The Ghost of Adolescence Past

Back in the day – you know that day – the day where pimples were king and hormones were the court jesters (oh wait, they still are — love peri-menopause), I got a very interesting phone call.  I was all of 13 years old and like most 13 year old girls, was convinced that I’d never have a boyfriend or worse yet, no male would ever see me as remotely attractive.  The call would change all of that.

It was *gasp* a BOY and even better, it was a boy I didn’t know.  At first, he wouldn’t give me his name, but quickly became my “secret admirer” – an occasional phone call to boost my confidence, help me get my flirt on and probably drive my dad to an early grave.  A trifecta!  (Kidding, I love my dad, but I was 13 – annoying the ‘rents was a priority.)  After a number of frustrating, yet heart-palpitating calls, he finally gave me his name.

Brent Barger.  And he wanted to meet me.

Dude, it’s about time!

This is where some of my memory goes a little stale, but it clears up at the good part.  I went to the local 5 and Dime at the appointed time and waited for Brent.  It wasn’t unusual that I not know this boy as we were just into the second year of our whole district combining in middle school, so he could have come from the other side of town for all I knew.  I waited quite awhile, imagining a knight in shining armor.  A surfer in speedos and sunbeams.  A pop star in sequins and money.

Eventually Brent arrived.

Only.  He didn’t.

You see, another boy arrived, grinning at me from ear to ear, laughing AT me and the look on my face, making me feel like the first class idiot I knew I was.  It was actually Billy Bailey.

Now, Billy Bailey was not the kind of boy you’d want to have as a secret admirer.  Especially since he obviously enjoyed humiliating people.  We had gone to elementary school together and while I don’t recall having any major run-ins with him, I do remember just generally feeling the need to avoid him.  He was bad news.  He lived two streets down in the poorer end of town (yes, I was that shallow), he was a bit of a bully, never took school seriously and just NOT what a girl would have dreamed of when she dreamed of a “Secret Admirer”.

He laughed at me.  He laughed at my anger, at my plight.  At his great score at getting little Heidi all twisted up in knots yelling god-knows-what sorts of evil, hateful things.  Boy, he showed me!!!  Needless to say, I cried all the way home.  Not only didn’t I have a secret admirer, I was also an idiot.

In time, I learned that boys did sort of like me and I was the sort of girl that could have great relationships with great guys (and, to be fair and balanced, some not-so-great guys) and I eventually forgot all about Billy Bailey and even more so, of Brent Barger.  I fell in love a few times, went to college, got married, squirt out a couple of kids, and 30 years later live my life quite similarly to many suburban housewives all over the country.  Things are good. While I thought it then, my life was not ruined by the humiliation.

Now, in the life of moms everywhere, we have added to our days the thrill of Facebook.  I’ve slowly grown a passion for it because I’ve been able to reconnect with family, get to know far-away 2^nd generation family members I’d never have the opportunity to get to know otherwise.  I’ve hooked up with some old classmates and even been able to grieve the death of my best friend, who  many of them knew and loved, via the internet and social networking.  It’s been amazing.

You know what happens next, don’t you?  Yep, Billy found me.  And truth is, I don’t think before he found me I would have remembered the alias he used as my secret admirer, but as soon as I saw this simple note in my inbox, I knew.  And my heart melted.

Hello!  Long Time!

I’m really sorry about the Brent Barger thing.

Thirty years, 4 children between us, a number of moves and god knows how many petty life happenings later, he still carried that around with him.  We chatted and he admitted that indeed he really was the secret admirer, but knew that I would never talk to him.  That he would have done anything, ANYTHING to be close to me.  I saw on a post another friend had made with scans from our yearbook that I was the one he wanted more than any other.

Me.  Little.  Short.  Band geeky.  Mouthy.  A bit bitchy.  Choir nerdy.  Me.

I was so stunned and amazed that he remembered, that it still poked at him from time to time.  And then, as we talked, it occurred to me…

…he wasn’t so much the bad guy after all.

The “poor” kids know they’re poor by the time they hit 7^th grade.  The bullies know they’re the bullies.  The pranksters know they’re pranksters.  The unwanted KNOW they are unwanted.

And I loudly, boldly, pompously reminded him of all of those truths.

All he wanted was to talk to who he thought was the cute girl.  But, I was too good for him. 

I was the bad guy.  I went home drenched in my own humiliation, but what did he carry home?  What difference did I make in his life? Not one I’m particularly proud of, that’s for sure.

But, time does heal.  And we laugh together now on Facebook.  And, I got to wish him a Happy Birthday the other day.  And we’ve admired each other’s children and shared the short descriptions of our lives.  He’s okay.  He’s loved.  He found someone who loved him as he is.  As he should be.

I’m glad I was that lucky too, finding someone who loves me as I am, because really, that beginning in 7^th grade wasn’t so cute afterall.