled this arrangement. He spent the majority of our "date" in the school cafeteria watching college basketball finals and getting in trouble with the principal for taking a clock off the wall and shattering it. I spent much of the evening looking for said dumb ass and commiserating with my bitches about the general asshole-ness of teenage boys. After the dance, his mom dropped me off at home where I most certainly cried and gorged myself stupid. Needless to say, this wasn't what I'd classify as a good or even an acceptable date. If "he" happens to read this somehow, look dude - I'm so over it, so don't flatter yourself. I've been over it for like the past 22+ years, but at the time, I really did want to cause you serious bodily harm (because even though I didn't stand up for myself like I do now, I've always had a good dose of inner feistiness - it's just now more of an outer feistiness...mixed with profanity, cynicism and sarcasm. Be glad we didn't have this date in my twenties or now.)
Now, there were a lot of reasons that likely contributed to my lack of popularity amongst the opposite sex back in the day. I'll delve into just a few of my own theories.
Theory #1) Wearing bifocals in 4th grade. And, we're not talking the nice invisible-type bifocals they have now. Oh no, we're talkin' Coke bottles with the very prominent little circles that made you look cross-eyed and slow (or at least they made me look cross-eyed and slow and I was technically neither of those things).
Theory #2) Band. Enough said. There came a point in my life where having some level of talent as a musician became cool and rewarding (it was called college), but let's be honest - there's not a single reason why being in band in high school is cool. Unfortunately, this concept was never intuitive to me at the time. In fact my mantra seemed to be "The more band, the better!" so I participated enthusiastically in every form of "band" I could get my hands on, i.e., concert, marching, pep, jazz, community and not only did I go to band camp several times, I even went to a special "Flute Camp." Take a moment to let your mind be blown. And, no you sicko, I did not do THAT with my flute. Ever. Damn you "American Pie" all to hell.
Theory #3) My fucking hair. Everyone brags about their epic 80s hair, but I'm sorry, my bangs could kick your bangs' ass back in the day. I used a full can of Aqua Net every week. When I flip through all my old photos, I'm absolutely convinced I was on some sort of personal abstinence campaign. If you went to school with me and don't remember, it's because you chose to look away...all the time. Everyone else will have to take my word for it until I can a) locate a photo and b) muster the nerve or get drunk enough to post it publicly because I'm friends with enough of you who will use such a photo against me. Then again, for those who know me, you know not to go to war with me on such things because as far as the "I'll have the last word" game is concerned, I will win. Always. Try me. At any rate, as a bonus theory, I'll have to blame my parents for letting me go out in public like this and at best, not doing more to shame me into seclusion. I have lots of other ways to blame my parents, but not here and now - I went to therapy for all that.
Again, these are only a small handful of my own possible theories. If any of my FJHS/FSHS classmates care to weigh in with alternative theories, feel free to shoot me an email. No hard feelings.
As for Brent, I don't mean to paint him as a chauvinistic pig who objectifies women in any way. In fact, he's quite the opposite and he treats me like a queen. I have to especially commend his mother for raising such a wonderful gentleman, husband and father. Brent and I just had a very different experience growing up. "Mr. I-had-an-endless-supply-of-girls-fawning-over-me" football captain, salutatorian, class "this and that," blah-blah-blah obviously had a different experience, which I won't go into here because his mom might read this and she'd be horrified. I also don't want Caleb to read this someday and get any clever (stupid) ideas.
As parents, I'm optimistic that Brent and I will raise Caleb with an appropriately balanced level of perspective as far as romance is concerned. Brent can coach him on the best way to maneuver through a sea of admirers and I'll encourage him to give that girl with the completely jacked-up hair and glasses a fighting chance. I mean, who knows where that all could lead...
