There was Bob Carroll, and he "liked" me in junior high. Problem: I didn't like him. Still, I was polite, and in ninth grade went out with him. Where we went I don't know. School dance probably. Some adult must have driven us to wherever it was.
The part I remember happened when we came home and sat on my front porch to talk. He did the talking. "Alyce," he said (Alyce is my first name and the name I was known by all through public school). So are you still with me?
Here is what Bob Carroll said to me.
"Alyce, you're not the best looking girl I've ever known, but there's something about you."
What is that? A compliment? A criticism? Was I supposed to be grateful? Besides, he wasn't handsome, you know. Had he taken a look at himself? No mirrors in his house?
No, I did not kiss him goodnight. Wouldn't have if he'd said I was gorgeous.
I think it wasn't long after that that I told him I couldn't go out with him any more. I said nothing of his looks.
This was in the 1950s, so such a thing on my part took some courage. At least for me it did. After all, if I wasn't so good looking, was any other boy going to find the "something about me" attractive?
I shouldn't have worried.
3 comments:
I used to play tetherball with his younger brother, Jack. He was rather cute, I think. But we never talked about looks.
umm. funny thing. i have a story almost identical to yours. only his name wasn't bob. and he wasn't in 9th grade. he was in his mid-20s. i guess i better blog about it.
What the hay? I guess ninth grade boys don't know what to say. Or not to say.
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