The Falling Part: Let the Games Begin

"Someday you're going to marry someone like Neal Preston," Dad said, priding himself in knowing more about the future than his young teenage daughter.

"Ew, Dad, don't be gross.  I mean, Neal is kind of cute on the outside, but he's such a nerd.  I would rather marry someone funny, like Pete," I answered.

Mom chimed in even more insightfully, "I think you'll find someone that is as handsome as Neal, and as funny as Pete, and he'll be the right one."

I was just relieved that I would be in charge of that choice, and not my parents.  Because...Neal?  I could never be into someone like him.

---

Neal had been around for ages.  He was just a few months older than me, was a member of the church, and he happened to be a best friend to my older brother Bryan, so he even came over to my house once in a while.  I loved the way those two would pal around on the piano together, and always admired both of them for their musical gifts.  Eventually as Neal and I grew up a little, our common interests and talents brought us to the same locations and activities time after time, especially during our junior and senior years of high school. 

Neal was one of those "brains" that excelled in everything he studied, and seemed able to master any new skill in about 5 minutes.   He somehow gradually and mysteriously managed to lose his nerdiness and became a wonderful friend to have around.  He was athletic and certainly competitive enough to give me some good games on the racquetball courts where I worked (I was playing a lot those days), which was a great way for us to nurture our casual friendship.  He was always at the top of our class in grades, so I was fortunate to have him present in my study groups for Calculus and Chemistry.  Sometimes I even relied on him to merely begin to understand some of the lessons (math was always a strong subject for me, but ironically, Chemistry and I were not made for each other). 

During our choir trip to California (you know, the one during which my break up with Cody was in the works), Neal and I discovered together that our voices were a perfect fit for the Phantom of the Opera duets.  He had purchased a musical score after the performance we had seen in San Diego, and we sang along together the whole way home on the bus--I was Christine, and he was either Raoul or the Phantom.  Perhaps it was during our collaboration on those love duets that our first seeds of interest were planted. 

Love seeds planted, lots of time spent together, friendship nurtured through recreation, common interests and studies...attraction building...it's plain to see where this was heading...

Journal Entry, 19 May 1991:
I'm beginning to like Neal Preston.  He's so awesome--he plays the piano wonderfully, he has an awesome voice, and he's very strong in the church.  Mom says I should go for him instead of Scott--I'm considering it--but there's just something about Scott--I don't know what it is.

30 May:
Neal and I finally got to perform our duet, "All I Ask of You" from Phantom, twice, at the elementary school performances today.  We did really well.  I could've done better though!  I want Neal to like me back!!!

12 June:
I don't know what to do--I like Neal so much! ...Re-read that sentence 100 times.

14 June:
[Scott was home for the summer with just a few weeks remaining before leaving on his mission.]  Ellie's party tonight was a blast--and I've figured it out--I'm in love with both Neal and Scott. 

16 June: 
I talked to Neal on the phone tonight for about half an hour or 45 minutes : ).  I was up in the clouds.  During our youth activity at church tonight I kept writing his name.  I like him tons.

I filled my summer days with three priorities:  work (I still worked at the fitness center and had added a second job at Burger King), church (I even attended church twice some Sundays so that I could see more of my friends--attending two different congregations, my family's ward and Neal's ward, of course), and all sorts of social activities with no obligations other than to have a good time.  This resulted in a lot more quality time with Neal.

23 June:
Church was kind of boring today.  Maybe it's because I couldn't keep my mind off of Neal.

5 July:
...the only one for me is Neal.  I want to marry him.

So there it stood.  I was in deep.  Did Neal reciprocate my feelings?  Well, that was the tricky part.  Why did I fall so hard and so fast for Neal?  Simple: for him it was a game, and he was the king of this game.  Have you ever heard of the game called "Hard to Get"?  He invented it. 

Was it ever Neal's intention to reel me in?  That's debatable, but once I had decided to join him in the game, I was trapped.  The problem for me was that I couldn't play this game with my own rules, I was expected to play by his rules, and that was very difficult for me.  This wasn't like the Sneaking Peeks game, where the rules were universal and familiar to everyone...this was Neal's game, and it seemed impossible for me to figure out.

I'm not saying there was anything intentionally manipulative about the way Neal handled my feelings.  All I'm saying is that he was the master of keeping the ball in his own court.  Some of my most vivid memories during my falling years included the days that Neal let me get close to him, and how during those moments, I felt happy. 

I'll never forget the best day at the lake in the history of lake days.  A large group of friends, including Neal and myself, planned the afternoon and evening well.  We swam for awhile, and then relaxed on blankets on the beach.  Neal let me run my fingers through his hair, and said he loved it (was I living in a romantic movie?!).  We roasted hot dogs over a camp fire, and to complete the adventure on this perfect day, someone had brought a generator, a television set, and a VCR, that we were able to hook up for our viewing pleasure of an entertaining old comedy, "The Pink Panther Returns." About ten of us cozied up inside a van, and enjoyed the film until long after the sun went down.

I had started out on the floor, but Neal's intuitive cousin Shane (I'll have to tell you about him later) traded places with me so that I could snuggle up to Neal.  I had my head on his shoulder and held his arm securely, and he rested one hand on my leg.  Words can't describe the depth of my feelings of fortune that night--the night when I finally felt allowed to be close to him.

If only that memorable experience at the lake had led to more common bonds right away, but no...this wasn't the time for that.  Not on Neal's timetable, anyway.  There would be more close days to come, but sadly, they were interwoven with more games.


to be continued...

The Falling Part: A Turning Point...Part II

Yes, I wanted a boyfriend that I didn't have to invite to church in order for him to be there, a boyfriend to whom I didn't have to explain or justify my religious culture, and a boyfriend that my parents embraced rather than worried about...but I liked being with Cody.  I liked his gentle, forgiving nature, his sensitive eyes, his calming manners.  I liked how he valued being with me.  He made me feel wanted, special, and loved.

The lingering sorrow in my heart attested to the fact that I didn't want to just be his friend, as I had told him; I wanted to be his girlfriend. So after many tears and talking it over with Mom, Corrie, Corrie's boss, and finally with Cody at his house, we got back together.  Ah, much better!  And I was content, once again.

More sweet kisses and holding hands.  More playing pool and racquetball together, movie dates and watching TV together.  More wearing his cozy Cody-scented black leather jacket (my favorite), and wearing his class ring on a long chain around my neck.  More visits at my work at the fitness center's day care (until my boss said that distraction had to stop), and more finding joy in his presence every day...these were the wonderful benefits of my renewed relationship with Cody over the next few weeks.  It was a tender connection that was meant to be, for now.

No need to worry about that "pathway to marriage" plan for the time being, I was just a young teenager having fun.  Just a girl who wanted to live a little for the present, with no regard for the future, right?

If only it weren't for that one little elephant in the room who kept coming back.

I began to figure out that my faith wasn't just a matter for my future, it was also an ever-developing focus for my present.  I was studying and absorbing the gospel through daily scripture classes (early morning seminary), and approached my Sunday meetings with an eagerness to learn.  For Cody on the other hand, religion still seemed to be a non-priority.  Little by little, our differences in beliefs intensified like a small but growing wedge between us.


Journal Entry, 7 April 1991:
     I talked to Cody on the phone for about 2 1/2 hours tonight.  For about an hour we talked about religion. He asked me questions like, "Do I know my church is true?" and added, "It's impossible to know anything."  I told him I believe, and I'm working to know.  I know that some day I will know if I work at it, and told him he would know too what church is right if he worked to know.  He still doesn't believe I could ever know.  I learned tonight you can't argue with someone about that.  I looked in the scriptures and marked 3 Nephi 18: 20.  "And whatsoever ye shall ask the Father in my name, which is right, believing that ye shall receive, behold it shall be given unto you."

I'm curious to know what it was that Cody saw in me, during that time when my feelings for our relationship slowly began to diminish. There was something that continued to draw him to me, even increasingly so, despite my drifting away.  Why was it that when we were reunited after his one-day-long school trip he seemed alone in his feelings of missing me greatly?  Why was I the only one that could see sense in reserving weeknights for schoolwork, and saving our dates for the weekends?   

"What's wrong, Cody?  Why are you so quiet this morning?" I asked, uncomfortable with his silence.

"I don't really want to talk about it," he said.  "Don't worry about it. There's nothing we could do about it anyway; it's not important."  Obviously, it was important, but he wasn't yet ready to discuss the cause of his blues.

Later, at lunch, he revealed, "I just hate that we never do anything together anymore.  Besides at school, I only get to see you maybe once on the weekend and that's it.  And what makes me the most frustrated is that you didn't even tell me about your big California trip coming up."

My week-long choir trip to San Diego was a big deal, but I had neglected to mention it.  I didn't have a good reason.  I hadn't meant to upset him, and regretted the awkward tension.  Still, it added to the evidence that Cody and I were not on the same page as much as before. 

Journal Entry, 20 April 1991:
     We went to see Dances with Wolves tonight in the theater.  It was a really good movie, I cried a little at the end.  It was nice to sit close again.  I wish I could do that all the time.  I don't mean necessarily with him, I mean I wish I was married and in love.  I wish Cody was Mormon, it would make things so much easier--I wouldn't have to worry about when we'll break up.

The time for my trip came, and Cody feared the effect our separation would have on my need or desire for our togetherness overall.  When I called him to say goodbye, we argued.  I hated that.  I chose to leave without his class ring that I always wore around my neck in my determination to not think about him for a few days.

The choir trip was a dream.  One of those cloud 9 kind of dreams that you hate waking up from.  We performed our hearts out and made beautiful music; traveled to new and exciting places--like the Strip in Las Vegas; saw amazing shows like The Phantom of the Opera starring Michael Crawford, and the Barnum and Bailey Brother's Circus; and solidified life-long friendship bonds all the while.  During this trip some of my most favorite high school memories were made.

There was hardly any time for sadness during this trip, but imposing thoughts of Cody kept me tied to a challenging reality--it was decision time once again.  I felt our time together had run its course, and although I knew from experience that breaking up was not necessarily a happy change, I knew it was a necessary change.  I would be okay with it this time, for real.  I would do it as soon as I got home.

"Cody, I want to break up," I nervously said before school on my first day back, hesitant only because I didn't want to hurt him.  "I think we should just be friends from now on."

"I know.  I want to break up, too," he answered, and the lack of surprise in his response caught me a little off-guard.   "...but it's not because I don't like you anymore.  It's because I like you too much, and don't want to be close to someone when I know we would never be able to stay together.  ...And I think my reason is better."

The truth is, I liked his reason better too.

The good news is, after time softened our wounds, we were able to get past the hurt feelings and remain good friends.  Cody was such a gentleman, he not only followed through with our plan to go to the prom together (which had been scheduled prior to our breakup), he even swallowed his pride and wore a white tuxedo with tails--against his fashion preferences--because I thought it would match my peach and white lace dress the best.  We had a good time there and I treasure that fancy schmancy photo of us together in front of the prom's elegant decorative backdrop.

Cody was my last non-Mormon boyfriend.  I will be forever grateful that I was able to experience this turning point in my romantic companionships with such a loving and forgiving person as Cody. 

The Falling Part: A Turning Point...Part I

Journal Entry, 27 January 1991:
     I did a nauty (naughty?) thing today, I left church for a few minutes.  I called Corrie at work from the hall phone just to say "hi," in between classes, and she asked me to do her a favor.  She asked me to go to her boyfriend Kenny's house (right by the church, the next street over) and bring her some jeans.  Church wasn't over yet, but I did.  I went over there but no one was home so I drove over to her work (just down the other street) and got the key to Kenny's house, went back and got the jeans, and took them back to her.  I couldn't believe it, but just as I was pulling out of there, my car died!  I was in sheer panic by now (because Mom and Dad didn't know I had sneaked out) so I went back in to Corrie's work to get some help.  Cody Regan (a guy I know from school) and one of his friends pushed my car and it started for me.  I went right back to church.  Whew--Mom and Dad don't know. 

The freedom of driving gave a teenager such as myself ample opportunities to learn responsibility.  For the most part, Mom and Dad didn't worry about me with all of my coming and going, because I complied with my evening curfews, and kept them in the know of where and with whom I spent my time.  They trusted me, and I was a good kid.  Sneaking out of church that day and the feelings of fear and horror that ensued by nearly getting caught reminded me that a life of crime and dishonesty didn't appeal to me.

The one benefit that came out of my misdemeanor was the igniting of sparks between this damsel in distress and her rescuer, Cody.  We began to notice each other more and more at school, and I enjoyed running into him almost every time I went to visit Corrie at work, at "Boyce's," where Cody would play pool regularly.  With Boyce's being advantageously situated on my route to church, I could easily judge when it was time for me to stop there for a visit based on whether or not his car was there.

Whether it was during our lunch hour, right before or after school, at the basketball games, or at the pool hall, soon Cody and I were spending time together every day.  Friends supplied the additional necessary confirmations that he "liked" me.  I went back and forth a little bit trying to decide if it was him I liked, or just the comfortable male companionship that he provided.  Still, he was genuine and gentlemanly, we laughed a lot together, and I found him modestly attractive.  I felt complete and happy when I was around him.

After a couple weeks of constantly seeking one another's company, Cody craved clarification on our relationship.

Journal Entry, 23 February 1991:
     What can I say--Cody and I are going out as of tonight.  I had so much fun with him tonight.  He came and heard me sing with some of the jazz choir members at a cancer benefit at the Eagles' Club.  After that I went and played pool with him, that was fun.  When we left there we went to the church dance together 'till 10:30, then I took him back to Boyce's.  There he asked me, "Are we seeing each other?"  I nodded yes, and smiled.  And then he asked, "Are we going out?"  I shrugged my shoulders and he said, "Do you want to go out with me?"  I smiled and nodded again.  He gave me a hug--THE END.

Kisses with Cody were very sweet.  They started out on my cheek one day, and with time they eventually worked their way to my lips.  (This gradual process took about a week.)  Kissing was not a big part of our relationship by any means (they were always just for a moment--short and sweet) but it was definitely an endearing part.  Usually.

Journal Entry, 6 March 1991:
     Cody kissed me as we separated for our classes (just on the cheek this time) before school--and I didn't like it.  Partly because there were so many people around--and does he have to kiss me every time we part?  I was kind of snobby to him for the rest of the day until after school and I told him why.  He said, "So that's why!  I'll never do that again."  Then he came and visited me at work [in the day care area of the community gym] for a few minutes and he asked me if he could kiss me in front of the kids--I said no.  He was disappointed but I was happier.  

Cody's father and step-mother, and his grandmother who also lived with them, were friendly and kind, and I enjoyed spending time with them in his home.  My family did not see a whole lot of Cody, but I remember my older brother Bryan expressed his approval after Cody joined us and our friends for games one night.  It meant a lot to me that my family approved of my boyfriends.

My parents were not as easy to please as my brother, apparently.  I wonder if it was by their request that I did invite Cody to join us at church on a few occasions, which he did (he was not a Mormon).  Of course I was grateful that Cody would accept that invitation and share in that most important part of my life, even if it was just to be with me, but that wasn't good enough for Mom and Dad.  Pretty soon, they started bringing their uneasiness to my attention.

"I'm feeling worried about you, because none of your boyfriends lately have been members of the church," Dad approached me with genuine concern.  

"Well just so you know, Dad, I'd marry Scott in a second," I tried to reassure him, even though I didn't assume that was an actual possibility.  "I am planning to marry a Mormon, you know." (Leave it up to a young Mormon girl to have clear intentions for her future marriage at age sixteen...or maybe that was just me.)

"You marry whom you date," he announced, with conviction.  "You marry whom you date."

My conversation with Dad that morning, coupled with my just having finished reading a Jack Weyland novel (a popular author of Mormon fiction), got me pondering the high standards I had for myself and how much the church meant to me.  Mild feelings of guilt gnawed at my mind for remaining Cody's girlfriend, since I knew that I did not see us together long-term.  The thought of distancing myself from him for that reason didn't thrill me, but I spent some time considering that choice.

After spending an evening at an activity with exclusively friends from the church, I made a decision.  Breaking up with Cody was the right thing to do.   So I spoke with Cody.  I explained that I needed to end our relationship because more than anything, I wanted to keep my faith as my priority, and to me that meant dating only within the membership of my church.  I assured him that there was no one else I was interested in, but I felt this was a change I needed to make.

Cody was unbelievably gracious and understanding.  He let me go with no hard feelings, and simple hopes for a continued friendship.  He was amazing, despite his discouragement.

I felt good about the break up...for less than a day.

to be continued...

The Falling Part: My First Kiss

In the movie Princess Diaries, Anne Hathaway's young teenage character Mia had dreams and visions about what her first kiss would be like.  There was one key ingredient needed to realize her dream:  her foot would pop up behind her during the kiss.

As it does for many heroines in romantic comedies, the moment of Mia's awaited kiss came to pass.  Her dream guy even happened to be in her arms at that moment.  But did the essential foot action happen?  Not really.  Her flip flop-adorned foot did "pop," but it got caught in a net in the process, and everything went downhill after that.  Never fear...Mia did get a real "foot-poppin' kiss" during the happy conclusion of the movie.  Whew!

For all of the hopeless romantics watching (such as myself), there was a nice lesson to be learned here.  That is, if all of life's kisses were standing in line in chronological order, the best ones wouldn't necessarily get to be first.  It's okay to dream up the perfect kissing scene, but be prepared to wait awhile as the less-than-dreamy scenes sometimes take precedence. 

Although at age sixteen I hadn't spent too much time yet dreaming of my perfect kiss, I had imagined it would happen on a wonderful night to remember.  As it turned out, the events surrounding my first kiss were quite a bit more like tangled nets than popping feet. 

-------

Journal Entry, 8 September 1990:
     Last night was our first football game of the season.  We lost 14-12 against Reno.  It was a really good game, we were ahead 12-0 until the 4th quarter.  I sang the National Anthem for the game.  I did alright.
     There's this real cute guy at school--Evan Flinton.  He's in my U.S. History class and Chemistry, and plays on the football team.  I was hoping I would get to see him play at last night's game, but he didn't play because he hadn't had his physical yet.
     At the dance after the game, I got to dance with Evan, to the song "What it Takes" by Aerosmith (it's a slow song).  It was great--we talked, it wasn't one of those where you just sit there and try to think of what to say.  It was a fun dance.

10 September:
     I had quite an awesome conversation with Evan today in Chemistry.  At the end of class, Evan just said to me, "You surprised me at the dance."  I said "Why?"  He-"When you asked me to dance, I wasn't expecting it 'cause we never talked before."  (I was already loving the conversation and the look in his eyes.)  I said, "That's not my fault."  (Hint, Hint!)  He- "Are you saying it's my fault if we never talk?"  I- "Yeah." (Smile).  He-"I'm sorry, I'll start talking to you more."  I- "Okay." (Of course that was okay!!)  He- "I'm sorry if I seemed a little distant when we were dancing, I'm just like that with people I don't know."  I- "Oh that's all right."  (I was dying inside!) Then we talked about the dance and other stuff 'till the end of class.  : )

Over the next few weeks, Evan and I enjoyed flirting back and forth during and after our classes.  He was different than most of the guys I had liked in the past.  He was not musical, not a Mormon, and not blonde.  So what did I like most about him?  He was certainly handsome, with very dark hair, a strong square jaw, and his young football jock physique.  Oh, and let's not forget his alluring full lips...I mean, smile!  Though it wasn't until later that those features would make an impact on me (pun intended). 

Outside of Chemistry and History class, we had one other unusual but exciting method of communication.  I was the student secretary to his English teacher, Mrs. Barnes, and although I wasn't present during the hour when Evan had Mrs. Barnes, I had the privilege of grading the daily journal assignments from his class.  For each assignment I would mark with a red pen my acknowledgement of each student having turned it in, and rather than leave just a check mark on Evan's writings, I would leave a quick note saying hello.  Mrs. Barnes didn't mind, she was a pal.

Mrs. Barnes would assign a simple topic each day to get the kids' English brain cells and writing muscles warmed up, and I enjoyed reading Evan's creative writing each time.  Imagine my delight the day I discovered Mrs. Barnes had assigned the topic of "Red," and Evan and his best friend Joey had written their entire paragraphs about me!  "Red is the color of the hair of the girl I like..." he wrote.  How fortunate that as one of the perks to my secretary responsibilities, I had easy access to the photo copy machine down the hall, so I was able to copy their essays and keep them forever (I bet I could find them among my high school keepsakes if I searched long enough). 

One day, Evan was a little bolder, and he sent me a message on his daily essay asking me a very important question: "Do you want to go on a date?"  Believe it or not, that day his essay got snagged and graded by a different hour's secretary (I wonder what she thought when she came across his note!), but that didn't stop Evan from repeating the invitation verbally when he saw me next.

"So when are we going to go out to dinner?" he asked, on our way to Chemistry.

Happily surprised by his question, I smiled big and answered, "Soon!"

We made tentative plans for the following week, and on his next writing assignment he confirmed, "Red, Definitely next Saturday after the McQueen game!" According to Evan, this was now grounds for telling our friends that we were "dating."  That made me happy.

Little did I know, there was something else in store for me than dinner that night!  Something better than dinner?  Well, something unexpected, that's for sure.

Journal Entry, 4 October 1990:
     I feel so weird.  I guess I should be happy, but I'm not really.
     Evan kissed me tonight after the game, my first kiss.  It was nothing like I expected.  I thought it would be awesome, but it wasn't that great.  Then, I thought we were going out tonight, but we ended up going to the high school to decorate for next week's Homecoming festivities.  We didn't even decorate.  Then when he had to go, he went for another kiss, but I pulled away.  Then I ran into him again before I left, and I talked to him a little, and he asked for a kiss goodbye, and I did, then he got a hug.  It made me kind of upset that after I had refused that kiss goodbye, he still asked for one.

I had thought that my first kiss would be more dream-come-true like.  More fireworks in the sky, more everything around me standing still, more weak-in-the-knees like. 

Don't get me wrong.  My first kiss was a little dreamy.  I especially loved the setting.  As the kicker for the football team, Evan had just kicked a field goal or extra point, securing the win for our team!  All of the sweaty uniformed players were marching off of the field in victory, and there was "Evan's girl," in the right place at the right time...he found me standing, congratulating and beaming along with a crowd of other admiring fans just off of the field on his way to the locker room.  He stopped only long enough to grab me gently by the shoulders, and planted his warm full beautiful lips right on mine for a long one or two luxurious seconds.  --Wow!  Did that really just happen to me?-- Then he said "I'll see you in a few minutes," and flew away with the rest of the team.

I must admit, I couldn't have asked for a more exciting scene.  I'm very happy with how that part of the evening went down in my history.

If the evening had ended with the romantic dinner date I had been anticipating, and perhaps a little holding hands or just that warm hug in the end, it may have been perfect all together.  But the dreamy experience had ended there on the field.  Oh well.

Having your first kiss is kind of a lot to process, is it not?  Evan had no way of knowing that was my first kiss.  He actually never even found that out, because I never really had the chance to tell him. Sadly, my need for processing time was the main reason why I had not felt ready for the second kiss that same night.  And even more sadly, my lack of experience may have been what signaled to Evan that I was no longer the right girl for him.

Journal Entry, 8 October 1990:
     Evan and I are no longer seeing each other.  I'm very sad.  I didn't talk to him before school, but I got a note from him on his English journal page saying: "Red--I need to talk to you and it's not good."  I saw him before lunch and asked him to come talk to me.  JoAnn told me before that Joey said he wanted to break up.  So when I talked to Evan I asked, "You don't want to see me anymore?"  He told me he wanted to get to know me better and then maybe we could go out.  I wasn't too upset, but I thought he didn't really mean what he said about just needing to know me better.

A week later, after our next big win at the Homecoming game, I enjoyed one final big hug from Evan as I congratulated him on the awesome game he played.  Just as soon as I started thinking we stood a chance at getting back together, at the dance following the game, I received word from Pete that Evan had his arm around one of my good friends, Sarah.

I didn't know if I should be mad at her, or at him.  Nevermind the fact that Sarah was further along the kissing road than I was, which must have made Evan happy (or at least together, she and Evan got further along that road than I did anyway)... but because I liked both of them so much, I chose to keep my chin up and let them have their fun.

I suffered disappointment and jealousy for a few solid days, but soon accepted the unavoidable truth that my Evan days were through. In the end, I knew that by holding back I had chosen to do what was right for me, and I was only better for the experience.

The scene surrounding my first kiss may not have been like the climax of a movie, but I wasn't worried.  I believed the perfect kisses would come eventually.

I was right.

The Falling Part: A Best Friend Kind of Love

This story is about one kind of love only lucky people get to experience, a kind of love that enters your heart and never leaves.

-----

Did you ever have a best friend with whom you would laugh until your stomach hurt?

Did you ever hold hands with a best friend, just because it felt like the right thing to do?  And even though holding hands was certainly an "I love you" thing, it wasn't necessarily a romantic thing?

Did you ever imagine marrying your best friend for no reason other than that you felt high as a kite just by being together?

Did you ever have a best friend with whom you could talk on the phone for hours, and the only reason you would get off the phone is because your mom said "That's enough for tonight...time to get off"?  And you would get off, and then remember you forgot to tell him something important, so you'd get back on, and then talk and laugh for another hour...and your mom didn't really get mad because she could see how happy you were?

Did you ever have a best friend that you loved so much that you felt happy when he found a new girlfriend--even though it wasn't you?

Did you ever have a best friend break your heart temporarily, and then win your forgiveness by coming back to you right after you had set him free?

Did you ever love someone who took over a large portion of your heart, and then just stayed there forever, no matter what became of your friendship over the years?

I did.  Pete was this kind of friend for me.

-----

Not long after my first date with Dad, I was honored to enjoy my second date, with Pete Saiben.

Pete played the trumpet, I played the flute and the piccolo.  He sang tenor, I sang soprano.  We marched in the marching band together, we went on all of the band and jazz choir trips together, we competed in the state competitions together, we rehearsed during and after school together.  These gatherings made for plenty of time to enjoy each other's company, with a little horsing around on the side.

"Stop flirting, Jenny!" fellow band member Brandon said one day, during a break in our rehearsal, after I teasingly dropped a pen in Pete's shirt pocket. 

"What?  I'm not flirting."  I rebutted, confused.

I didn't understand why Brandon would say such a thing.  That was a funny moment to me--the moment I learned that all this time I had been mistaken about the definition of the word "flirting."  I had thought it meant only those funny teasing things girls do in cartoons.  Like when Minnie Mouse would bat her long eyelashes at Mickey.  Or when all those animals in the movie Bambi delved into the world of twitterpation, as the females lured the males in with their high pitched giggles and coy looks over their shoulders.  I wasn't doing any of that stuff, so what could Brandon mean by accusing me of flirting?

It turned out Brandon was right, of course, and probably just about everything I did in the beginning of my relationship with Pete could be considered flirting.  I would do just about anything to win his attention, because Pete was beautiful.  His light blonde hair, sharp facial features, and average athletic build (with the exception of his cute little skinny legs) demanded my notice.  But most importantly, Pete was hilarious.

Pete had the biggest funny bone of anyone I had ever known.  Everything he said was brilliantly witty.  Not only that, but he could make really good sound effects and talk in funny voices.  My favorite was when he would cup his hand over his mouth and pretend like he was making announcements over a CB radio.   He was also really good at quoting Saturday Night Live skits, which always made him seem like a comedic genius (especially since I'd never seen that show, because I wasn't allowed to).

I suppose most of Pete's jokes were of the "you had to be there" variety, but he always knew how to get a laugh out of his audience.  He made everything fun, including English class, math class, and every class.  Sometimes we had to be separated seating-chart-wise because of our disruptive laughter, which was a bummer, but of course that couldn't deter a connection like ours.

No wonder I was thrilled to accept as my second official date, Pete's invitation to go out for pizza.  Shooting our straw wrappers at each other across the booth built for two, and going for drives in his noisy little Volkswagen Bug hold their place in my collection of sweet moments during my earliest dating months. 

One more memory of note from my privileged second date, which I incidentally almost regret to report (even though I find it amusing, now), is that my dating decorum was yet quite immature in at least one sense; even though Pete was my first choice in dating companions on that evening, Pete had to ask me directly to please stop mentioning Scott (that is, Chicago's Broken Heart Scott, with whom I was still exchanging occasional snail mail).  Oops!  Sorry, Pete.  Still learning. 

The summer just after my sophomore year proved that Pete and I didn't rely solely on school to bring us together.  As we were both sixteen and had cars to drive, the couple of miles between our houses were easily surmountable.  Easily traveled as well were the distances to each others' summer jobs downtown--his at Pizza Barn, and mine at Four Way Fitness Center.  It was always a highlight to sneak in a visit only long enough to not get in trouble by our bosses. 

To be true to history, I wish to divulge that my friendship with Pete wasn't 100% consistent.  We did have our ups and downs.  There were times when I wanted more than friendship with him, especially in the beginning.  Things didn't really develop that way for us though.  When he started to like one of my best friends, Krissy, we grew apart for a bit.  I remember a rough conversation I had with Krissy over the phone when she told me she and Pete had kissed...

"I just feel like if I don't get to have him, no one should," I said.  How selfish of me.  I'm grateful that despite Krissy's shock at my less-than-gracious attitude, she and I have all remained life-long friends.  Over time, Pete and I both went through our share of flings, and we were able to maintain our friendship through it all, most of the time.

Journal Entry, 7 February 1991:
I talked to Pete on the phone again tonight, he called me, but it wasn't good.  To make a long story short, he said he needed some space.  I've noticed that we haven't been close lately, and of course that makes me really sad.  They say "distance makes the heart grow fonder," but what if we just keep getting more and more distant and end up not even being friends?  I almost cried over the phone.

8 February:
School was okay with Pete, after awhile, but not during Pre-Cal; we didn't talk.  In English we did.  I cried really hard during first hour (choir), it was awful, but all my friends were there for me, that made me feel better.

10 February:
It's Sunday again.  Pete called me this morning, I guess I blew things way out of proportion thinking that we weren't friends anymore.

Whew!  Although in hind sight it seems like a brief moment of pain, that was one of our worst downs.   The earthquake that hit our friendship that February had one more little aftershock before the end of the month...

On February 24th, I called Pete on the phone to get things cleared up.  I told him I couldn't tell if we were friends anymore and I needed to know. 

"The last thing I want is to not be friends with you.  Do you think we'll ever be close again?"  I asked, already crying.

"You make it sound like we'll never be friends again," he answered.

"That's what it seems like to me," I replied sadly.

"It's not that I don't want to be friends, I just get so mad at you sometimes!" Pete confessed.

"I haven't changed, Pete." I said, pleading for his patience and understanding.

The conversation continued a few minutes more, and finally after a short moment of silence and with tears pouring down my face, I said, "Well, I'm here if you need me.  It was nice talking to you."  I hung up and let the emotional flood gates restrain me no longer.  I called a girlfriend and she cheered me up a little, and then I got out my favorite photo of Pete and myself and cried some more.  We looked so happy.

The next day at school brought a breath of fresh air;  Pete was his old self again.  My perception is that we had hit our rock bottom, and from there were able to rise up and together repair any hurt feelings with our familiar medicinal laughter.  My friend had come back to me.  My heart forgave and healed as if the wounds had never existed.

Our good times and laughter saw us through the rest of our high school years and on through graduation.  He helped me get through Chemistry and English, I helped him get through Pre-Calculus and Calculus.  Our band and choir excursions were continually fun-ified by Pete's clever rap lyrics projected through his CB radio hand.  And most importantly, whenever I needed someone to buoy up my soul, he was only a phone call away. 

I must tell you one final and most significant part of our story.  Pete and I have an unresolved conflict.  It developed primarily after high school, and it has weighed on my heart for many years.

For almost all of high school, Pete was not religious.  Towards the end of his teenage years, he began to discover the gospel of Jesus Christ and hungered for the blessings that living a Christian life brings.  After much investigation of both the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, and one other non-denominational church in our town (which ironically was led by an ex-Mormon who actively preached against Mormonism), Pete decided to join with those of the anti-Mormon faith.  I am forever grateful that Pete has become a follower of Christ and even has dedicated his life, as a pastor in his own church now, to introducing others to the wonderful blessings of the gospel.  But it pains my heart that his personal beliefs now lead him to consider me a lost soul who belongs to a church which he believes to be an unworthy and unrighteous institution.

Our differences in faith never interfered with our feelings of mutual admiration when we were younger, but now as adults, this small but seemingly impenetrable barrier between us leaves me longing for closure.  I debated including an entire separate chapter on this unsettling element of my relationship with Pete (for the details of his conversion, including his marrying the daughter of the ex-Mormon preacher, are interesting to say the least).  But I wished instead to merely summarize it, so that we can all hopefully leave this chapter with only the sweet aftertaste of the delicious happiness that I received and cherish from our relationship. 

Pete and I stayed in touch beyond high school, through college, and a little even now that we have our own families.  I know he still cares for me.  Pete will always own a part of my heart, and I'm so grateful for that!

The Falling Part: Sixteen and Dating

Journal Entry, 18 May 1990:

I had such a fun birthday today.  I'm 16!  Yesterday in my Calculus class (the one that I'm secretary for), Mrs. Busboom brought cookies for my b-day (a day early 'cause I wouldn't be in school the next day) and they sang happy birthday to me--real loud so 5 other classes could hear just to tease me--so the one across the hall with a few of my friends in it came over and sang to me too.  It was funny.  
     This morning our choir sang at a festival at UNR (University Nevada Reno), so we missed school all day.  
     I had my first date when I got home, with Dad.  He took me to Stockman's for dinner, it was really nice.  We were going to go to Reno for our date, but I didn't feel like it, 'cause that's where I just got back from.  I wore a pretty white rose corsage that he gave me. Then we had my family party at home when Dad and I got back.

---

It finally arrived, that magical extra special day whose best gift to me was the number sixteen itself.  This was the most anticipated age of my life thus far.  Sixteen granted me permission for "like-a-dates," group dates, one-on-one dates... just about every-kind-under-the-sun dates!  Let the dates begin!

I was a fortunate beginner dater--I got to have my first date right smack dab on my birthday itself.  The lucky gentleman was my dad, and this special event had been on our calendar for years.  He may have even planned this before I was born. 

Daddy-daughter dates weren't new to me.  The first date I remember with Dad was when I was eight years old, and we had another when I was twelve.  This date on my sixteenth birthday was certainly the bet one yet, but let me take you back eight years to show you how good my dad was at making his daughter feel loved.

The musical "Annie" starring Aileen Quinn was in the movie theaters, and Dad decided to take me out to see it.  What a luxury!  I can count on one hand--and maybe even on two fingers-- the number of times I saw a movie in the theater when I was a kid.  But Dad knew this movie character of Annie and I could have a unique connection, almost like Mulan and her reflection.  Annie and I were the same age (give or take), we both had curly red hair, a face covered in freckles, and we both knew that singing in the spotlight was the best way to spread the sunshine from our souls.  Annie and I were meant to come together, and Dad honored me with that exhilarating musical movie experience.

Dad sweetened the evening by splurging on some treats.  At the movie he let me choose whichever candy I wanted, so I chose Sugar Babies, and he chose a Sugar Daddy.  Even better than the movie treat, he took me to a donut shop.  I can't remember if that was actually before or after the movie, but that place was amazing.  I felt like I was in Willy Wonka's chocolate factory when he told me I could pick out any donut I wanted. 

"Any donut I want?  In the whole store?" I asked, incredulously.

"Yes, any donut you want, in the whole store," he answered.

"Could I even choose that one?" I asked, pointing to the most glorious donut I had ever seen.

"You sure can!" he said.

"Okay, I would like one of those, please," I told the donut shop lady, still hardly believing my eyes.  And the donut shop lady served her elated Annie look-alike customer that large glazed donut with chocolate frosting, mountains of whipped cream, and a cherry on top.  It looked and tasted like a dream come true.  Did a father ever love a daughter more than mine loved me?  I thought not.

Fast forward eight years, and Dad was about to make another historical date memory for me.   Not only did he want to show me how much he loved me, but out of his duty as my father, he was determined to help me start my dating journey off on the right foot.  This was to be a date by which I could measure the worthiness of all future dates.  Or at least serve as an intro to "proper dating etiquette," which sounded perfectly fascinating (and exciting) to me! 

I had come home from my school choir trip exhausted, but I knew this night was going to be special, so I did my best to fix myself up.  I chose my favorite forest green sweater, paired it with cream colored pants (because we all know it wouldn't be right to wear jeans), and wore my hair up in an elegant french twist.  A beautiful white rose corsage pinned to my sweater completed the outfit.  Thanks, Dad!

Dad spiffed himself up in a traditional Western way, with a white button-up short-sleeved shirt completed with his favorite bolo tie, and surely his best cowboy boots. (In my hometown of Fallon, Nevada, any Fallonite would agree that you don't have to be a cowboy to dress like one--even military men like my dad could pull off that style).

Dad chose the nicest restaurant we had in our small country town, it was called Stockman's.  Dad called ahead and made reservations for two.  We entered through the casino (Nevadans don't think twice about this), and found our way to what looked like the reception area of the restaurant.  The cashier acted confused when we told her our names and announced that we had reservations, but led us back and seated us in a booth nearby.

Something wasn't quite right.  Where was our server?  Why did this "fanciest restaurant in town" resemble the plain old diner next door?  After a few minutes of sitting and waiting and not being served, we realized that we had gone to the wrong place.  We got up and asked an employee to help us find the real fancy restaurant part of Stockman's, and eventually we were led around to the back of the building where the real fancy dates took place.

We walked in and both let out a sigh of relief--this was so much better!  The lights were low, soft music played, centerpieces adorned the tables, polite and formal waiters glided silently through the room, and we were seated with respect.  Indeed, Dad knew how to pick 'em.

"You'll allow your date to order for you" he told me.  (Really?  Hmmm...  I took all of his protocol advice as gospel, even though I'm pretty sure 99.9% of my future dates were oblivious to these prescribed manners).

After Dad helped me understand what some of the elaborate menu items were, I let him order for me: Chicken Cordon Bleu (mmm...delicious).  Even though I may rarely see the opportunity to order this often, if ever I see it on a menu, I am happily taken back to my sixteenth birthday.

Dad was the perfect gentleman.  He helped me with my chair in the beginning, he paid for our meal at the end. We had some laughs, we had some dessert (which might have even had a birthday candle on top), and the fancy restaurant dinner date was just about complete.

On our way out, I remember one final sweet moment.  You know how some restaurants put a dish of mints for you to grab after your meal?  Stockman's had some of those yummy thin cookie sticks dipped in chocolate, and he grabbed a couple for each of us.

"Are we allowed to take these?"  I asked, unsure.

"You bet, that's what they're here for." Dad just seemed to know everything about dates!

He was able to throw in a couple more gentlemanly gestures such as opening and closing my car door for me, and as he drove me home, offered a few final words of counsel about the dos and don'ts of dating.

One thing's for sure: if every date were as special and full of love as my very first real date, with Dad, people would probably not take so long to find the right person to marry. 

The Falling Part: Chicago's Broken Heart

There certainly are a lot of "firsts" worth mentioning during the falling years.  First love note, first crush, first mutual crush, first date, first kiss, first marriage proposal... Who knew that my first broken heart would fit in that lineup even before my first date or my first kiss?

There was one incident before I was old enough to date, when I planned to go to the movies with one of my best girl friends from my ballet class, Brooke.  With an increased amount of makeup and hair and outfit-fuss going on, and surely some seemingly undue anxiety that was written across my forehead, Mom perceptibly asked, "Are you meeting boys at the movie, Jenny?"  I flew off of the handle and yelled and cried, "How could you accuse me of such a crime?!  Don't you trust me?  Why would you ask me such a thing?!" (Yet in my mind I was thinking, What gave it away?  How in the world did she know?  Maybe I should call Brooke back and tell her this was a bad idea...)

This was not that time.  This story starts at the movie theater as well, again with Brooke, but this time we were innocent. Two of our guy friends happened to be going, but I'm pretty sure that was just a coincidence.   Besides, my youngest brother Ellis went along with us, so there was no secret funny business going on.  Perhaps sending the little brother was Mom's way of spying, to find out if any funny business was threatening to come to pass.  Could be.  It was a smart safety precaution anyway, I would say.

Scott and Braden were our friends at the movie this day, though we didn't know each other too well yet.  We thoroughly enjoyed ourselves as we watched Back to the Future II in the theater--what a great show!  We couldn't wait to see Part III.  Scott came up with a brilliant plan:  he asked me if I'd be his date when Part III came out, and he'd even treat me to dinner that night, since I would finally be sixteen by then. 

Including our Back to the Future movie date--I mean coincidental meeting, Scott and I got to know each other through a series of fortunate events.  He was a senior and I a sophomore.  He was a member of the church, a super nice guy, happy, athletic and outgoing, and what I loved most about him was his happy and beautiful smile.  It lit me up inside. We had lots of common friends, and we both were very fond of taking advantage of all of the church and school dance opportunities as possible.

Our second special time together happened out of town.  It seems that although Mom and Dad didn't permit me to ride alone in a car with a guy even for five minutes to catch a ride home from somewhere (remember, no "like-a-dates" allowed until I was sixteen), they managed to overlook what one might call "like-a-double-date" car rides.  Brooke and I rode with Scott and Braden all the way from Fallon to Reno together--almost an hour ride, heading to a church dance.  When we got there, we discovered the dance had been cancelled.  We were disappointed, but made the best of our time out that evening before heading home.  What better way to get to know each other and allow a friendship to transform into adoration than over Burger King grub?

Brooke and I, meanwhile, were about to hit a rough patch in our friendship.  With so many important boy-associations to be to be experienced, some high school girls may tend to be jealous and gossippy and not-so-loyal in their friendships.  Tangled webs were being weaved, as Brooke some how teamed up with a mean girl who really didn't like me, and we began to grow apart. 

Journal Entry, 3 December 1989:
Oh boy, at least I've got one good friend left.  Me & Ellie Preston are getting really close : ).  It seems we have the same problems at the same time, and understand how each other is feeling.  : )!  She told me Scott likes me!  But he would kill her if she told me.  He said he wants to take it slow--me too.  She said she kept it in for 2 weeks and couldn't anymore.  He told her after we went to Burger King in Reno.  He told her at school a couple of days after that.  Scott is so nice.

What I find peculiar about my admiration for Scott is that I don't remember arriving to the point of elated excitement or dizzy imaginings of us being together.  I simply loved being around him and felt happy whenever I was with him.  He was very much "my type," and I loved how we fit together.

A common interest in music--specifically, the current hit band Chicago--developed into a most significant part of this comfortable fit.  After school one day, Scott asked me if I would please try to make it to the school dance after my jazz choir's Christmas concert.  Gladly! When we weren't dancing together, we sat and talked.  We made plans to see more fun movies together.  We discovered that we both loved Chicago, and anytime a Chicago song played, we were immediately on our feet dancing, and singing along together (although I would have been happy to just listen to Scott's beautiful voice).

Within just a few short weeks, Scott had an unexpected change of heart. I doubt the reason was anything substantial, but things changed. All of the sudden, at our next dance, whenever a Chicago song came on, he was making sure he was not available for me to dance with.  As Peter Cetera's melts-me-every-time voice would fill the room, I would look up, only to see Scott running in the opposite direction to find a dance partner.  Our communication went from planning fun future dates together to...zero communication.

Word soon came from Ellie that Scott liked me now for no more than a friend.  This wasn't the first time for a young relationship to end before I had wished, so why was this time so hard?  Perhaps it was the way the stars were aligned that night, or the way this disappointment fell onto a pile of other emotional let-downs for that month (that's just the way life can be for teenage girls).  All I know is that Scott is the first guy I ever actually cried over.

In the privacy of my bedroom, with the comfort of my feather pillow, tears and sobs flowed freely as I replayed my favorite Chicago song over and over again. 

The pain came and went.  I made it through.  Outside of that one dance when Scott distanced himself from me, he never treated me less than a friend would, which of course was a relief.

We didn't connect much more during the school year, and then a few months later he was off to college.  More months passed, and with the arrival of Thanksgiving and Christmas breaks, the college kids all came home for visits.  At one Saturday night dance, I got to dance with Scott and we reminisced about what had happened before between us.  As we tried to figure out why we had stopped talking, he did say he was sorry for the abrupt end (or in his words, for "dogging" me).  Over the holiday breaks, at the dances and at everyone's favorite hangout--Ellie's house, we got reacquainted and became good friends again.

Journal Entry, 1 January 1991:
Ellie called and asked Bryan [my brother] and me to come over and play Scattergories with them. When we got there it was just her and Trent and us.  Later Brock came, and then Scott, Jared, and Josh.  After we played Scattergories 'till 11:00, we went to the piano and Bryan and Josh played while the rest of us sang songs like "Somewhere Out There," "You're the Inspiration," "After All," and "The Rose," it was really fun--Scott sings really well, I like to sing with him.  I borrowed one of his tapes and he's supposed to bring me another one I want to borrow.  So that he could bring it to me he asked me where I live, then he said - "I'll take you out sometime" - I was kind of in shock, but of course really happy again to know he'd think of me that way again.  Sometimes he makes me so crazy, he's so cute and funny, I'll miss him when he leaves again : (.  I better see him some more before he leaves--he'll at least need to get his tape back.  He makes me so crazy - I often feel I like him so much again but wish I didn't in a way because of the way I cried over him before.  Scott.

Scott came and sat by me for two movies at Ellie's house: Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure and Back to the Future III. During the second one I said, "We were supposed to watch this together anyway, remember?"  He said, "We were?  ...See, I told you we would!"  I laughed.

Those were the very last memories I made with Scott.  He returned to college, and then was off on his mission.  Our paths never really crossed again except as good old friends. 

To this day, I still smile and think of Scott whenever I hear the sweet sounds of Chicago.

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].

--
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. 





----
 *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.

The Falling Part: "I'm Not Allowed to Yet" (part 1)

Mom reminds me of a funny misconception I once had about dating.  For some reason, I had thought dating meant getting dressed up for the special occasion with your special someone, such as going out to dinner.  Mom was refusing a certain activity that I was requesting, because it was "like a date."  I scoffed and offered my rebuttal, "It's not a date if you're wearing jeans, Mom."  She managed to keep a straight face when she accepted my reasoning, and filed it away to bring up in the future for a good laugh.  (I didn't get to go out that time, jeans or no jeans.)
 ----

In the beloved family film Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, there's a scene where Mike Teavee tells reporters about the awesome guns that he plans to wield as soon as his parents will let him.  His dad leans over during the interview and interjects, "Not until you're twelve, son."  This quote has become a favorite family joke for us.

There were quite a few "grown up" privileges I had to wait for just like Mike.  Mom and Dad cared enough to not always give me what I wanted when I wanted it.

The first privileges I remember having to wait for were "girly girl" things.  I wanted to wear makeup just like my friends at school, wear nylons, shave my legs, and wear super high heels, but Mom and Dad stuck to their guns..."Not until you're twelve," they would say.  Maybe those weren't their exact words, but twelve was certainly a magic number for those privileges.

The biggest and most anticipated magic number for me however, was sixteen.  I knew from the time I was small that this was the age when I would be allowed to begin dating.  What I didn't know was how my parents would choose to define dating.  Over time I learned that age sixteen not only qualified me for dating, but I also had to clear that birthday before I could do anything like a date.

One of the biggest not-allowed-to-because-it's-like-a-date rules that I always protested was getting to ride anywhere alone in a car with my current favorite guy.  

The guy I remember wanting to ride home with the most was actually Sam's older brother, Thad.  Looking back, I can't decide if it's surprising or just natural that I ended up having feelings for both of Rani's older brothers, considering how close Rani and I were. In any case, Thad and I had quite a bit of fun together.  My favorite connection with him was sharing our interest in country music.  We even had a song!  We both loved Randy Travis, and Thad used to sing to me along with Mr. Travis on his cassette, "I'm gonna love you, forever and ever!  Forever and ever, amen."  How sweet is that?

Journal Entry, March 26, 1989:
     Thad and I are both counting down to my 16th birthday.  He wants me to hurry up so he can date me he says.  I wish I could be 16 right now [insert small drawing of a heart with an arrow through it].  1 year and 2 months to go--I wonder, will he still feel the same about me when I get there??  I sure hope so.

The wait until my birthday proved to be a bit too long for Thad and me, but that's okay...there were many other happy relationships to be formed meanwhile.

Of course not all social time with boys was prohibited. At the age of fourteen I was excited to be able to attend church youth conferences and attend dances, and I also enjoyed several band and choir group excursions all throughout high school. This was a great time to practice boy-girl relationship skills. 

Riley was one such teenage boy whom I got to know through these church and school events.  My pre-dating time with Riley was a very happy time.  I loved his naturally curly brown hair, and thought his very lean but strong cross-country-running body was cute.  I loved it when he let me borrow his sweater for the day when we were enjoying a boat ride over Lake Tahoe during a youth conference.  He loved it when I could pop in and say "hi" to him at work at our local drug store, Sprouse Reitz.

Best of all, I treasure the memory of us that was made one evening in a church gym, as we sitting across from each other at a table on the side of a dance floor.  The lights were low, and the dance music was loud, but not so much that one couldn't hear our cheery and hopeful conversations and see our smiling eyes which glittered with evidence of our feelings of mutual adoration. During one brief pause in our conversation, Riley reached across the round table to take a carnation out of the vase to give to me... and in the process he accidentally tipped over the vase, spilling water all over both of our laps and the floor.  OOPS!  As he returned from the bathroom with a large wad of paper towels and swabbed the floor below our chairs, I felt the pain of his embarrassment...but love that I can still remember that sweet gesture.

I never reached dating age before Riley left for college, so we enjoyed exchanging letters while he was there and later during his mission, and in the end remained friends as we followed our separate paths.

to be continued...

The Falling Part: Sneaking Peeks

Disclaimer:  Although I'm trying to keep my true stories as true as my memory permits, I have chosen to use pseudonyms for most of my heroes.  I would hate to embarrass someone by not only revealing an obscure relationship of their past (which they may or may not have known existed), but also by telling the details strictly according to my own memory, which surely would differ from their own version of the story.  So with that disclaimer, we proceed into the next era of my love life: the one where my road to romance had travelers on both sides of the street, moving at least for a short time, in sync.

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One of the most enjoyable games in Cupid's game closet is played at the very beginning of a crush.  I will call it the "Sneaking Peeks" game.  This game can be played at any age, at any stage in life.  I remember first playing it at the age of twelve.  I got to play this game in church one Sunday, when I was relatively new to the state of Nevada. 

I am a Navy brat.  Our family moved around the country quite a bit when I was young.  The most unforgettable transfer came during my sixth-grade year, when we moved from Southern California to Nevada.  The timing of this move came at an age when leaving friends behind meant devastating heartbreak. The pains of transition did soften with time, eventually allowing me to become optimistic about what adventures lay ahead.

 I was the new girl at Minnie P. Blair Middle School.  We had moved part-way into the school year, and that did come with some discomfort.  I'll never forget entering the classroom of the meanest science teacher in the whole world, Mrs. Brant.  Rather than give me an assigned seat next to a soon-to-be new best friend (as we always see in the movies), she told me to "perch" on her stool in the front of the entire class, until she figured out what to do with me.  As she lectured and conducted the class according to routine, and as more and more sixth-grade eyes bore into me, I eventually would slip off of my post in hopes that my new seat would be granted momentarily.  Not so.  "Perch!" she repeated her command, as if trying to train her new pet.  How humiliating.

Fortunately I was soon able to settle in to each of my classes and make new friends.  Mrs. Brant to this day retains the label of "meanest teacher that I ever had, ever" (need I mention she gave out more Ds and Fs than any other teacher in the school and all the parents hated her?),  nevertheless, I warmed up quickly to most all of the other Nevadans that I met.  So it goes without saying that it didn't take me long to find my way comfortably back into my search for the cutest boys in school.

The pages of my journal started filling up with hearts; hearts with arrows through them, hearts filled with names of boys...and hearts containing phrases such as "... is a massive BABE" and special codes such as "TLA" ("true love always") and the like.

Up to this point,  I was still dealing with one-sided fixations.  Until the memorable day at church, when Cupid's Sneaking Peeks game found two new players:  myself, and Sam.

To win the Sneaking Peeks game, all you have to do is play it with another willing party.  Both players automatically win just by entering the competition!  To play, both people take turns sneaking peeks at one another, trying to avoid the other's glance.  The longer you can glance at the other player without getting caught, the more points you get.  The more points you get, the more excited you feel.  When the accidental simultaneous glance occurs, you both lose all of your points, but the good news is, you get to re-start the game as many times as you like, as long as you are in the same room together.  It's very thrilling, and very satisfying, as the mutual attraction builds and crush-emotions are validated.

Sam may not have been as obviously beautiful as Ricky Schroder, but his beauty was in the eye of this beholder.  Like the rest of his family, Sam had blond hair and blue eyes, and due to his farm-type daily chores, his broad shoulders and budding biceps added to his outward appeal. 

As I mentioned, the Sneaking Peeks game took place at church, which meant once again that a common faith played an important role in my feelings for Sam.  What's funny about my associations with Sam, is that in contrast with my crush on David the Mormon--where I knew David at school but not at church--I knew Sam at church but not at school.  Sam and I were the same age, and we were in the same grade, but Sam was home-schooled along with all of his siblings, so we only got to see each other at church meetings and activities, and in their home.

I was privileged to become best friends with Sam's younger sister, Rani, a happy and beautiful soul that has remained my friend even today.  I remember one time being in their kitchen with Rani when Sam came home with his dad and brother from somewhere.  The crush-feelings were alive and well.  Someone made a request for help, to which Sam responded "Not I, said the duck," in a deep pretend voice reminiscent of a character from the children's fable The Little Red Hen, and I began to laugh hysterically.  That incredible sense of humor!  (Isn't it marvelous how having romantic feelings towards someone, somehow makes everything they say seem brilliant?)

Despite the written proof that my feelings with Sam were mutual (it says so, right there in my journal:  "May 26, 1986: ...better yet, he likes me as much as I like him!"), Sam and I did not create many "togetherness" memories.  After all, we were only 12, and my formal dating experiences were not to begin for four more years, according to the standards set by my parents. Nevertheless, the arrow-pierced hearts on pages of my journal are filled with our names as companions for a span of about five months.

Things began to change with one major event: Sam began attending public school at the beginning of seventh grade.  It's understandable that his adjusting to the new social atmosphere included some personality changes for him.  I wasn't surprised to see his immediate popularity, given his good looks and his alluring charisma, but I was surprised at how quickly his associations with me took a turn for the worse.

Little by little, he decided he didn't wish to play any more of Cupid's games with me.  I remember being on a church youth campout once, and Sam was there.  There was also a new girl there; one of my friends had invited a visiting cousin to join us.  I became fast friends with this new girl, and wouldn't you know it, I decided to open my big mouth and disclose whom I thought was the most desirable catch among the young men of our group.  So who decided to pair up affectionately for the remainder of the overnight (yet certainly sufficiently supervised) adventure?  Sam and the new girl.  The traitors.  Hmmm...  It seemed that my first mutual crush was ceasing to be mutual. 

Just as clearly as I remember playing the Sneaking Peeks game with him at the beginning of the Sam chapter of my life, I remember distinctly the moment I lost hope during the Sam chapter.  The tragedy struck right in the hallway of our middle school.

The hallway was mostly void of students.  I was walking in one direction, and he in the other, towards me.  He had one beautiful girl under one arm (who happened to be his cousin), and another beautiful girl under his other arm (one of his cousin's best girlfriends), and as we passed each other, he taunted me by exclaiming, "I like you!"  The three of them laughed loudly and mockingly the rest of the way down the hall.

I was crushed.  But more importantly, the time was ripe, and I was ready to move on.

Journal Entry, September 22, 1986:
I've had it with Sam.  Now that he is going to school again, all of his popularity has gone to his head.  It's too bad a guy with that kind of face can be such a jerk.  I need someone to love.  But there just isn't anyone my age.  Ben Martinson is pretty good but there's just no spark.

The nice thing is, this story has a somewhat happy ending.  Sam did not stay in public school long enough to perpetuate my cast-aside misery.  He actually returned to his home-study program after a few short months, where he was able to regain his original untainted respectable personality.  My feelings for him resurfaced from time to time, but we were actually able to remain good friends from then on, as the perceived romantic ties were a thing of the past.

Ah, Sam.  It was fun while it lasted.

The Falling Part: David the Mormon

Journal Entry, 16 November 1985: 

There is a boy in the classroom next to mine at school that is really cute.  His name is David.  He has red hair, freckles, he is tall, and he is Morman!  I was suprised when I found out he was a Morman although he had the personality of a Morman.             Jenny -n- David
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"You're a Mormon?!" I responded with astonishment to my new sixth-grade friend.  I had no idea there were other kids who shared my faith at school.  In my hometown of Fallbrook, California, Mormon friends seemed few and far-between, and seemed to only be found at our meetings on Sundays. 

We were playing a casual game of Four Square on the playground during recess at La Paloma Elementary school, when this discovery created a spark and started the wheels in my head a-turning. 

As if his red hair and freckles (which incidentally resembled my own) weren't enough to turn my attention into affection, his announcement of sharing my faith was the clincher.

You see, at an early age my faith became very central to who I was becoming as a young person.  My parents were both active members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, also known as the Mormon Church, and together they did all that they could to share the blessings of membership with their children.  And I couldn't have been happier with this religious upbringing.

Knowing another Mormon friend could mean having common goals, common interests, and common experiences.  Each Sunday I looked forward to learning about Jesus and his gospel and all that his plan of happiness presented for my life.  I especially enjoyed the 2 hours spent with the other Primary children ages 12 and under where we had activities, lessons, and sang song after song.  Indeed, I found singing and the gospel to be one of my most favorite combinations (and even into my adulthood, I still feel the same way).

Although I knew of very few other Mormons at my school, if any, there did happen to be enough of them in our city of Fallbrook to form more than one congregation, which may explain why I had never seen David at church. 

David didn't seem to care much about the connection.  Oh well.  That didn't stop me from imagining our future together!  Not only could I envision being his girlfriend from now on (unbeknownst to him, that is...and I was willing to wait until he came around to the idea), but someday I could even be his wife.

What?!  How many nine-year-old girls are there who are having dreams about marriage already?  Well, I was one of those. 

It turns out, I have such a limited memory of young David outside of that day when I found out he was a Mormon, that it's clear he never came around to the idea of spending eternity with me.  Overall, I didn't spend too much time falling for David beyond the playground-time conversations, with one exception.

The final memory I have of my togetherness with David the Mormon is that we got to share a scene in our school play together.  He was Ebenezer Scrooge, and I was the Ghost of Christmas Past.

"Do you recollect the way?" was the line that I tenderly spoke to him on the stage, in front of all of our proud parents.

It's funny to think now that the terms "recollect" and "the little red-haired girl Jenny" from his sixth-grade year are two things that most likely do not go hand in hand for David.

The Falling Part: Ricky Schroder

My first encounter with the actual falling part of love did not happen as much in isolation as did the classroom love-note incident.   But like that initiation experience, this next step towards love did begin in school, just the same.  

"Ricky Schroder?  Who's he?" I asked my girlfriends at the elementary school. 

He was to be the love of my life for the next few years, that's who. 

I was eight, he was thirteen, and he was the new young heart throb acting the part of Rick Stratton on the  evening TV series Silver Spoons.  My girlfriends at school introduced me to him (or to the show, that is)... and as soon as I managed to find the right channel and the right program, it was love at first sight.

I'll admit I started falling for him partly because my friends had fallen first, but there was no need to ask me twice if he was everything I had hoped he would be.

There was no one else on earth as dreamy as Ricky!  His silky blond hair, his glowing smile, his puppy dog eyes... his charm, his talent... even my parents could see it.  I mean, they fully supported me in this crush.  I remember the night Dad let us interrupt our family goings-on in the living room one night so we could turn the TV on as he announced to the rest in the room, "We need to let Jenny get her Ricky fix."

And he's one who just got better and better looking with every new teen magazine article and clipping that I could find.  It wasn't long before I had a collage of his photos on my wall.  

To say that my parents backed me up on this crush was a happy boost, but unfortunately I can't say the same for the rest of my family.

Truthfully, my older brother Bryan probably couldn't have cared less, and my younger four siblings probably could have left it all alone...except for that one fateful day when my four-year-old brother Russell took action, against his better judgement.

Was he mad at me?  Was he jealous that this rich and famous blond celebrity took photographic precedence on my wall, over himself--my equally adorable blond little brother?  Was he bored and seeking my emotional breakdown strictly for entertainment?  No one knows, but Mom definitely disciplined him for the dreadful deed:  he had put lipstick on Ricky's face, on one of my favorite wall hangings.  It was just a tiny bit, on Ricky's lips.  But sadly it was ruined, and I was in tears.  

Eventually my heart healed from this catastrophe, and further down the road, Ricky's place in my heart was no longer fully encompassing.  His pictures came down one by one, or so I suppose...I don't actually remember getting rid of those photos.  Why didn't I save such sentimental keepsakes?  Perhaps it was only to make room for my next celebrity crush a few years later...or rather, I should say my first music group crush.  But before the new posters came up (of New Kids on the Block, in case you were wondering), I'm glad to report that I did manage to make room in my heart for a couple of real-life people.