Boys.

My oldest is 11 years old. It seems like he is a teenager sometimes. He is moody. He is really moody. For the most part, he is a good kid, but sometimes I look at him and have to fight the desire to kick him in the face.

Now that I have a pre-teen boy of my own, I remember how mean I was to boys when I was younger.

I grew up in a family of all girls. I had four sisters, so we are all a bit naive in the male department. Not a lot of experience, and less for me, being the oldest.

I remember in particular this boy I dated.

The above photo is of me at that age, but the boy I am with in the photo is Howard Jones...more about that in a later post.

Back then I was working at a credit union as a teller, and my mom called me one day to come home for lunch. "There is the cutest boy here, cleaning the carpets." I am not sure at that age if it was very cool for me to think that my mom was checking guys out. I mean, she married my dad for Pete sake. No teenager thinks that their Dad is hot. He is just a Dad. I was skeptical of my Mom, and her definition of "really cute." So I came home for lunch, more out of curiosity than anything.

Well, she was right--the Nice-N-Clean carpet boy was very good looking.

I made myself a grilled cheese, and then casually asked THE BOY if he would like one.
He said yes. (!) And when he answered yes, HE HAD AN ACCENT!
Ooooo boy. Nothing sexier than an accent. He was English and the mystery of being a foreigner made him all the more appealing.
We talked a bit over our grilled cheese sandwiches, and eventually he asked for my phone number, and that weekend he called and we went out.

He picked me up on a motorcycle. (!) He thoughtfully brought me a helmet and everything, and he wore this leather jacket that smelled so good when I leaned in close to him on the bike.

I thought I might be in love.

That first date, I don't remember what we did. I do remember listening to him talk, just so I could hear him talk, with that beautiful accent.

We dated a few more times. With each passing date I got a little more bored. He didn't have a car, and that motorcycle thing got really old. What was the point of teasing my 80's bangs up only to have them smooshed under a helmet? I don't think he had much money, because we never went anywhere nice. Back to his house to play games with his family, or occasionally out for a burger.

Finally one night he dropped me off, and rode off on his motorcycle. I saw him hit the gravel at the end of my block, and wobble, and then go down. I hurried inside the house and shut the door. I wanted to give him his pride. To let him think I hadn't seen him wreck on the bike. He wasn't going very fast after all, and I was sure he wasn't injured. A few minutes later, he knocked at the door. He had a small scrape on his elbow, and his jeans were dusty. THE BOY was looking for sympathy, and he found me. I was irritated and completely unimpressed. I guess I was looking for a macho guy. A guy who no matter how badly he was injured in this scenario would risk limping home to save their pride. I knew we had to break up.

I turned him down the next time he called. And the next. We never dated again. I still think about him though, especially now that I have boys of my own. I wonder if they will date girls like the young me. Or I wonder if they will find a girl with a little more compassion, maybe less judgmental.

I am glad I have a few years before I have to think about it. The cruelties of dating--from the parent's perspective.

And by the way, I admit my mom does have good taste, my Dad is pretty hot, you know--for a Dad.