The Falling Part: "I'm Not Allowed to Yet" (part 2)

My sixteen-year wait for the green light on dating was not much of an issue until I was at least thirteen or fourteen.   With regards to most young men that caught my attention, the wait was hard and not appreciated.  But there was a flip side, too.  My parents' rule served as a wonderful scape goat on occasion!  I was about to learn that not all attention from guys was desirable.

Journal Entry, 23 November 1987:
There is a boy at school, Robbie Connors, who is constantly flirting with every cute girl he sees.  I can't stand to be around him.  Luckily, I only have one out of seven classes with him, History, last hour.  I asked Mr. Hinz (our History teacher) if I could sit totally far away from him.  I sit on the opposite side of the room from him.

Robbie was all about girls. Perhaps even at an earlier age than the rest of the guys I knew.

One day after school in seventh grade, he insisted that I give him a hug.  That has to be the worst hug I've ever had in my life.  From a distance, it may have looked like any normal hug between two consenting individuals.  The truth is, I felt like I had only partially consented--he had merely managed to talk me into it.  It left me with such a horrible feeling inside, I later talked with my mom about it.  She explained to me one of the facts of life--that guys sometimes hug girls for the thrill of feeling their bodies.  YIKES!  This was new to me, and difficult to process.  I would definitely choose to be more selective with my hugs from now on!

A couple of years later, when Robbie called and asked the fifteen-year-old me if I would go to the prom with him, I was shocked.  I didn't recall ever really being his friend.  Lucky for me, I hadn't reached the magic birthday yet, so saying "I'm not allowed to yet" served as a relief more than anything, and a welcomed excuse.  Thankfully, he left me alone after that.

Another example of feeling saved by the infamous "not yet" rule came upon my meeting Mike Glover.

I met Mike during my sophomore year of high school, as I was the student secretary in his Calculus class. He and I enjoyed a mutual crush for a short time.  He was senior, a cute soccer player with braces and a flat-top.  When he asked me if I would go to a dance with him after one of our football games, I sincerely lamented telling him "I'm not allowed to yet."  Until... I decided that rejection turned out to be a blessing in disguise, when Mike showed up to that football game drunk!  This delinquency was also new to me!  Thank heavens for coincidental protection such as that one.  That crush was finished, with no regrets on my part.

I am somewhat embarrassed by some of the crushes I entertained, but I think the embarrassing ones deserve mentioning.  In my defense, I cling to a statement from one of my best girlfriends in high school, Kristyn; she said, "You can't help who you feel chemistry with."  In this case, it's a good thing the "no dating yet" rule applied to not only me, but to these fine young men as well...the missionaries.

Don't be mad at me for flirting with the missionaries!  I was still just learning about what was appropriate and what was not.  (Okay, yes, I should have known better, but still...) The full-time missionaries in our church are not allowed to date during their missionary service.  That doesn't mean that people around them become blind to the fact that they're possibly in their most attractive stage of life at their ripening age of nineteen or thereabouts (not to mention their sharp suits and ties and handsome short haircuts).  Or at least to teenage girls it seems that way.

Mom kept a close eye on flirty little me.  "You wouldn't want to be responsible for making a missionary have inappropriate thoughts about a girl, would you?" she warned.  That made sense to me, and I remember considering the warning.  Hopefully her counsel to keep my distance was heeded well enough.  I think I did okay.  But I still find my journal entry about one certain elder entertaining:

Journal Entry, 26 July 1988: 
The missionary I like, Elder Stratford, was transferred to a different area [insert heart with a sad face inside].  I found out* his first name was Jason [insert heart].  I miss seeing him.  We have a new missionary, his name is Elder Robinson.  He's cute, but he's no Jason. [heart].

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Disclaimer to my daughters--and for that matter, to all daughters, sons, sisters, brothers, cousins, and everyone everywhere: please learn here from my mom's counsel and not from my mistake--do NOT flirt with missionaries.  It's not nice, and it's, well...just don't do it!
--

I seemed to always have my sight set on someone.  Or be searching for someone to latch on to.  Regional dances, band trips, and choir trips provided opportunities to meet young people from neighboring towns, which led to some fun long-distance but usually short-term flings.  I was at times overjoyed to get an expensive long-distance phone call from a recent interested acquaintance (long-distance calls used to be a luxury, back in the day), and didn't pass up the chance to make invitations to our local events.  I felt pretty special when a guy would make up to a one hour drive just to come see me.  But again, not being allowed to officially date yet kept me grounded, and so not many of my long-distance admirers from this time period received much encouragement to stick around.

When Jesse, a sweet young gentleman whom I had met at a choir event (and had gotten to know through a few phone conversations) called to tell me he was in town and would like to visit me, I obliged.  Mom and Dad weren't home, so we just talked for about an hour in the family room, and all was low-key.  We had a nice visit, but my resulting feelings were somewhat of a revelation...

Journal Entry, 16 March 1990:
Jesse's real nice--but I do not want to be more than friends.  Not just with him, but with anyone.  I think it's nice to not be "involved" with anyone for awhile.

How ironic...just weeks before my sixteenth birthday, I was ready to rest a bit from my labors of love.  Perhaps that was the one last emotion I needed to experience before being ready to dive into dating. 





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 *Missionaries in our church all go by the title of "Elder" or "Sister," followed by their last name.  First names are rarely used with the public during their missions, and are therefore rarely known by the members of the church.