My dad's retirement from the Air Force, and his subsequent job in Aerospace, led us, in the late 1960s, to sunny California. Finding a new home, acclimating to the amazing weather and our new civilian life was easy. But, for me, fitting in mid-year to a new junior high school, took a little more effort. One night, as we sat at the dining table, sharing our days, I burst out with the confession..."I wish I had a boyfriend."
I've always wondered if my parents had some sort of a signal, between the two of them, communicating who was going to take the lead with a discussion that concerned me. Unfortunately, I never asked either one of them, but whatever the procedure, my father took the lead with this discussion. "How do you think your days would be different, if you had a boyfriend?" he asked.
Even though I was never going to be able to date at age twelve, my father must have decided that understanding why I thought my life would be improved, with a boyfriend, would help him comfort me. Or maybe he wanted me to better understand my own feelings. Whatever his motivations, he recognized I'd need to examine my school day...the only consistent place I had interactions with boys... to gain any insights.
I'd seen boys open lockers, for their girl friends, and carry their books, at school. I could open my locker and handle my own books. A boyfriend certainly wasn't a requirement to attend the after school dances held in the crepe-paper and balloon decorated cafeteria. I had seen couples, although few in number, sitting by themselves at lunch. But, I loved those times, at the long lunch tables, where the girls all crammed together, to chat and giggle. I didn't think I wanted to trade that for a romantic couple's lunch. There was something that I longed for but it was hard to identify let alone put into words.
My father continued to casually ask questions about my days. That's when I remembered one particular warm afternoon, when all of the girls from 4th period PE were headed to the baseball field. The boys, already suited up, were doing drills on the basketball courts. As we sprinted by, one of the boys yelled out the name of one of the girls, in our class. It was a simple acknowledgement...no embarrassing whistles or unsavory comments. She waved and flashed him a big smile as we continued on our trek towards the backstop. As we lined up to practice hitting balls, I remember someone reminding her that "he" would be watching.
And there it was...so simple and yet so complicated! I really didn't want anyone watching me hit the ball...or more accurately attempting to hit the ball. I didn't want anyone taking me away from my friends at lunch. But there was something wonderful about knowing that someone was thinking about you. There was something magical about knowing you were special enough, to someone, that they were quite aware of your presence. In fact, they were looking for you. My father, being poignantly aware of how much I wanted to feel a part of my new school and my new classmates, had led me to realize that, at this stage of my life, it was truly a feeling that I longed for more than an actual boyfriend. Although, he never showed it, I'm sure he was greatly relieved.
After all that soul searching, what was my father's recommendation? "Just pretend that you have a boyfriend," he casually suggested. Was he kidding?? Did he have any idea what it would take to pull off a lie as big and involved as that one? He proceeded to explain that I should not lie...I would not tell anyone else that I had a boyfriend. I would be pretending to myself. I would try to imagine how it would feel, to me, inside my heart. I wasn't exactly sure how I would do that but our discussion made me think of a time, years earlier, when I was waiting to take my swimming test. Standing at the edge of the pool, feeling nervous and alone, it helped to know that my parents were sitting in those stands, thinking about me. I couldn't even see them and yet, I knew, in my heart that they were there...believing in me...loving me. It was truly that feeling that gave me the strength to dive into that water and complete my test.
Was he encouraging me to be delusional? I think it was more about learning to "fake it till you make it." Those parental lessons that continue to light our paths, despite the passing years, are more than priceless memories. Isn't it every parent's dream to give their children lessons that serve them for a lifetime? I barely remember pretending to have a boyfriend but I clearly remember pretending to have the confidence of a seasoned classroom teacher, as I stood at age 22, in front of my first audience of parents ready to share my plans for their child's second grade year. And more recently, as a beginning blogger, I pretended to already have readers that giggled or smiled at the stories of my childhood and my friendships that I posted. I so wanted to share those stories but it took that bit of pretending before I could take the plunge and push the publish button.
I was lucky to have a father who was so willing to be engaged with every aspect of my young life. He was there when I was ready to learn how to ride a bike and drive a car and he remained equally as involved when my interests turned to boys and prom dresses. There isn't a day that goes by that I don't miss him and recognize the impact he had on my life simply because he loved me so much.
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