Part 1
So I'm going to write a little about something that always makes me laugh: Our Love Story. I realized earlier this week that if I count 6 years of dating and 10 years of marriage, I've been with Big A longer than I've been without him (which is impossible considering I'm only 25 and not 32 as my birth certificate would lead you to believe). For 16 years, he's been a big part of my life, but our story started about three years before we began dating.... back in the day when Paula Abdul wasn't loopy and parachute pants were all the rage. We get asked a lot about how we managed to stay together through high school and college, so I'll give you the long version instead of the short "God brought us together for a reason" version.
It was my first day of 7th grade. I was about as uncool as you could get with my generic clothes, underdeveloped body and extreme shyness. I was also going through this deeply religious phase and wearing only below-the-knee-length skirts and toting my Bible with me everywhere I went (not that the Bible is lame, but my whole persona then was goody-two-shoes meets Laura Ingalls). To make matters worse, our middle school was merging with the other middle school in town, adding a few hundred new, cooler students to make me look even more Amish.
For some silly reason, I was considered above-average in math and was placed in the advanced math class. I hated all things related to numbers and dreaded this class, but since I had done so well in math the year before, I had no choice. I just wanted to be with my friends in the average math class. To this day I wonder why I even had to take math in the first place. Why couldn't they offer a class on real math, like how to balance a checkbook or how to add fractions so your chocolate chip cookies aren't as hard as hockey pucks? Instead, advanced math would turn out to be the bane of my existence for the next 5 years. And how many times can I say "math" in one paragraph? Geesh.
Anyway, on the second day of advanced math class, I noticed a boy across the room. A cute, quiet boy with dark hair and dark eyes. He had that whole grunge thing going on even before Kurt Cobain was popular and the boy was still wearing his Swatch-watch, meaning he hadn't given it to a girlfriend. I then did what any mature young woman would do, I tried to get information by asking his best friend some questions.
His best friend, it turned out, was not very friendly at all and could not understand how such a dorky girl dared to be interested in such a cool guy. He basically told me to get a life. As I left class that day, I remember thinking that his best friend was such a jerk and in typical shy Kristy fashion, I never pursued cute math class boy again.
I did, however, continue to think his best friend was a jerk. In fact, throughout 7th grade, I hated best friend more and more. He slept in class and left school grounds at lunch. I even heard rumors that he smoked cigarettes and drank (gasp!) beer. I could.not.stand.him. Everything about him was stupid.
Summer came and went and before long, I was in the swing of 8th grade. Still underdeveloped and uncool (but wearing jeans again), I was about as boring as you could get. And in English, which was always my favorite subject, I had to sit next to him. I quickly developed a plan to bring a book to class each day and when the teacher wasn't talking, I would read, completely ignoring him and all his stupidity.
This worked, sort of. While I tried to be fully engrossed in my book, I was acutely aware of every move he made in the seat next to me. If he talked to another girl in class, I strained to hear what he was saying. When he got an assignment back, I nonchalantly tried to see what his grade was. But when he gave me any direct attention, I pretended to ignore him. This caused him to try so much harder to bug me, and before I knew it, I was giving in, laughing at his dumb jokes, asking him for help on my assignments, and liking him more and more each day. I'm not sure when it turned around, and even though he was the same school-skipping, class-sleeping, possibly smoking and drinking jerk from the year before, I had developed a huge crush. One day mid-year, I declared to my parents that he was going to be the boy I married.
I'm sure the reason I liked him so much was because he was everything I wasn't. Cool. Confident. Rule-breaking. Careless. Experienced. And he was really smart. I mean, really, really smart. I journaled about him everyday in English class. I foolishly shared my crush with our teacher, only to find out that she was setting him up with her daughter. After that, I only told a few friends about my feelings and every single one of them told me he was bad news. I actually cried myself to sleep whenever I heard he was dating someone new (which seemed to happen on a weekly basis). And remember cute math class boy? Well, he was now cute social studies boy, and everyday, I grilled him for information on his best friend. And in the nicest way possible, he made it clear to me that his pal was not my type. Deep down, I knew he was right, but I was pretty sure I could never love anyone more.
Part 2
Did you recognize all the teen drama in that last line of Part 1? I could never love anyone more? I must have been crazy. I was in 8th grade for goodness sake. But in my mind, that's when forever started. My parents met in grade school. Many of my aunts and uncles married right out of high school. So this idea of meeting a soulmate in middle school wasn't completely delusional, to me at least.
I'm pretty sure it was delusional to my friends. None of them liked him. And I'm almost positive this idea of forever would have seemed crazy to Big A (if you haven't figured out, this story is about him too), who at the time didn't know that I had any feelings for him. Not that I ever dreamed of telling him. What was the point anyway? He would never like me. He was going through a rebellious stint. And I absolutely was not. But each and every night, I prayed for him, not that he would return my affection, but that he would stay out of trouble and be safe. As much as I loved his rule-breaking spirit, I also knew he was probably making some bad decisions. In addition to being the focus of my heart, he became a major focus of my prayers.
To him though, I was just a friend, or maybe not even that. Someone to pick on in English class and completely brush off everywhere else. I'm not sure what he really thought of me, although he has told me that he just thought I was too much of a good girl for him. I probably should have been paying attention to the other boys in my grade who were paying attention to me, but it was pretty well known that my heart belonged to him. A few years later, one of my guy friends confessed that he wanted to ask me on a date in 8th grade, but he knew I'd say no because I was so hung up on someone else. And it was true. I was pretty oblivious to the rest of the male species.
When school let out that year, I was relieved to finally have a break from all the crushing. Unfortunately, his picture was all over the newspaper for a few weeks in early summer because he was competing in the National Spelling Bee (I said he was smart, right?). In true stalker fashion, I clipped every article, first putting them in a keepsake photo album and later, when I really wanted to convince myself that I hated him, poking holes in his picture with thumbtacks. After his media attention died down, I could concentrate on the task at hand. My best friend Lisa and I planned for our freshman year all summer. No more worrying about stupid boys and more focusing on having fun. That was our plan. And by the time the first day of high school arrived, I had completely pushed him out of my mind.
Until I saw him in the courtyard that morning...
Part 3
We left off last time on the first day of freshman year. I spotted him across the courtyard, and after an entire summer of talking myself out of my crush on him, with one look I was hooked again. It turned out that we had a lot of the same classes that year, so I had many opportunities to see him each day. But as much as I wanted to sit and stare at him all the time, I had bigger fish to fry. As I soon realized, high school was difficult. My classes were harder and being short and socially awkward made the rest of the experience just as difficult. I pretty much got lost in the shuffle. Thankfully, I still had a handful of close friends who felt the same way I did, and we stuck together like glue. Those friends still gave me updates on Big A and by this time, it was no secret to anyone, including him, that I still liked him.
Did you ever hear the Taylor Swift song “Fifteen”? If you have, that pretty much sums up freshman year for me. I watched some friends get hurt by boys and make really bad decisions. And maybe if I wasn’t so hung up on Big A, I would have done the same. I don’t know. But for some reason, I kept him in my heart and on my mind and didn’t pay much attention to anyone else, even though he made it pretty clear that we were just friends.
That next summer, however, I did something completely out of character. I went on a date, with a boy who wasn’t Big A. He was a friend of my cousin’s and while we didn’t click at all, I had fun and thought that maybe, just maybe I could date other people. So then I spent lots of time hanging out with my neighbor who I knew had a crush on me. And after a very brief, innocent, end-of-the-summer kiss (my very first), sophomore year started and I was right back where I left off. Pining. To the point of ridiculousness.
Before you think I was a disturbed girl with very low self-esteem for chasing this boy for THREE years without getting anything in return, I did finally come to my senses in the winter of sophomore year and realize unrequited love was not worth the heartache. I was in such anguish that one night that I literally prayed to God to help me stop loving Big A. That next morning, I woke up feeling decidedly out of love and mad at myself for wasting so much of my life on someone who didn’t care about me. I went to school that day and announced to some friends that I did not like him any more. And I truly meant it.
This is where the story takes an interesting turn, and where we see how silly teenage love can be.
So my friend Lisa told my friend Katie and then Katie, who sat in front of Big A in English class, told HIM that I didn’t like him any more. And he was all, “Why? What happened?” And Katie was all “She’s over you. You waited too long, Pal.” And he was all “No way.” And she was all “Way.” Or something like that.
And by 8th period that very day, I had snagged Big A. Not totally, but there was something different in the way he approached me after he found out I didn't really care if he approached me at all. He flirted with me. He sought me out. He acted, well, interested. In typical teenage fashion, or maybe typical male fashion, he didn’t realize how much he liked me until I stopped liking him.
The true test, though, was his answer to my big question: “Will you go to the Sadie Hawkins dance with me?” And he said yes. Although we didn’t actually dance at the dance, for the first time in three stinkin’ years, I felt like we had a real chance.
After that, there were some phone calls, a trip to the library where he later said he wanted to kiss me but wasn’t sure if I wanted him to (um, hello), and some hanging out at his house. We weren’t officially dating, and hadn’t even touched each other, but there was definitely electricity between us. As soon as I’d see him each day at school, my knees would get weak and my palms would sweat. I struggled to concentrate during each class we shared. But it wasn’t that same lamenting feeling I had before when it was just me and a crush. Now I knew he liked me, and I was just waiting for him to make the first move. I was old-fashioned that way, plus I had no idea how to initiate anything myself. Eventually he did, in the most unusual place.
Part 4
We left off at the end of sophomore year. Our first semi-date was the Sadie Hawkins Dance in March and other than a trip to the library to study and a quick phone call each night, we pretty much went back to the way we were before. I still got butterflies when I saw him at school, and he still seemed disinterested in being anything more than friends. He did like to tease me. Flipping my hair. Taking my pencil. Pulling on my backpack so I almost fall backward on the stairs. I guess that's the way
By the time May rolled around, I was getting a little anxious about what would happen when the school year was over. Because Big A and I lived so far away and neither of us had a driver's license, I resigned myself to another summer without him. We said our goodbyes on the last day of school without making any plans to see each other.
While I was sad about parting ways for three whole months, I had kind of become used to this process. Maybe in the fall we'd pick up where we left off? Maybe I'd find someone else? Maybe he'd find someone else? But the whole summer stretched before me and for the first time in years, I was okay with not knowing how he felt. No matter how the situation worked out, I had a feeling it would be for the best.
Besides, I had a busy summer ahead. I had started my very first job as an ice cream shop girl at the Tee Pee Tasty Treats. For a whopping $2.50 an hour, I created perfectly shaped ice cream cones, banana splits and milk shakes. Sometimes they'd even let me prepare burgers and fries. But mostly, I waited on hot and cranky t-ball players and drunk people who needed an ice cream fix.
A few days into the summer, Big A called and invited me to go to Pittsburgh with his mom to hear Billy Graham speak. Not a date, just something to do. So for an entire day, I wrung my hands with worry. What do I wear? What is his mom like? What will he and I talk about on the 90 minute trip to Pittsburgh? It was torture.
Because I had never been to a Billy Graham event, I had no idea what to wear and since I knew we'd be hearing about God, I decided to wear what I would normally wear to church. So in the 95-degree heat, I wore a nice skirt and shirt, along with panty hose and pumps. And he failed to mention that not only would we be traveling with his mom, we would be traveling on a charter bus with 30 of her closest friends. And I didn't have to worry about talking to him because for the first time in my life, I came down with a bad case of motion sickness. I was so nervous about going with him, that I didn't eat anything all day. Combined with the heat and poor ventilation in the bus, all I could do was sit still and try not to throw up.
When we got to the arena, he pulled me to seats far away from the rest of our bus friends. We settled in and started playing a very serious game of "There's Your Girlfriend/ There's You're Boyfriend." Every few minutes, one of us would say, "The next man/woman who walks by is your boyfriend/girlfriend." (Sorry, we were 16 years old and thought making fun of people was a perfect way to spend a Thursday evening.)
After a few rounds, it was my turn. I spotted a woman wearing a fanny pack and socks with sandals and said, "The next woman to walk passed is your girlfriend."
Then Big A did something unprecedented. He grabbed my hand and said, "I think my girlfriend is right here."
(GASP!) He was so very smooth.
I didn't know what to say or do, so I blurted out, "HA HA HA! That's so funny!" in my most obnoxious, nasaly voice.
Because I was so cool. And obviously very mature.
But with sweaty palms and weak knees, I continued to hold his hand (except for the moment when I excused myself to go to the ladies room to take off the itchy, sweaty panty hose). I have absolutely no idea what Billy Graham spoke about that evening. Not a clue. All I can remember from our time in Pittsburgh is Big A held my hand for the very first time.
And there's more! So much more! He didn't let go of my hand until we got back on the bus. After about 20 minutes, I noticed he was being very quiet, so I asked him "What are you thinking?" and he said, "I can't tell you. I have to show you."
I looked over and before I could tell what he was doing, he kissed me. My very first kiss was on a church bus on the way home from a Billy Graham meeting! Truthfully, it was nothing like I expected. Because it happened so fast, I wasn't prepared and because I had never kissed a boy before, I had no idea what to do. He also had braces, which made the whole thing quite uncomfortable. But I didn't care. I had waited for that kiss for three years and I wasn't going to let my bloody lip and a little metal get in the way.
The rest of the night was a blur. I floated to my bedroom and wrote every detail down in my journal before drifting off to sleep.
The rest of the summer went something like this for me: Work. Call Big A. Work. See Big A and kiss. Work. Call Big A., etc... In mid-summer, he got his driver's license, which helped our kissing tremendously.
All was right in my 16-year-old world... until our junior year started in the fall.
Part 5
Big A and I were enjoying our first summer as a couple, and by enjoying, I do mean kissing and holding hands and sweating of the palms. I was just head over heels for him and felt like the luckiest girl on earth. I was never quite sure how he felt as he has always been a man of few words, but right before our junior year started, he told me he loved me and I literally melted onto the floor. Of course, seeing as we were only juniors in high school, this didn't mean much in the grand scheme of things. We had a lot to learn about real love, but I knew I was crazy about him.
As soon as school started, we quickly moved into the same locker, figured out which classes we shared and where we could meet in the hallway throughout the day.
I started getting some stares from other girls in our classes and eventually I overheard some mean things being said about me. That I was boring. That I didn't have a life. That I could never make him happy because I was such a dud. The truth is, I was just a good, naive girl and some people didn't think we should be dating.
I remember one particular night when he invited me to a party with some of his friends and their girlfriends. As he and I were talking, one of the couples threw a condom at us and told us we might be needing it.
This might not have been a big deal to a "normal" 16-year-old who wasn't as sheltered as I was, but because I wasn't used to talking about sex with anyone, I got upset and wondered if he put them up to it. I firmly told him that I wasn't going to have sex until marriage and if he expected me too, we should just break up. But he wholeheartedly agreed with me, and promised he had nothing to do with it.
Big A also got his own car at the beginning of that year which meant that he no longer had to use his mom's car to pick me up for our dates. My parents were still getting used to the idea of me having a boyfriend, so I'm pretty sure my curfew at that time was about 10 p.m. But I cherished every second I was able to be with him. He picked me up from work sometimes and with our fingers laced together and me leaning on his arm, we would take the long way home, just to spend as much time together as possible. We shared everything and realized we both wanted the same things out of life - a family, a house in the country and a porch swing to sit on each night. It was bliss. Since my family wasn't in church, I went with him, his mom and his brother each Sunday.
And we went to the homecoming dance, my first semi-formal school dance with a date (his too!). We went with two of my best friends and their dates. They rented a limo, but we drove in his car.
This is us, taken at the Tee Pee, the ice cream shop where I worked. All the girls who worked there stopped in on the night of the dances for pictures. Big A and I slow danced for the first time together that night. And I'm pretty sure we swapped a lot of saliva. I'm just sayin'.
Naturally that year, there was lots of fighting and jealousy on both sides. What would young love be without constant drama? But we somehow stuck together despite mean rumors, insecurity and my bad grades in trigonometry and calculus.
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