Curly-Headed Boys

Perms are back in a big way for boys. Every where I look I see long curly hair on adorable teenaged boys . . . like Kaylan Porter, Mr. Goldenlocks himself. While picnicing at Bennett Lake in Fundy Park the other day, a boy walked by with the same sort of curly do. He reminded me of a boy I met one time when I was a kid. Like most 13 year old girls I know, I was totally boy crazy. Completely in love with every boy on the high school basketball team who stood over 6 feet . . . and that year there were many of them; every boy in the graduating class and a few from grade 11; every boy who came to our school from Millerton to take shop class; every boy who dropped out of school, got a job and bought an old car; every man between the ages of 19 and 29 who lived on our road . . . you get the idea, I did not like boys my own age but put a few years between us and I was smitten. Teenage hormones are wacky things.

I was totally obsessed with teen magazines like Tiger Beat where I would get posters of my favourite celebrities and wallpaper my room with them -- Rick Springfield was number one, Scott Baio ranked high, Matt Dillion, Rob Lowe, anyone from the Brat pack, the Dukes of Hazzard stars . . . and Wayne Gretzky! Huge crush on him, posters, hockey cards, watched every game . . . would stay home on Saturday night rather than go out with friends just to see Wayne play. So yes, I was boy crazy to the max at the age of 13.

But I was also very insecure and shy. I had zero self-esteem. I didn't actually think I'd ever attract any of these boy creatures that I lusted after . . . or if I did I'd probably have to settle for one I didn't really like. Up to this point, the whole boy thing had been pretty much a disaster for me. Disappointing experimental kisses with a boy from up the road. (I do hope he learned how to kiss eventually.) I was chubby in elementary school, quiet, smart, I wasn't good at sports . . . not exactly the kind of stuff boys were interested in. On some level I was aware of the changes in my body between grades five and seven, several inches in height, slimmed down, breasts, hips, the whole thing . . . but it seemed like many of the other girls were developing much better than I was. My girlfriends used to tease me about my small breasts (if they could see me now!) and flat butt. Boys at my school still didn't pay me much mind, I was the wallflower, the quietest girl in my class. So although I was boy crazy to the max, hormonal and angsty to the nth degree, I never expected to have any boy ever pay attention to me. Which brings me to the curly headed boy.

One night when I was 13 and standing in the road smoking stolen cigarettes from Dad, a car pulled up and someone rolled down the window. It was a boy from Renous, 16 or 17. He didn't go to my school but I knew of the boy with the blonde curly hair. Everybody knew of him because he was cute and popular. He was a regular topic of conversation amongst us 13 year old girls. I was always the quiet one but something unusual happened that night. I found myself talking to this boy I didn't know, laughing, flirting a little even, generally having an over-the-moon good time for a 13 year old boy crazy girl chatting with the boy that every girl wanted and it was very easy, not forced, comfortable even. The boy wanted me to go for a ride with him in his car of course, but I didn't. He wanted to take me out sometime to a dance or something. I thought that would be okay (though my parents would've freaked out had they known). He said we'd do that and then he said good night and drove off. I went home with this new sense that maybe something had changed, maybe I was becoming a woman like the other girls afterall, maybe I would have dates and boyfriends and get to go dances and parties . . . for the first time ever I dared to hope the boy-crazy girl might get a boy of her very own to be crazy over.

I never saw that particular boy again. That same summer, a few weeks later, he died in a house fire. But I've never forgotten him and the easy way I talked to him that night. He gave me a little ego boost and shot of courage that helped raise my self-esteem just enough to survive junior high. The boy at Bennett Lake could've been his twin.

Mood: tired, procrastinating
Drinking: water
Listening To: Cream
Hair: damp still from showerhead springing leaks earlier