The story of your first date was delightful, eliciting fond memories of Thonotosassa school and of "puppy love". I had a teacher in the fifth or sixth grade at Thonotosassa who lived in Tampa and would carry notes between her younger brother and me. Reatha 7-11-03

MY FIRST DATE

We were in elementary school, somewhere in that vast expanse of stretched-out time. His name was Charles, and he was one of several boys in his family. I think there may have been some recombining of families that went on because Charles and a younger toddler brother resembled each other while the older brother looked nothing like them. At any rate, Charles was a handsome boy with the manners of a prince and a rare dignity. He did alright academically although he was not one of the class stars. What set him apart from the rest of the class was his artistic talent. Charles could draw anything he saw, seemingly without effort. Another claim to local fame for him and his brothers was the fact that his father was said to have shot off his own toe in a successful bid to avoid the military draft. The family got around in a mule-drawn wagon, an arrangement that inspired envy in the hearts of the rest of us who had only cars and trucks to ride in.
During those elementary school years the class census remained somewhat constant in our rural school. We moved as a group from grade to grade, and during those years we conducted social experiments that would become more physical as we moved into junior high school and that horrific time of puberty. We swapped partners more often than a counter-culture couples club, but all in innocence and completely sexless. Charles was my "boyfriend" several times; I think that almost every boy in the class bore that honor at least once.
Our elementary school enjoyed the benefit of an active PTA that provided class parties, carnivals, Christmas and May Day programs and summer games. In addition to those there were evening chicken and yellow rice or spaghetti suppers that were fund raisers. Proceeds from the fund raisers went for playground equipment or free lunches for families who were down on their luck.
Charles and I were probably upper class members, sixth grade or nearly so, because we had gotten the idea that sweethearts sometimes paired off for "dates". The first opportunity we saw to "go on a date" after that idea struck us was when the PTA announced a spaghetti supper. The tickets cost twenty-five cents each for children. Charles offered to buy my ticket if I would "go with him" to the supper.
It was enough to make a person tremble. I was elevated to some state that seemed very adult, and I felt the rush of being on my way to enjoying all of the rights and privileges of grownups. I still remember the tingly feelings I had as I dressed at home before getting into our car or truck (I don't remember which one we had at that time) and going with whoever it was who drove (I would have had siblings by then who could drive) to the school. I also clearly recall that I did not tell ANYONE else that I was meeting my boyfriend for a date. No, no indeed. My siblings, male and female, would have landed on that like ugly-on-ape, like stink-on-manure, and I would have been doomed to a life of unrelenting torment.
We arrived at the school, and the driver parked our vehicle. Then we scattered as rural school children could still do in complete safety. I wandered around for awhile, looking for Charles. What to do next? If I didn't find him, I supposed I could find a girlfriend and then sit with her as we ate. Ate what? I had no money and no ticket. Then I began to feel a chill. I envisioned myself sitting with a BOY at the spaghetti supper, and at least a hundred or more people staring at us and laughing. Parents would tighten their jaws and then go tell my mother. I was being BAD. A DATE? What had I done?
I saw him standing under one of the giant oak trees that shaded our school grounds. He shyly approached, and without a word he held out a ticket to me. I just as shyly took it, and then each one of us slowly turned around and walked off in different directions. I don't recall that the abject terror we obviously felt caused us to reject each other as girlfriend and boyfriend. That was a comfortable, okay situation in which to be. We had practiced it for years. But being obviously paired off - girl and boy - at the PTA spaghetti supper was an entirely different matter. I never knew who Charles sat with at the supper, but I sat with Cleo, as far away from him as I could get. I don't remember that he and I ever discussed our "date" afterward.
One day, here in Washington, I received a phone call from my friend from elementary school years, Cleo. Charles, in his fifties, had died of a heart attack. He had married and had a couple of children who had some grandchildren for him. He and his family had adored each other. They have absolutely no idea that the boy he had been is still a sweet, precious memory for an old lady in Washington State. Her First Date.
THE END