The First Boy

Like all young girls, I regularly had crushes on the boys in my neighborhood. Some were fleeting and some last forever.

As you know, I did not enjoy yard work or anything that made my hands dirty. I epitomized "prissy." There was a boy down the street. He helped my dad and he did all of my yard work for me. I was madly, passionately in love with him.

My parents went through a dorky stage where we all went square dancing. God love them, he and his sister went along. I choose to believe that he wanted to be with me. My dad had a pick-up truck with a cab and the kids rode in the back. He used to kiss me and his sister pretended not to notice.

I know he went into the service. I know he is happily married with children. I ran into him once in a mall. I was gushing.

My parents ran into him a few years ago. My mom, always the Queen of conversational innuendo, said, "There was a time in my life when I thought you would be my son-in-law." His response: "I'm not dead yet."

With due respect to his wife, I still have a crush on him.