My first love was a boy in my class at elementary school. His initials were ‘ME’. Mine were ‘MR’. What he saw in me I’ll never know, but he’d write our initials within a heart on the board for the whole class to see. And he wasn’t just teasing, we enjoyed each other.
He often invited me to play with him and his sister after school. Theirs was a child-oriented home with many games and books. I never forgot that and made sure my young children had them too.
When we were 10, he invited me to see ‘The Fun Parade’ with him at the Forum. We heard it on radio. (No one had TVs.) It wasn’t expensive — perhaps a dollar. We paid for our own tickets. There was a huge crowd, not much came to Montreal then.
At intermission, he jumped up like a Jack-in-the-box and announced: ‘I’m going to get you a hot dog and a coke.’ He didn’t ask, just ran off. I suppose his mom gave him money and told him to treat me. She must have been amused by the whole episode.
Unfortunately shortly after that, his family moved to Winnipeg. (That was long before computers or email.) I never saw or heard from him again. Did we ever kiss? Of course not!
When daughter Susan asked for a story about when I was young, I checked Google and learned that he, like so many of my other old friends, had died. Looking at his photo, I tried to see the young boy in his adult face. I found it impossible.
However, I was pleased and not surprised he’d obviously had an involved and worthwhile life, a lengthy marriage, and a family that loved him.