Should Be a National Holiday

When I was younger, I used to be so impressed when my older sister would say something about “20 years ago,” or “It’s been 20 years since…” It sounded so mature and wise! I find it less impressive now, because I’m the one saying it, indicating that I might not be as young as I used to be. However, there is one “20+” story that I’m still very happy to celebrate, and that is the story of how I came to be with my scrumptious husband. Today marks the 27^th anniversary of when he asked me out for our first date. (Pause for applause.)

At this point, I think a little background is in order.

Where: Our small Catholic high school in northern West Virginia
When: February 4, 1982
Who: Two 17 year olds, one a junior (me), one a senior (Tom)
Why: Hormones or Fate. Maybe both.

I’d had a few semi-serious boyfriends before this. Tom had dated, but hadn’t really had one particular girlfriend. I’d recently broken up with a guy I’d been dating for a few months. Going out with him at all had been a stupendously bad idea, but my first real heartbreak had happened in September, and I was clearly not thinking straight. My mom hated him, and my mom never hated anybody. I suspect the fact that he was 16 and already had a six month old baby with a 13 year old neighbor may have had something to do with it. Moms tend to find such things objectionable, while 16 year old girls (who are frequently too stupid to live) don’t really see the problem until the baby’s mother begins calling her at all hours of the day and night.

Basically, The Creep (my mother’s pet name for him) was just the most recent in a long series of examples of my bad judgment. Something about that last experience finally began to penetrate my thick teenage skull, and it dawned on me that I needed to look at who I actually liked, not whoever was currently available on the high school “most eligible guys” list. You’d think something like that should be obvious, but very little is obvious when you’re a teenage girl. I should mention, though, that The Creep wasn’t really all that popular, except in a sleazy, dirt-ball kind of way, but he bore a slight resemblance to the guy who’d broken my poor little heart in September. That’s the only thing I can think of that would have induced me to waste any time on him. Anyway, good riddance.

I was just as odd in high school as I alluded to in my earlier blog about my childhood. While I got along with nearly everybody (Except girls a year or two older than I was. They all hated me for some reason.), I wasn’t particularly popular in a “prom queen” sort of way, due to the fact that I didn’t like to go out and socialize with everyone on the weekends. I guess you could say I was pretty, smart and popular, but not the prettiest, smartest or most popular.

Everybody liked Tom. He was every guy’s buddy, every girl’s “sweet guy friend,” a good athlete, and just insane enough to always be the one doing something goofy to bolster team spirit. (Ah, the genius of a tether ball with eye holes cut out, and worn on one’s head at a pep rally!) I’d been spending a fair amount of time hanging out with him and a small group of mutual friends at basketball games, mainly to heckle the officials and torment the visiting team. Then, after I’d finally split with The Creep, I was talking to some friends and said, “Hey, know who I’d really like to go out with?” Tom. This revelation was met with universal approval by my friends, and the wheels were set in motion.

Tom and two of his friends had taken to riding along on the girls’ volleyball bus, because his best friend’s girlfriend was on the team and he was insanely jealous (also a controlling, abusive asshole). They served as the equipment guys and statisticians, to give them a legitimate reason to be there. My friend Suzy, who was also Tom’s friend and a volleyball player, told him on the bus one day that I wanted to go out with him. A typical high school conversation ensued. “Lori wants you to ask her out.” “Nuh-uh. You’re kidding.” “No, I’m serious. She told me yesterday in algebra.” “She wouldn’t go out with me.” “Yes she would, you dumbass. Ask her!” “You’re just messing with me,” etc. Finally, Suzy persuaded him that she wouldn’t jerk him around about something as critical as asking a girl out for the first time. Suzy was a very determined girl, and Tom never really stood a chance. Plus, he totally wanted to ask me out.

But it’s never really that simple, is it? Such a momentous occasion requires just the right setting. Namely, he needed me to not be in the middle of a group of girls between classes so he could ask me. He tells me this took a few days. At long last, I was alone, and a very nervous boy approached. He asked me to go to the Valentine’s Dance. I said (and this is an exact quote), “Sure. We’ll have fun.” He agonized for days over that??? He’s just so damned cute!

I don’t think most people knew what to make of our couplehood. On the surface, we seemed like a very odd match. He was so friendly, outgoing, popular, everybody’s friend. I was quieter, had had several “questionable” boyfriends, was a bit of an outsider (one of the bathroom smokers, actually), and often either overlooked (by the guys) or despised (by jealous older girls who didn’t bother to get to know me).

We went out on an “unofficial” date that weekend, after a basketball game. We went to Pizza Inn, despite the fact that I’d already been out for pizza before the game. When you’re a teenager, there is no such thing as too much pizza.

It was an odd night, though. At a nearby table was a group of girls from his class (a year ahead of me), which meant, by default, that they all hated me and deeply resented their buddy being compromised by the likes of me.

Unfortunately, two of them actually had somewhat legitimate reasons to dislike me, by high school standards. One was the sister of a guy I’d dated in junior high, and I wasn’t very nice to him at the end. I did feel awful about how that turned out, because he was truly a nice guy; I just had to get a few years of stupid-guy mistakes out of my system, I guess, and he paid the price. Her friend was the girlfriend of my life-long neighbor, John, on whom I’d had a crush since I knew there was a difference between boys and girls (age 5). I’d gone out with him once almost two years earlier while they were broken up. By the end of the evening, my crush was so over. Anyway, I wasn’t the most popular girl in the restaurant.

The next basketball game after that, we held hands, and I wore his letterman’s jacket. How adorable is that?????

I mentioned that this was a small Catholic high school. We had less than 200 students, which resulted in not enough tickets being sold for the Valentine’s Dance, and it was canceled. My new sweetie announced that we were still going out, and he named a very nice (for the area) restaurant. I was a little freaked. That was kind of a lot of pressure for a first date! Plus, we would be double dating with his best friend (the asshole) and his girlfriend.

The night arrived. I wore light brown pleated dress pants, a light brown and cream plaid short-sleeve blouse, and a cream-colored corduroy blazer. I also burgled my mom’s diamond cluster ring to wear. I have no idea what he wore. It was 1982, and February, so I’m thinking something velor, shirt-wise.

They picked me up, and he presented me with a large stuffed Smurf (which I still have), and a funny but perhaps slightly inappropriate card (which I also still have). On the front it said, “To a girl with an hourglass figure.” On the inside it said, “Can I play in the sand???” As shy as he was, this was extra-hilarious!

The evening was an odd one. The nice restaurant, in a hillbilly-like attempt at culture, had a belly dancer performing, dancing and gyrating and finger-cymbal-ringing amongst the tables. This, naturally, led to our date-partners having a huge fight (He looked at the dancer! Gasp! Well, he actually was quite a pig, but no more that night than usual.), after which she went out and shut herself in the car. In the coming years, I learned that this was representative of the conclusion of most evenings we spent with them.

Tom and I, however, got along great. Our evening ended with some very fun smooching on my couch.

His female friends never accepted me. They just didn’t know what he saw in me. His male friends figured they knew what he saw in me. But what nobody really understood was that although we might have appeared mismatched, there was something between us that was beyond high school comprehension.

For me, I knew I’d found something special. I’m glad I was at the right point in my evolution to see that, before someone else snatched him up. Here was this adorable guy, pretty blond feathered hair, sparkly blue eyes, and yummy muscles. He was sweet, kind and funny, and liked by everyone he met. He treated me like a princess, spoiled me rotten, and he had the cutest bouncy strut when he was walking along, holding my hand. After dating guys who never stopped keeping one eye open for someone higher up on the high school popularity food chain, he saw only me.

And that was the beginning. The next weekend, I got his class key and class ring. We went to the Prom. He went on vacation with my family that summer. This was followed by a pre-engagement ring that Christmas, and a wedding ring the next September. I lost the pre-engagement ring years ago, but that wedding ring is still on my finger!

Twenty seven years ago today. Wow. We’ll celebrate our 25^th anniversary this September. Has it always been easy? Hell no. I am still an idiot, and he is still the strong, wonderful man who pulls me through it and reminds me what I should be, and what we are together. For a stupid 17 year old, I sure did one thing totally right.

I’ll get you all an address where you can send the anniversary presents this fall! (Just kidding! Probably.)

World's Cutest Couple, at my senior homecoming, September 1982. Note the crown... I was a princess! I also made the background for the pictures and had to throw away my socks because they itched with angel hair that would not wash out.