June 16, 2025
12:49 am
I can freely admit that I have dated quite a few men over my lifetime, but not all of them were serious or lasted very long.
I was a painfully shy young girl and did not begin dating until I was 19 years old.
Before that, I had a long-standing crush that began in the 6th grade and lasted until after my senior year of high school. This story does not have a happy ending, but it shaped who I am as a person.
I was attending a predominantly white school in a predominantly white town in rural Oklahoma. We did not actually live in town, but in the boundaries of the school district and rode the bus to school.
We were living and growing up in a trailer park near one of the more popular lakes in the state. We were poor “Indian” kids. It was not a good time while attending school. I was bullied almost daily from 4th to 7th grade. Not only by students but by some of the teachers as well.
Our family was one of only a handful of minorities attending the school. The other families lived in the trailer park a few miles away from us; most of them were Hispanic.
Despite the mistreatment by some of the kids, not all of them behaved that way at the beginning; it worsened by my 7th grade year. My parents changed jobs, and we moved to the city before my 8th-grade year.
It was during this time that a boy with sandy blonde hair and blue eyes caught my attention. His name was Mark.
Mark was the kid that everyone liked. He was outgoing, played sports, and had lots of friends. The teachers liked him even when he was being a class clown, and he always seemed to do the right thing. He lived in town, and in my eyes, he was rich because he lived in a home. He was always dressed nicely, and his parents gave him whatever he wanted. This was my perception, though, because I did not know him. I only admired him from afar.
It was kind of obvious that I had a crush on him because I would blush and get so flustered every time I was even near him. I was this awkward girl with wavy hair, thick glasses, and I was taller than most of the boys at that age. I liked to play sports, and that is what kept some of the bullies at bay. I became just one of the guys.
Two incidents in the 7th grade cemented my crush on him even more, and I am positive he knew that. I have always wondered why he did what he did, but I was forever grateful to him for his small acts of kindness.
The first incident occurred in our English class. We were reading “The Outsiders” by S.E. Hinton. The movie had just come out and was playing at the local drive-in. Like I said before, we were poor, and I rarely got to go to a movie, unless it was a relative’s birthday. I had not seen the movie or read the book before.
I stood up to read the assigned passage, and I mispronounced the word Socs. In the book, it was short for socials and they were called “soash” or “so-shiz”. I pronounced it as socks, like what you wear on your feet. I had no idea what the word meant.
The teacher, who always called me out in the class or would purposely embarrass me, waited until I mispronounced it several times before she stopped me and asked, “Don’t you know how to pronounce that word correctly? ” Some of the kids in the class started laughing. The only one who didn’t was Mark.
Instead, he stood up and argued that he was sure that was the correct way of saying it because he and his friends had just seen the movie over the past weekend. He got the kids who were laughing to stop and actually agree with him. This time, the teacher became flustered and looked more embarrassed than I did. She had me sit down and had the next person stand up to read. Every person pronounced the word as “socks” after that. When I looked at him, he gave me a wink and a smile. I could feel my face getting hot and knew it was red. I avoided looking at him the rest of that day.
Ironically, after we moved to the city, I graduated from the same high school that the author, S.E. Hinton, attended, and where the movie was filmed. We were the 50th graduating class, and she was one of the alumni who were honored during our year-long celebrations. I digress, let me continue.
The second incident occurred during our practice for our Spring choir recital. In small towns, everything was an event, and everyone participated whether they wanted to or not. We were in our school auditorium, and the choir teacher was arranging us on the stage while doing a sound check. Each group had to stand up on the risers and sing parts of the songs we had been practicing.
My group had just sat down when Mark’s group was heading to the stage. Twelve and thirteen-year-olds can be jerks sometimes, and it is not always just boys; girls can be worse.
I was sitting there when some of the girls who regularly bullied me started throwing things at my hair. I tried to ignore them. I had looked up to watch Mark sing, and he watched what was going on with the girls in my group.
Mark’s group was coming back off the stage and walking towards us when one of the boys decided to point at every girl as he passed by and say something mean to them while the other boys laughed.
Mark was the third person behind this boy. I could clearly hear what the boy said. He was saying as he pointed at each girl, “She’s got an ugly nose, her face is too fat, she’s got ugly hair, her clothes are gross…”. The barrage of insults went on and on while the girls got more and more upset. I was sitting at the very end of the row, and as he got closer, I was dreading what he was going to say to me.
The boy then pointed at me, and that’s when I saw Mark tug on his arm. He said, “Eh, she’s cool.” Then they continued on their way. Mark did a little half-nod at me as he passed by. I turned and looked at the other girls; they were mad. The bullying by them got worse after that.
Time moved on so slowly until we finally hit summer break. It would be the last time that I saw him. We moved to the big city, and life moved on.
I never forgot him. I was lovesick that first year, but it started to wane by the time I got to high school. I discovered other boys to admire, but Mark was still in my thoughts, and I was still painfully shy.
During that same period, my sister remained friends with the girl from one of the Hispanic families. Her name was Michelle, and she would visit us at least twice a year. She would always bring her brother’s yearbook so I could see Mark’s picture and what he was up to. They knew I had this major crush on him.
Fast forward to the fall of 1989. I graduated from high school, enlisted in the Air Force, and just waited for my basic military training date so I could leave home.
It was a stressful time for me at home, and I spent a lot of time hanging out with my cousin at her college to pass the time. I also started having the same weird dream every day for a few months. I always assumed it was just the fear and anxiety of the upcoming changes to my life.
In this dream, I was walking across a bridge. I saw someone walking towards me. I could see the river below the bridge and hear the water rushing by. The person is getting closer. I look over the side of the bridge. I fall into the water and I am drowning. I see someone looking down at me, and they reach into the water, grabbing my arm and start pulling me out. I would always wake up just before I saw who it was.
Then one weekend, Michelle came to visit us. It was during her fall break from school. That morning, I had the dream again, and I finally saw who pulled me out of the river. It was Mark. He was older than I had remembered him, but it was him. He just looked at me and smiled. I woke up feeling out of sorts and not understanding why.
When Michelle arrived, she looked at me and asked me to sit down with her. That is when she told me that Mark had drowned at the lake the previous weekend. He had been out at the lake with a group of friends; it was nighttime, they had been drinking, he dove into the water, and never came up. They had searched for him for hours and finally found him. His clothes had gotten caught on a tree that was submerged in the water. He was only 30 feet from the shore.
I sat there and cried just like I am at this moment. It was and has always been my first heartbreak. It has been 36 years, and he is still my first crush. I never really got over that, and it is there underneath all the history with others. I have carried this torch of unrequited love for him with me into every relationship. I know that sounds crazy, but it is true.
As I said before, it has shaped me into who I am today. I am no longer this shy, awkward person. I no longer hold back my thoughts, feelings, or emotions from others. I tell people that I love them, and I am no longer afraid to.
When I left home and joined the military the following summer after that incident, I realized that I should be grateful for the life that I had, no matter how bad it got.
Mark never got to grow up and live the life he dreamt about. He never knew how much I appreciated his acts of kindness towards me when I felt so alone. I can only hope that his soul found peace. Maybe one day our souls will meet again, and the next time, I will call him my friend.
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Have a wonderful week ahead!
Peace, love, happiness, and good vibes, always!
Suzanne
love to bake 