When I was in the fourth grade at Crescent City Elementary, my teacher escorted us to an assembly in the cafeteria. In order to fit us all in, the tables were all folded and pushed against the wall. In this assembly, there were students from other classes and grade levels. I loved looking around at all the unfamiliar faces. While waiting for things to get going, I hear this sound, “Psst..hey…psst.” I search for the source of sounds, and I see a cute, chubby little boy with dark hair. When he sees my recognition, and I realize that he is trying to get my attention, in front of everyone he asks me, “Will you be my girlfriend?” Well, he was cute enough, and seemed nice, and I was honored that someone chose me so I said yes to the boy I knew nothing about.
I would later learn that he was a fifth grader, an older man. The scandal! His name was Chris, Chris Crawford, and after I accepted his offer, he asked for my phone number so that he could call me. After all, the only time I would be able to talk to my new boyfriend is if I happened to pass him in the hallway. As an aside, it is important to point out an outdated “rule” of courtship that my grandparents set down. “Girls do not call boys. Boys call girls.” I guess it would make me seem tawdry. I had strict instructions that I was not to call him, but to wait for a call. That wasn’t really an issue because Chris called every day, and we talked for hours. We talked about everything and he made me laugh all the time. We were best friends. Then summer came and he went to middle school.
As we never saw each other in school anyway, it shouldn’t have mattered, but it did. We stopped talking every day and eventually stopped talking at all. I know it wasn't cool for a middle schooler to have a girlfriend in elementary school, and so that was that.
At the end of fifth grade, all three of our fifth grade classes went on a field trip to the middle school to take a tour and see where we would be going the following year. I remember when we went into the gymnasium there was a class of students sitting on the bleachers waiting for instruction, and as I glanced amongst them, a hand raised to wave. It was Chris. He had a huge smile on his face. That night he gave me a call and we slowly started talking again.
The following year we were back at the same school, and rekindled our little romance. We talked all the time to each other, but most of our friends didn’t even know. In the mornings, before school started, we all gathered in the auditorium. Each grade level sat in a different section so we could never sit together, but we would find each other in the crowd and give each other a big grin. As we got older, our friendship began to change. It actually did become a little romantic. We started writing each other notes and passing them to each other throughout the day. One particular note stood out because it was so silly and cute. It was carefully folded, as they all were back then, with fancy folds and shapes. This particular note had a message on each section as you opened. “I want to ask you something very important…If I was alone…in the dark…would you…could you…turn on the light and help me find my teddy bear!” What a comedian. I actually thought it was quite adorable at the time.
At some point, my grandparents changed phone service and grandpa told me “not to go giving our new number to that boy.” Well, lucky for me, our last four digits changed from 2124 to 2421, so when he called again, and grandpa scolded me, I told him that must have just mixed up the numbers. You can’t stifle young love.
When Chris went to high school, we drifted again, and lost touch. At the end of eighth grade, I moved from Crescent City to Palatka, widening that gap even more.
It seemed like that was the last I’d hear from him, but it wasn’t. When I was sixteen, I was sent to a counselor who suggested group therapy with other girls my age, (which is a story for another day), and I reluctantly did it. There was one girl in our group who was from Crescent City. For privacy, I won’t share her name, but she talked a lot about her boyfriend, and once shared with me a note he wrote to her. By the second fold, as I was reading, I began to recognize the writing, and then the text, when I finally opened the page completely and it read, “...turn on the light and help me find my teddy bear?” That scoundrel! He couldn’t even be original! I let her know that fool wrote me the same exact note when I was in middle school.
When Facebook came out, we reconnected there. I let him know that I had met his girlfriend, and that I was not impressed that he had given me some generic note. We joked about it, reminisced a bit, and went back to living our lives.
After my second marriage, I started attending Family Worship Center in St. Augustine. I liked how progressive the church was, especially where music was concerned. As part of church outreach and inclusion, we had “Family Bike Day” annually where families were encouraged to come enjoy a day of festivities with food, music, and activities for the kids. I was able to perform on stage, and even though he gave me a heads up, it was still such a shock when I saw Chris Crawford in the crowd. We were kind of running in the same circles of motorcycles and ministry, and he brought a friend to show support. After all these years, we were still connected, and every time we spoke, it was as if no time had passed.
After my second divorce, I was in desperate need of a friend. I really needed lifting up, and I wanted to confide in someone that I could trust, and someone that knew me, and supported me completely. I reached out to Chris, and he kept me sane. He was always down for any crazy idea I had, and we shared our love for food by eating dinner together as often as we could afford it. Although we weren’t romantically interested in each other, we were soul mates. Our friendship kept finding its way back, despite time and space. We spent so much time at each other’s homes listening to music really loudly and cooking for each other. He was an amazing cook.
After a while, I began dating again, and oftentimes wasn’t home when Chris would come by. He would message me later to tell me about it to make sure I wasn’t avoiding him. He was sensitive about those things. I would assure him not, that I just had my head up my ass, and then he sent me a bunch of inappropriate gifs to make me laugh. Shortly after that conversation, COVID happened.
For the past ten years, the term “adulting” has become increasingly popular and even become part of the Merriam-Webster dictionary, as many millennials seem to struggle with the difficult tasks of being a grown up. While I have my own struggles with life for health reasons, I was taught the basics of being an adult at home and in school. In fact, for most of us who became adults before Justin Bieber even existed, we took adulting classes in middle school, which they called “vocational education”. For 12 weeks each, we took Home Economics, Agriculture, and Business. The entire student population cycled through the courses during the year, and in these classes we learned some of the basics, with a little sugar on top. I went to George C. Miller Middle School in Crescent City, Florida. The campus overlooks beautiful Crescent Lake, and it was always a treat to catch a glimpse of the glistening water in between classes. ...
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