My very first super hopeless romance

Heads up, cause I'm sending some love out to all my peeps in the bloggernacle. I'm all about love this morning after the morning after.

I was inspired to write about love by my T/Th class since they have some serious confusion issues. They don't understand the difference between love and stalking.

Stalking is simply the expression of love, right?

In my day we didn't know what stalking was. Or lurking. We just wanted to feel close to the ones we loved so we manipulated them or their friends or our friends or their friends friends in cute and psychologically endearing ways in order to be close to them.

I don't know why I don't talk about my class more often because I have so many interesting students from so many interesting countries. This semester I have a guy named Wolfgang from Austria in my T/Th class. You'd think he'd be scary with a name like Wolfgang, but no one from Austria is actually scary.

The only thing that bugs me about Wolfgang is he laughs at me when I talk about love and he thinks all the characters we read are perverts or stalkers.

But this in not unusual. Surprisingly, most students think that Marius from Les Mis stalks Cosette because he happens to walk past her on the promenade every day with hopes of catching her eye. That's not stalking. That's sweet. When he is awakened by love, it's about as dreamy as it gets (for a self-centered idiot).

I tell my class that before IM, email and cell phones, we'd pile in the car with our girlfriends, pump up the jam--as in Wham--as in George Michael--and drive past the homes of each of our true loves. That was about as close to heaven as it got for a 16 year old in the 80's.

Then Wolfgang laughs and tells me I was a pervert or a stalker.

On Tuesday he scoffed at a cute story about how Tim O' Brien, author of The Things They Carried fell in love at nine years old with a girl named Linda who died of a brain tumor later that year. He says it was as deep and rich as love can ever get, with all the complexities of mature adult love.

Wolfgang totally missed the point and laughed and laughed.

"What's so funny, Wolfgang?"  I said, with my hands on my hips.

He said, "That's impossible AND pathetic!"

Then he continued to snicker and giggle right in the face of love.

I doubt he's ever been in love.

But I have been many many times and I know exactly what Tim O'Brien is talking about.

Love struck me deeply and wholeheartedly at 7 years old. He was an older boy, a 4th grader. It was doomed from the start because he wasn't just older, he was Canadian. Bryon Bastian was his name and he lived around the corner in a little house that I roller skated past every single day until he moved back to Canada and I never heard from him again.

But that love was so real and intense I can still feel the loneliness of it, and the longing. The terrible longing.

Longing really is terrible, btw.

I tried to tell all this to Wolfgang, but he just kept snickering and giggling.

And then I remembered this photo. And I told Wolfgang I would bring it to class today so everyone could see my very first super hopeless romance for themselves.

I thought I would show you too because someday you will be my class, (If I can get enough readers from Provo). I just hope you guys aren't opposed to writing research papers.

When I found this picture in my scrapbook today there was a little folded note that my mom had tied with a little purple ribbon and sealed with a double heart sticker. What a cute mom. I carefully untied the purple ribbon and unsealed the double heart sticker and read the letter.

Debbie was my nickname back then.

Now that I have some perspective I can see that he wasn't that into me.

And I appear to be more consumed with Christmas than with Bryon.

But you can see why.

Sigh!

btw, has anyone seen Jami? I'm starting to worry about her. She never stays out this late. Do you think we should call the authorities?