Playtime

The unwritten code of teenagedom is that younger siblings are annoying. It probably stems from trying to distance themselves from the immaturity they believed they left just a few years before. You didn't have to actually be mean to them to be cool, you just had to roll your eyes at their simplicity. You could also demonstrate your superior sophistication by either humoring, or ignoring them. However, it was usually un-cool to engage with them.

He was the baby in His family, so He never had younger siblings. He did however become an uncle when He was 11 years old. He was a dichotomy for a tough 17 year old athlete. No one who knew Him on the football field, or the basketball court would ever imagine He had such a soft spot for kids.
He babysat, as well as attend His nieces' dance recitals. At my house He played with my younger brothers and sisters (I was the oldest in a very large family). My father was a very engaged parent, but he was not physical, he was quite reserved. He, however, was game. He would get down on the floor and rough house with my younger siblings. He threw them around. They climbed on Him. He chased them. He let them catch Him. He played ball with them. He played tea party with them. They climbed all over Him, and He never got tired of it. I think it worried my mother sometimes (there were more bumps, bruises, and band aides after He came along). I never had to worry about canceling a date because I had to babysit, we would just take them along.

I think you can tell a lot about the goodness of a person by how they treat children, whether they engage with them, find joy in their silliness, and by how well they accommodate their limitations.

He played...

...one more reason I love Him.    

Intervention

Traditionally, the term "stud row" refers to the practice of lining up prize stallions to be selected for breeding with mares. Ironically (or maybe sarcastically), our high school had its own stud row. A row of blue chairs bolted together, and then bolted to the wall. These seats lined a segment of the hall with the highest student traffic. They sat positioned below the administrative offices, above the auditorium, adjacent to the cafeteria doors, and directly across from the sophomore lockers (there were no freshmen in our high school). The school was built in the 1960's, and has always had the notorious chairs, along with their accompanying name. The occupants of these chairs were the athletes, and their entourages.  Of course girls were commonly seen sitting, and standing along stud row, as that is where court was held.

However, the majority of girls did not feel welcome on, at, or near stud row. It was impossible to get anywhere in the school without passing these chairs, and it became a painful daily gauntlet for many. The remarks coming from stud row were indiscriminate. Cat calls, whistles, barks, and howls were followed by laughter from the perpetrators. Most girls held their books to their chests, looked at the floor, hugged the wall, and prayed to become invisible as they passed by. The truth is not all the young men on stud row participated in the collective humiliation of the student body, but they were deemed guilty by association. It was an offense of omission, rather than commission.

One day He and His friends were sitting on stud row. I had been talking to them, but my friend wanted to speak with me, so I said goodbye and we left. Actually, we just stepped around the corner into the cafeteria. As my friend was sharing what I am sure was a very important snippet of high school drama, I heard His friend (one who was an admitted heckler), begin to bark at a young lady. From my vantage point I could see a mortified girl hurry past. Abruptly, I heard His friend annoyingly say "what?". He said "just stop". Obviously He had given the perpetrator a physical indication to stop. I know this seems simple, and maybe even inadequate under the circumstances. However, it was that day that I began noticing how He stood up for those who could not, or dare not defend themselves. He did not call attention to Himself when He did this, or even belittle the belittler. Rather, he quietly noted His displeasure of their actions. That is a feat for a young man.

He spoke up...

...one more reason I love Him.

Integrity

It was a cold, wet Saturday night in January. I had been dying to see a movie that was indy enough to only show in the city. I knew He had no interest in seeing it, but He drove an hour on the icy freeway without complaint or hesitation (at least thats how I remember it). The 7:00 show was only half full. About 20 minutes into the movie He excused Himself. He didn't say, but I assumed that he was going to use the restroom. Its hard to count time passing when you are engaged in something, but I realized a short time later that he had not returned. I left our coats to mark our seats, and went to find Him.

As I emerged into the lobby I saw that He was sitting on a bench just outside the theater door. His eyes were closed, and His head was resting against the wall. I thought He must not feel well. I asked Him what was wrong? He opened His eyes and said "nothing, just resting". I suggested that if He were tired He would be more comfortable in the dark theater. He said He would rather stay out in the lobby. I started to become a little irritated with His evasive attitude. Eventually, He said that the movie made Him uncomfortable, and that He would rather not watch it. His tone was neither accusatory, nor upset, but insisted He was contented to wait. He wanted me to go finish the movie, as it was one I had really wanted to see. Well, of course I wasn't going to sit though the rest of the movie while He waited in the lobby.


We drove home in silence. We had been dating for a few years, and were in a pretty comfortable place as a couple, enough so that silence was not awkward. This was uncomfortable. For an hour we listened to the snow falling silently around us. I didn't ask Him what issue He had with the film, as I already knew. The thing is, as a young woman I should have been the one insulted by the content of the film. Instead, He was offended for both of us. He had a personal standard of decency that He was not willing to compromise, but neither was He going to lecture. He was just going to do what He felt was right. I never did see the rest of that movie, I didn't want to.

He left...

...one more reason I love Him.

Opinion

He inherited a car from His grandmother. A "Nile Green"1951 Plymouth Cranbrook. It had a 217 cid flat pushing engine with a three-speed manual transmission (maintaining an impressive presence at NASCAR through 1952), and weighing in at about 3,400 pounds.

It was in pristine condition. His grandmother had purchased it brand new, but it had been sitting in her garage un-driven for about 10 years. He spent all his free time getting it in purring. He wanted to paint it. I'm not sure why, I guess to make it "cooler". We had only been dating a few months, but he showed up one day with a color chart, and asked me to choose a color. That was a lot of pressure to put on a young girl's shoulders. I told Him I did not want to make such an important (and lasting), decision, but He insisted that He really, really, really trusted my opinion.

"Cadillac, Light Blue Firemist, GM WA4900". What other color would a self respecting 16 year old girl choose? Well, He painted it "Light Blue Firemist GM W4900", and His friends nicknamed it the "Blue Bomb". Looking back there were sooooooo many classier options to choose from, but He loved that car, and He loved the color.

That light blue firemist Plymouth drove Him through high school, took Him to college, got Him to His first full-time job, and was still around four children later. Top speed on the freeway was 50 mph. It's not with us anymore. He gave it away a few years ago - hoping someone would love it as much as He did - and maybe bring a girl a color chart - and ask her to make a decision that would color the rest of their lives.

He trusted...

...one more reason I love Him.

Chivalry

We were in a crowd somewhere. It was some kind of festival, and we had stayed until the end. It didn't feel dangerous, but it was intense. We were being jostled as we tried to make our way to the car. Without saying anything He took my right hand in His left, bent His arm at the elbow, and placed it in the small of His back. This action effectively put me securely behind Him. I looked down His back at our hands as we moved in tandem. We were so close I had to take little steps as He pushed through the crowd. Suddenly, I felt the air clear as He swung His arm back, and we were walking side by side again, my hand in His.

I didn't analyze what He had done at the time, I just remember feeling safe. It seemed like His action was instinctive. I didn't feel that He was being presumptuous or patronizing, rather, He seemed gallant. The gesture was both gentlemanly, and heroic. He made me feel that I inspired such chivalrous behavior in Him.

This became our pattern for moving through groups of people of any size. Later, if His arms were full, He put my finger in His back belt loop, and I just followed, trusting I would emerge safe and sound. Although His reaction to unforeseen dangers seemed simplistic, the implication was profound. From that point forward I have always felt safe when I am with Him. It has left me with the assurity that I am always looked after - even when He isn't there.

He protected...

...one more reason I love Him.  

Chances

He seemed so earnest when He asked me out for the next weekend that I decided I would give Him a second chance. Of course it was another double date with our friends, this time to the movies. We saw Foul Play. Whatever you might say about this Hitchcock homage, the comedy/thriller offered a funny Chevy Chase, a charming Goldie Hawn, and a PG rating - in other words, a perfect date movie. However, it was the third, not the second date that hooked me. As the second date was not an altogether flop He asked me out again for the next weekend - this time to his grandparent's 50th wedding anniversary. I can't imagine what He was thinking.

The date is pretty much a blur. I remember only three things: double date again; I wore a homemade  silver Qiana, cowl neck dress, (you had to be from the time to know the cool factor of this fabric); and He kissed me goodnight. It wasn't the kiss that snagged me, it was how He got it.

He seemed massive to me. He was 6'1" and 195 lbs. I was 5'4" and half his weight. He almost swaggered, carrying himself in an arrogant manner, like He knew He could handle himself. I was not impressed, rather, I was a little put off. I had assumed from His demeanor, and comments from the peanut gallery, that He was cocky. Although I was 16, I knew how to put a boy in his place, and I was prepared to do just that.

Returning home from our "meet his family fest" He walked me to my front door. My parents had left all the lights blaring for my benefit. At the door He asked if He could come in for a minute. Our friends were waiting in the car so I knew He wouldn't stay very long. Inside the foyer, under the chandelier, with His hands in His pants pockets He whispered: "would you mind if I kissed you goodnight?". Completely taken aback by His self-conscious and bashful query, I think I just said "okay". With his hands still in his pockets He leaned down and timidly kissed me very softly on the lips. It was surprising...and sweet. I had already battled a few eager gropers, and I was completely caught off guard by His sincerity. I had misjudged His character by his appearance. For the first time I thought that there was more to this boy than meets the eye, and I wanted to see what it was.

He asked...

...one more reason I love Him.

Origin

Homecoming bonfire. It sounded like the quintessential clichéd high school set-up. My friend told me that her boyfriend's friend wanted to go out with me and they wanted to set us up because it would be so fun to double date. I was reluctant.

I didn't know Him, but I knew who He was. He wasn't "my type". I'm not sure what my type was at sixteen, but I didn't think it was a "dumb jock". He looked kind of thuggish. Beefy neck, unruly dark hair, big brow...brutish. Under the influence of teenage wisdom I assessed Him based on his appearance. Initially I said no, but my friend begged.

The plan was for the girls to meet the boys at the bonfire. Well...He didn't show. After an hour, the boyfriend appears and explains that we need to pick Him up at his house. Something felt off. Once at His house the boyfriend went inside to retrieve my date. I wanted to go home. I was so embarrassed. I knew my scheming friend had mislead me. I sat in the car humiliated, while inside the boyfriend convinced Him to go out with me.

Twenty minutes later. He gets in the car beside me wearing a dirty, old, 10 gallon Stetson, a fleece lined denim jacket, and stares straight ahead. A hat and a coat on a warm September evening? How could I be any more impressed? The best is yet to come. Yes, we went to McDonalds. I waited for Him to order so I could take my clue as to what I should order. A small root beer. Well then... I ordered a small orange soda. We sat in awkward silence while our friends, eating their meal, tried to engage us in conversation. He looked at his cup the whole painful time. Thankfully, they dropped me home first. He walked me to the door, said "goodnight", turned and left.

I dreaded the next day at school, and the next. Thankfully I never ran into Him. It was odd. Our school was too small to not catch any glimpse of Him for two days. He wasn't at school. He had come down with the flu the afternoon of the bonfire. He went home during school and collapsed in bed. The boyfriend got Him out of bed that night with a 102 temperature, sweating like a pig, and barely able to stand. Later, I asked Him why he even came? He said he was afraid that it might be His only opportunity to go out with me.

He came...

...one more reason I love Him.