Romantic interest no easier now than it was for me in sixth grade

By David McElroy · April 11, 2019

It was just after Thanksgiving of my sixth grade year. For about a year and a half, I had had the worst sort of crush on a girl in my class named Wendy Ford. When I was 11, she was my dream girl.

I was terrified for anybody to figure out that I “liked” Wendy, of course. And the absolute worst thing would be for her to know it. This is confusing to adult logic, but it made perfect sense back then. Somehow, she was going to “like” me first and let me know — and then I could confess that I “liked” her, too. And then we would get married. Or something like that.

Instead, one of her friends came over to me — in music class — and asked, “Do you like Wendy?”

My face must have turned bright red. I felt as though everybody was looking at me. My heartbeat raced. And I denied it. I assured her that it wasn’t true, but I doubt I was convincing. I just wanted to be anywhere but there.

“You should have liked her,” the friend said, “because she likes you.”

Thursday evening, I remembered what that sort of conversation felt like — and I didn’t like it any better than I did when I was 11.

My pharmacy rarely has reason to call me — never unless I have a prescription being filled — but one of the pharmacists called Thursday afternoon and asked if I would be nearby this evening. She said she had something to talk with me about if I happened to be around. I was curious what was going on, because she wouldn’t give me any hints.

When she saw me walking up, she smiled a little sheepishly. There were other customers at the counter, so she motioned for me to move down to the other end where nobody was.

“Do you remember the really pretty, tall pharmacist who was substituting here a few weeks ago?” she asked.

I did remember. One of the regular pharmacists just had a baby and there had been a substitute — someone they called a “floater” — working in her place. I had come in one night for something else but stopped at the pharmacy to chat. It hadn’t been busy that night, so several of us stood around and talked for something like 15 minutes.

I didn’t remember the woman’s name, but I remembered that she was tall, blonde and attractive — a strong combination for me. But I still didn’t know what the question was all about.

“She’s just taken a job at another company,” the pharmacist said. “As long as she was working here, I couldn’t say anything, but now that she’s gone, well, it’s different.”

I still didn’t see where this was going.

“She really liked you that night y’all were talking when you met her,” she finally went on. “And now that she’s gone and it’s not like some kind of professional boundary thing, well, I just wondered…”

I was stunned. And I was flattered. But I still felt like an awkward 11-year-old.

We talked a few more minutes and she told me more about this mysterious pharmacist who thought I was interesting that night. I kept thinking back to the night we met. I had been in a good mood and I was funny that night. I had everybody laughing. Would she expect me to be funny like that all the time?

I’m sure I didn’t seem as awkward tonight as I did when I denied my interest in Wendy all those years ago, but I’m also sure that I wasn’t my most charming. I just know that it made my ego happy — and I also know that I needed that.

I have no idea what happened to Wendy Ford. We moved away to another city during the Christmas break and I never saw her again after our class Christmas party. (I gave her a present and she said she liked it. She seemed to want to talk to me, but I was terrified.) I’ve tried to look her up just out of curiosity, but I’ve never figured out what became of her.

The pharmacist is another matter. I’m not 11. We’re not moving away. She lives nearby. I guess I’ll at least figure out a bit more about who she is. You never know what might happen.

Do you remember those notes shy people were fond of sending to one another back when we were young that said, “I like you. Do you like me? Check one.” And there would have been boxes for “yes,” “no,” and “maybe.”

I didn’t see any note like that tonight, but if there had been, I would have checked, “Maybe.”

Note: I have modified some minor facts in this story to slightly disguise the identity of the people involved. But not Wendy Ford. That’s her real name. What happened to you, Wendy?

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I’m in the McDonald’s near my house, sitting near the play area. There’s one little girl — maybe 5 years old — who’s here with her father. He’s about my age, so he’s older than the typical father of a 5-year-old. Even though she’s the only kid here, the girl is giggling and having fun by herself. She periodically cries out, “Daddy, look!” And then she shows off something she thinks is impressive. Then, just a moment ago, she called out very sweetly, “Daddy?” He patiently said, “Yes, sweetheart.” And then she said, “Daddy, I love you so much!” And then she went back to playing as her father looked on with happiness and love.

When I first discovered the idea of unschooling, it was so radical that I had trouble finding people who even knew what it was. Today, the idea is mainstream enough that major media outlets sometimes cover the topic in a favorable way. The Sunday newspaper supplement called Parade had a strongly favorable article about unschooling a couple of weeks ago which explained what it is and how it’s different from homeschooling. It’s less structured. There’s no curriculum. There’s plenty of flexibility. And there are no tests and grades. (Most people today are shocked to learn that testing and grading didn’t exist in schools through history until the last couple hundred years.) If you want your children to think for themselves instead of following the herd mentality that pervades every school I’ve been part of, you owe it to yourself — and to your kids — to consider taking control of your children’s development back from governments. Just because you and I survived institutional schools doesn’t mean it’s the wisest choice. Start by reading the Parade article. It might open your eyes.

In the Birmingham suburb of Hueytown, the Golden Gophers of Hueytown High School had just defeated the Eufala Tigers in the second round of the state playoffs Friday night. It’s not a game that will mean a lot to anybody outside those two communities, but it meant everything to the players and coaches involved. After the game, Hueytown defensive coordinator Trent Campbell was celebrating with his victorious players when he noticed Eufala offensive lineman Dallas Ingram distraught and alone. Campbell left his players to console the distraught Ingram and photographer Dennis Victory caught photos of the pair together. “My reaction was to go see about him, because I’ll see my guys on Sunday and next week and the rest of their high school careers, but that’s a young man we watched on film for a week and studied and he’s a fantastic player,” Campbell said later. “And it wasn’t too long ago when I played my last high school football game and I know what that feeling is and you sort of never forget that. I went to tell him what a great player I thought he was and what a great game I thought they played and I wish nobody had to lose that night because it was an incredible game.” This is what sports at the high school level should be about. Winning is great and winning is fun. But humanity and decency last longer.

I have changed radically about some things over the years, but probably none of those changes have been as great as the ways that I feel about people who are viewed as evil or criminal. When I was young, I was eager to see criminals or foreign political enemies killed. Today, I don’t view such people though rose-colored glasses and I don’t view them as blameless folks who are going to turn their lives around if we just think happy thoughts. But I can’t celebrate the death of anybody, even if he might deserve it in some ways of thinking about it. Even if it’s sometimes necessary to kill someone — and those cases are often debatable — I regret the death of someone who will now never have a chance to discover love and change his life. There are some evil people in this world, but I can’t celebrate their deaths.

There was a time when I was idealistic enough to believe that if a writer expressed his thoughts clearly and simply enough, any bright and honest person would understand his point. I know better now. We all bring so many unconscious assumptions to the things we read that we often see what we expect to see instead of what the writer intended. This is incredibly frustrating to me as a writer, but I’m trying more and more to just say what I need to say — as clearly as I know how — and then ignore the inevitable responses which show that others perceived something which was not intended. I have to write for those who “get” where I’m coming from, not for those who see my words through personal filters that change my meaning. I hope my intentions are clear to you and I hope what I write can be useful to you, but if not, maybe my work just isn’t right for you. And there’s nothing wrong with that.

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