[When your social ineptness leads to making a fool of yourself, that's one thing. In retrospect, you can look back on it and have a good laugh. But when it leads to needlessly hurting those you love, that's a very different story. A therapist once told me, "It's OK to feel guilty -- provided that it doesn't last for more than 5 minutes and leads to changing your behavior." I've had guilt feeling for more than 50 years for my screw-ups. It's too late to make amends to those I've wronged -- I think they're dead. But perhaps you can learn from my mistakes and get counseling when you find yourself in situations you don't know how to handle. There's no shame in not knowing how to handle every situation. Fortunately, I eventually did learn how to better communicate feelings and how to face difficult situations -- not just run away from them.]
Fair Damsels In Distress
Growing up on King Arthur and his knights and on Robin Hood (and Dumas' novels and Beau Geste) predisposed me to a romantic view of life, and the assumption that damsels wanted, needed rescuing; that rescuing was the appropriate response; and that I had a duty to be a rescuer.
Meanwhile, back on the ranch, my mother worked hard at inculcating a very different view -- that of girls as a danger.
If preparation for life required imagining you were donning shining armor and hopping on a charger, sailing pirate infested seas, searching for King Solomon's mines, taking your covered wagon on the Oregon Trail, being king of the jungle, etc., I would have been well prepared. But for a tall, skinny, awkward, terribly shy kid who was comfortable wandering through woods and fields, but had few interpersonal skills and had spent much less time with people my own age than the vast majority of kids I was ill prepared. In spite of having acquired Boy Scouts' "be prepared" skills.
Being a romantic in that sense is far different than dealing with teen age hormones. I never had a "birds and bees" conversation with my parents. Instead, my mother gave me a book that covered the basics, and used photographs of individual male and female dogs to enlighten me. I almost got into such a discussion with my father once. I functioned as his helper when he was doing handyman tasks, handing him tools and materials as requested. Once while doing some electrical work he asked me to hand him a female connector. Being a curious kid, I asked him "Why to they call them male and female?" There was a long pause. Finally he carefully answered, "For historical reasons."
Strangely, mother would frequently warn me of the danger of being ensnared by feminine wiles. Even of the danger of being alone with a girl because she might then "cry rape." In which case I would be defenseless to salvage my reputation and ruined for life. Looking back, that seems weird, almost pathological. She even had our distant cousin, Rev. Canon Essex, give me his "Temptations of the Flesh" talk, which was illustrated by pointing to buttons on one's shirt. Each button representing a different level of temptation. And which were to be avoided outside of the bonds of marriage.
Like most boys my age then, I went to Saturday matinees of movie serials. Mostly westerns, but with occasional others, such as Bomba, Boy of the Jungle thrown in for variety. We would boo if at the end the hero would kiss a girl before riding off into the sunset -- a good story ruined by "mush." We still thought of girls in relation to "dumb stuff" such as playing with dolls, pretend tea parties, etc. and not knowing how to throw a baseball. My best friend at the time, who I'll call 'Rachel,' was "the girl next door." It was OK having her as a friend because she was a "tomboy" and could do all the things the rest of "the guys" did. We were close friends for years, spent a lot of time together, and some grownups assumed that we would marry someday. I suspect that was the inspiration for my mothers' worries. Rachel had three older sisters who had been our neighbors when I was born. Her siblings and my siblings had gone to high school together. Her eldest sister had been of romantic interest to my eldest brother. Likewise for her next eldest sister and my other brother. While Rachel was a year or two older than me. [BTW, I think Rachel's sisters and my brothers would all have been happier had they married each other than the spouses they eventually ended up with. I was extremely immature, so Rachel was better off with her spouse.]
My mother was frightened of the possibility that Rachel and I might fall in love because: 1) she thought Rachel's mother's family had a history of mental health problems [in fact both Rachel's mother and my mother ended up with dementia]; & 2) I think snobbery -- fine-tuned class-ism. Both Rachel's and my fathers were factory workers. But status was very important to my mother. She had come from "one of the best families" of her small town. And her various ancestors' arrivals in the 1600s added to her status feelings. Rachel's father was a cutter in a shoe factory. She saw that as a low skill job in a low status industry. Whereas my she considered my father a highly skilled tool and die maker -- sometimes with the job title, "model maker," for a company that pioneered (and still made) flight simulators. Much more prestigious.
Jumping ahead -- A couple of years after finishing high school, Rachel moved to Washington, DC to study art at the Corcoran School, but we kept in touch by writing and getting together when she visited her parents. I even visited her once there.
In jr. high I had "puppy love" crushes on girls, but always as a secret admirer from afar. Letting a girl know I LIKED HER was unthinkable -- she might find it ludicrous.
Carol
All my activities were "guy" things, or solitary, like reading. I did one time get up the nerve to ask a blonde ex-neighbor, Carol, out on a date, but it was a disaster. We went to a matinee movie by bus. The bus part was OK because nobody in junior high drove. The movie was OK. One of the non-OK parts was taking her to a smelly, dirty greasy spoon, which I thought was a great place because you could get more hamburgers there for your money than anywhere else in town. I loved to go there after a movie, but it was easy to see she didn't share my taste in restaurants or cheap hamburgers. The nadir of the event was on the way home. Trying to recover lost ground, I handed her a cheap plastic woman's wallet I had found, explaining "I found this in the gutter on the way to your house and thought you might like it." She was speechless. In fact, I don't remember her ever speaking to me again.
"Tom boy" Rachel and I spent lots of time together as good pals or best friends. But any romantic feelings were kept suppressed. Except for one time I recall when we were sitting side by side on a hillside and put my arm around her. As I recall, she snuggled up closer, and we sat there for a long time, enjoying the moment. But that was a "nonce," a one time thing. For one thing, I didn't want to risk losing her as a friend.
It took two and a half years after taking Carol to the movie before I got up the nerve to ask another girl out. I felt I should go to the Junior Prom. Besides, I had already had dance lessons and never used them. There was a girl in the band that I had "liked" from afar for some time. Her brother was in scouts with me and I was their paperboy, so I knew her some. Of course "liking" her was a well kept secret. Somehow I managed to ask her to the Jr. Prom and miraculously she accepted. Everything went OK this time. I succeeded in keeping "liking" her a secret, so that was the end of that. Besides, she was a nice person, but there was no "magic" between us.
Dottie
Every year we received new locker assignments. In 12th grade, there were two girls with lockers next to mine, Mary Ann and her friend, Dottie. I was still very shy, but they struck up conversations. Gradually I was fairly comfortable talking to them. It was easier to talk to Mary Ann, who was very nice, but I thought of her as plain and somewhat overweight. Dottie seemed the prettiest girl I knew, with enormous, if-you-looked-too-hard-into-them-you-could-get-lost eyes (at least that's how a cheap detective story would describe them), so I was shyer with her. After a few months, one time when Mary Ann and I were alone at the lockers, she said, "Dottie really likes you, ask her out." "Gee, she's nice, but I don't know." The scene replayed 3 or 4 more days, before I got up the nerve to ask Dottie out. I don't remember any of our early dates. But soon we were holding hands and even though I always hated getting wet, suddenly it didn't matter if it was raining or not.
This was a great beginning of a relationship that was off and on for three years. There were many great things about the romance. Getting lessons on how to kiss. The high of falling head over heels in love. Developing a closeness that was different than that with my buddies. Dottie was petite, dark haired, artistic, unpretentious, open, loyal, and had many other admirable qualities. She loved me in spite of my shortcomings. (I like to think that she saw the person I had the potential to become.) We had a wonderful time just being together doing simple things, playing miniature golf, going to an occasional movie, or just going for a walk.
I didn't have much money for dates or presents. But Dottie never gave any indication of minding and made the most of enjoying the simple pleasures of spending time together.
Her mother died a couple of years previously and she lived with her father and step-mother. I never got to know them well. They moved away during our senior year and Dottie moved in with a friend's family.
After graduation she took a job with NYS' first discount store, Philadelphia Sales. She put her artistic talents to work making signs and posters for their sales. And arranging their window displays. The pay was too little to live on, so she moved to her older brother's home in New Milford, PA (abt. 25 mi. away) and commuted by Greyhound. Often I would meet her as she left work, walk her to the bus station (sometimes getting a bite to eat), buy a round trip ticket to New Milford so I could sit with her, holding hands, getting off the bus with her and walking her home -- then hurrying back to the bus stop to pick up their last return bus to Binghamton. It was usually around 10:30 when we got there so some of the family may have already been to bed. I only briefly met him once. Perhaps he didn't like me, thought I wasn't a suitable catch, or that I wasn't "doing right" by his sister. By the time I rode back from New Milford and walked home, I got to bed quite late.
My family didn't approve of Dottie, I'm not sure why. Probably mom thought her socioeconomic status was beneath our family's. Dottie and my closest friend, the late Renny Boezi, didn't like each other either for some reason, and that discouraged double dating. One time I remember double dating with Dottie involved a girlfriend of hers whose date drove a small Porsche. I wasn't impressed by the car, but I liked sharing the tiny, very cozy back seat. :)
We did double date with Renny for our Sr. Prom. He borrowed his
father's Olds Rocket
we all went to his parents and
my parents for pictures before the prom. We went somewhere for
food afterward, then he dropped Dottie and me off at 208 where we
sat by the fish/lily pond till dawn, talking, holding hands and
being very happy.
I was brought up with all sorts of propaganda about there being "good" girls, and "bad" girls. There were very severe limitations as to what you could do with a "good" girl without her losing that designation. If a transgressing couple quickly got married, that partially undid the curse. So in three years of intermittent "going steady," necking was all we did. Kissing, hugging, holding hands. I'm not sure what her druthers were, but I was very inhibited. Lots of hormones, but more inhibitions. Condoms were the main method for birth control then, and not very reliable. I figured that having sex was irresponsible unless you were in a position to get married should an accident occur.
We dated most of the time during my college Freshman year. There were some breaks of a month or two when we didn't see each other. I don't remember if I did any dating during the gaps or not. I would have felt free to. She did come to some college dances that year, probably double dating with Renny for transportation. When I was a sophomore in college, Dottie enrolled in Johnson City's Practical Bible School (now Davis College) and moved to a dorm. The students weren't supposed to go to dances or movies. That helped keep dates cheap, but seemed silly to me. I asked her some tactless, snobbish question, such as "Why did you sign up for this dumb school?" I felt like the pompous ass jerk I was when she answered that she was afraid of falling too far behind me if I went to college and she didn't and this was the only one she could afford. What a colossal jerk I was not to realize she was doing it in an attempt to be "good enough" for me. I felt so petty and ashamed.
She became interested in marriage. Several times as we walked past stores she would window shop and look at engagement rings or wedding dresses and comment on how pretty they were.
One night our passions heated up. Nothing forbidden happened, but not from lack of desire. If I'd had my act together, I would have put my cards on the table and said, "I love you, but I'm won't be able to marry until I finish college and can get a good job. I'm finding it difficult to control my passion. I don't think I can do it for two more years. I don't see any alternative other than breaking up." But I wasn't skilled enough or wise enough for that. Instead, inexcusably, I cut the date short, took her back to the dorm, and fled. I never called her or wrote to her again. :(
Running away from problems rarely works. I've never forgiven myself for mistreating her that way. We loved each other and probably she would have made a good wife if we could have found a way to wait till I graduated. Perhaps we could have made a good marriage, but I suspect I would have made a poor husband back then. I was very insecure. And manipulative. Nor had I yet escaped from the male privilege culture I was raised in. I "grew up" too slowly. It took me till about 35 before I was willing to "come out from my shell" and risk being vulnerable.
"Look at Thompson ..."
One of my college friends was dumped by a girl he deeply cared for and became rather depressed. A bunch of "the guys" were together one night and tried to cheer him up and encourage him to ask someone else out. We all took turn at it. But I'll never forget the words of encouragement that one of them offered:
"Look at Thompson. He's got no car, no money, no looks -- no nothin'. And he still gets dates."
Nedra - "In the spring a young man's fancy ..."
In the spring of my junior year I found myself in a class with Nedra Henderson. It was a small college, so we'd had a nodding acquaintance since the beginning of my freshman year. But her interest was in dramatics, so we moved in different circles. But we quickly discovered that we both had the same next class, in a building off campus, in a park, that was a long walk along the river bank. And that just the two of us had that sequence from whatever the first class was to the second, lectures on Art History. We chatted a lot on those walks to and from the art lectures and became comfortable with each other. She was engaged to a math major I knew slightly. He was drafted and sent to Germany so she was lonely. And the spring days sent sap flowing to the trees' buds and blood flowing in my veins. Somehow we found ourselves walking hand in hand. And kissing often. Our relationship flowered, along with the flora, and lasted into the early summer.
This time I didn't break it off, nor was I the one who didn't know how to handle the break up. One day I called to set up our date for the coming weekend. Her mother answered the phone and said, "She can't see you this weekend, she's getting married."
That was a surprise, to say the least. I knew the fellow she married. He was a creative writing major, very confident of his talent. But pissed at me for rejecting a story he submitted to the college lit. magazine when I was its editor. I may have been right about the merits of that story, but he was right about his talent. Don Westlake became a great success, getting whole library shelves filled with his books -- three of which were made into movies.
It salved my ego to imagine that Don had "stolen" Nedra from me to get revenge, but that's unlikely. She was bright, sweet, talented, and animated. He offered her a move to NYC where she hoped to become an actress (she was good in our college plays). The marriage didn't last and she and her two children came back to the Triple cities where she opened up a great, huge used book store. We bumped into each other many times. The most surprising was after my sister had separated from her husband and moved into an apartment in Binghamton. Soon after when I visited, my sister said "I want you to meet my neighbor and new friend" and introduced me to -- Nedra. We remained friends over the years, but lost touch when I moved from NYS and now she's gone.
Barbara
Out of respect for her privacy I don't intend to say much about her. We had known each other for years from church, but first dated when she was a HS senior and I was a college freshmen. We dated off and on until I was a college senior and we then "went steady," even though she was junior at SUNY New Paltz. After I graduated, we became engaged and married soon after her graduation. Our marriage lasted 20 years and produced two fine sons. After we divorced, things were strained for a while, but now we get along fine.
It may seem strange, but I almost proposed to Rachel instead of Barbara.
The Js
It took several years for my divorce to become final. I had started my own business and was busy being a single parent, so I didn't date for a few years. But when I did, I made up for lost time. For a while, I was dating seven women at the same time (but only one at a time on my dates). Purely by consequence, all of them had names beginning with the letter 'J.' Jane, Janet, Janice, Joan, Jean and two others.
They new that I was dating others, but I lived in terror that one of my sons would take a message and get the name wrong -- and that I would mistakenly return the call to the wrong 'J.' Somehow an 'L' got into the mix and I might have married her, but didn't think she was ready for a commitment. I did a better job of being open and honest with 'L' about our breakup. I think I did a good job of breaking up with Jane, but our relationship had been rather platonic, so that may have made breaking up easier.
Mary
And then I got lucky and met Mary. If we'd met two years earlier, maybe even one year earlier, we wouldn't have been ready for each other. But at last, we'd gotten our acts together enough to be ready for a healthy relationship. We were both "comfortable in our own skins." We weren't looking for a complementary personality to "make us whole." Or to "take care of us. I don't think either of us was "looking," but rather was "open to possibilities."
Mary joined a square dance class held by a square dance singles group, "Bachelors and Bachelorettes." In these classes they try to have an experienced dancer to help each beginner and her class needed more male square dancers with experience. I was dancing with a couple of clubs at that time, some of which had members who also were in Bachelors and Bachelorettes. So they prevailed upon me to come help their class. There were a lot of pleasant women in the class (by now I had outgrown putting a big emphasis on 'attractive.' But one stood out immediately because of her warm, cheery, self-reliant personality. I was attracted to her immediately (a fact I like to attribute to pheromones).
By the second night I asked her out for coffee after, but was
still pretty nerdy. (E.g. wearing double knit polyester pants and
perhaps a pocket protector. :) I didn't yet appeal to her, but I
enjoyed holding her close in the "swing your partner" moments. I
was 50 now, old enough to have the self-confidence to persist in
asking her out. Finally she was comfortable enough with me to
accept my invitation to go to Philadelphia and hear a female
friend of mine play trombone in a band that played 1940s "swing"
music and had a vocalist with a good local reputation. She found
that intriguing enough to say yes. And had a good enough time to
accept next week when I invited her to come to a local coffeehouse
and hear blues singer Rory
Block. By the end of that performance she was comfortable
with my arm around her and my massaging her shoulders. And I knew
I would be comfortable spending the rest of my life with her.
I invited her to "meet the family" by having dinner at my home, then shared with my sister and my younger son who was away in college. My older son and his wife came. There was a slight bump in the road when Mary, who likes to ask questions as part of getting to know someone, asked my super private sister, who had mentioned having food allergies, "So, what do you usually have for breakfast?" and was answered with an abrupt "That's none of your business!"
After dinner, Mary offered to help my daughter-in-law with dishes -- provided I entertain them. I won her over by doing a soft shoe (in my Scottish Country dancing ghillies) and reading e.e. cummings poetry to them. My sister put in a "plug" for me by telling Mary that I was "a rare find."
One of the reasons our courtship worked and a good foundation for our relationship was established is that we were both comfortable with "who we were" that we presented our real selves to each other. None of the "best foot forward" trying to make a good (but false) impression. It was "what you see is what you get." We liked what we saw and are still together 35 years later. There were bumps along the road, but our love has grown and deepened through the years. I believe that part of the success of our marriage is that we respect and appreciate each other, in spite of our flaws. It also helped that we'd both been divorced once and didn't want to go through that again. We were willing to do the hard work needed to make a marriage last. For me, it's been better than I ever dreamed was possible.
And if you want to get to know Mary better her memoir is
available in bookstores or via Amazon. To order or read about it,
click on the photo of her book cover
.
Ending this chapter. as usual, in the spirit of Uncle Wiggily
stories:
Now if the pumpernickel doesn't run off with the sauerkraut, I’m next going to tell you about my careers.