First grade was a time of transition for me.
During Kindergarden I had learned an invaluable lesson about girls: no matter how strong your feelings were for a girl, you had to muster the confidence to actually do something constructive about your crush, otherwise you would get nowhere fast. I also learned that asking Mrs. Godfrey if I could move my nap mat nearer to Ashley Sweet's mat didn't count as "constructive." Ashley moved away over the summer before first grade, leaving my six year old heart reeling. I decided that I would not make the mistake of indecision the next time.
Next time was Stephanie Pitcock. I don't remember much about her, except that she was very nice and had dark hair, and her dad was friends with my dad through baseball or something. I do remember that she made me forget all about what's-her-name from Kindergarden.
My crush on Stephanie was a few months old before I was able to figure out how to approach her. Girls were still very scary, and I had no idea how to talk to her. But I was certain that if I could somehow convince her to be my girlfriend, that she'd fall in love with me, and we'd end up married. (If you stick around the blog long enough, you'll notice that this is a recurring theme.) The question in my mind was, "How do I get a girl to like me without talking to her?"
I was in a predicament, no doubt.
Luckily for me, television commercials had already taught me everything I needed to know. Jewelry commercials continually whispered into my ears that if you get a girl a pretty enough rock, she will love you forever. Each featured an overjoyed girl falling into the arms of the guy who brought her the pretty rock. I knew what I needed, but finding a rock pretty enough would be no small task.
I didn't get an allowance back then, and the change I found hidden in the couch cushions did not add up to enough to buy a diamond. This did not discourage me, though, because I knew lots about nature. Some combination of My Big Backyard and Ranger Rick magazines, the Discovery Channel, and a childhood of traipsing through the woods and creeks near my house had given me the confidence I needed to become an amateur geologist.
I told my mom that I was going out to play, but I was all business. I quickly set out for the areas near my house that had the most plentiful assortments of rocks to find what I needed to woo Stephanie. I soon had a decent-sized pile of rocks of every sort. None of them looked like much on the outside, but I knew better. Underneath the dull exterior, some of those stones concealed crystals of untold value.
I can't remember my mom's reaction when I popped my head back into the house to ask her for a hammer. I just remember that she allowed me to borrow it, which leads me to believe that such strange requests might have been commonplace in our house. By this age, I had already established an identity as a reptile catcher, yet hadn't fully learned not to bring them into the house, so maybe my mom was just relieved that I was taking things out of the house instead of bringing things in. Nevertheless, before long I was back at my rock pile, hammer in hand.
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| Any first grader could make the mistake of believing this substance was worth as much as a new car, right? |
My first few attempts proved fruitless. Apparently, dirt clods can be easily confused with rocks that might contain crystals, even by someone who regularly watched the Discovery Channel. Eventually, though, I found what I had sought. Looking back it was probably nothing more than the rose quartz that is so common in Texas, but to six year old me it was more precious than diamonds. I was certain that the crystals would win Stephanie's heart.
With this success under my belt, I was ready to really go to work. My arm became sore quickly, but I pressed on with optimism, imagining how she would react when I gave her this costly gift. Within a few minutes, I had pulverized several chucks of the rock into tiny, white crystals. I ran back to the house and grabbed some sort of cloth. Hopefully, I had enough sense not to borrow one of the good napkins, but I can't be sure that I didn't. Soon, the crushed up crystals were safely wrapped in the cloth. I stored my bundle in my backpack, and planned out my next move.
Despite having a fool-proof plan in the bag, as it were, there was still the looming problem of how to give it to Stephanie without having to use words. I pride myself in being resourceful, and first grade me was no exception. I asked my dad to drop me off at school a little earlier the next morning. Check and mate!
The hallways were dimly lit and quiet as I nervously walked towards our classroom. My confidence had left me overnight, and I was already shaking like a leaf. Terrible scenarios flashed through my head: What if the door is locked? What if someone sees me place it on her desk? What if she doesn't like to play with lizards and turtles? I reached the door about ten minutes before class started and I was freaking out. I reached up for the doorknob.
I didn't know much about miracles at age six, other than what I'd seen on various felt boards on Sunday mornings, but I was certain I was in the middle of one when the door was unlocked and the classroom was empty. With newfound confidence, I sauntered up to Stephanie's desk and neatly placed the cloth-wrapped crystals on her desk, then merrily plopped down into my seat a few rows behind her.
As I sat staring straight ahead in the empty classroom, the two flaws in my plan occurred to me: Either everyone would walk in and see me chilling at my seat and a super cool and fancy gift on Stephanie's seat, thus alerting the public to my very personal feelings, or people would come in a couple at a time, and she would have no way of knowing that the unmarked bag of crystals were from me.
Oops.
Some people have the ability to hold it together in stressful situations. I like to think that doing so is a strength of mine now. But, for the love, it was not a strength then! I don't remember the specifics, but it's safe to say that the next few minutes were full of uncomfortable squirming.
The rest of my class came in gradually, but I was too busy blushing face down into my desk to see when Stephanie arrived. It wasn't until a break between lessons for water that everything went down.
I was quietly sitting in at my desk, finishing up a worksheet, when I heard a voice say, "Hey, Drew?" I looked up, and there she was, walking toward me. I had nowhere to run. Not that my brain could have relayed a coherent message to my limbs at this point, but the feeling of being trapped added to the panic that was overtaking my heart, mind, body, and soul.
She held up the bundle with a puzzled look on her face and asked, "Are these from you?"
Suddenly, it was time for action. I gathered all the courage that I usually saved for catching snakes that I wasn't sure were venomous or not or for when commercials for "Are You Afraid of the Dark?" came on Nickelodeon, and decided to be a man. Through the blushing cheeks, sweaty palms, and knocking knees, I was able to talk to a girl.
"No, I don't know what you're talking about."
She raised one of her ridiculously cute eyebrows quizzically, but shrugged and walked away.
It was my first real failure in the girls department. I had caved in the critical moment. All the hard work and planning thrown out the window. I was a liar and a coward.
But I had talked to a girl!
And sitting in the back of that classroom, I thought to myself, "I can build on this..."
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