Eye Contact

So there weren't many of them, but I actually have a couple friends that I made before I was in high school. I was kind of an awkward and picked on kid for much my Elementary years. I was LITERALLY the kid who got picked last (if at all) in basketball. I got pushed around. I was pretty dorky looking. I was smart, but had next to no ability to really communicate how I felt and would find myself talking about things that other people didn't care about. So kind of like today, only with the reassurance that at worst, I'll always have my one vote for man of the year, from my adorable wife. She's great.

This post isn't about her though. She and I didn't meet until I was a senior in High School. Nope. This goes back before my wife was even born (Ok, maybe not, but at least before my Big Little Brother was born). This goes back to 4th grade. I met this girl in 3rd grade, and had a huge crush on her. I thought she was the absolute sunshine of the world. Pretty. Smart. Occasionally really nice to me, but definitely too cool for me. I knew it. Her friends knew it. She knew it. But I still liked her.

We'd been in the same third grade class with the best teacher EVER, Miss Ochinario. In 4th grade we had a couple crusty old women for our teachers, Mrs. Howerton and Mrs. Ross (who, to this day scares me.) We had big open class rooms with walls that were probably made out of the highest quality cardboard. There were doors leading to the glorious outside where I would play football or basketball every recess, but no doors in the back of our classes. During this year, at least most of it, I sat in the very back of my class, and this darling of my 4th grade heart sat in the very back of HER class. Each day, I looked forward to the moments when the following incident would occur.

My teacher would turn around and start writing on the board, or telling stories about something I didn't care about. Casually I'd lean really far back in my chair. As I did. I would glance over my shoulder to see if this pretty girl was looking at me. When she wouldn't. I could find myself staring for a decent amount of time. She was really cute after all, and my 4th grade had no greater aspirations than to make eye contact with this girl.

Later I would twist pretending to pop my back or neck or something. To stretch. As I would glance back, it would happen.

This pretty girl would look at me. Right in the eyes. Right through my big bug-eye glasses. She'd be smiling. So I'd do the only natural thing.

I'd turn right back around as fast as I could. Mustering courage, I'd do it again. And again. And again. And the process would repeat. We'd both pretend we weren't looking back. But we both knew.

It's that kind of fourth grade affection that was my cherished memory to share today.