Orange Crush
For the past week I have had The Best of R.E.M. playing in my car. It has been a while since I listened to this band. Hearing tunes such as Losing My Religion, Everybody Hurts, and Man on the Moon brings back great memories of high school. Memories of someone. Someone who loved R.E.M. Someone I had an incredibly large crush on from the end of 7th grade all the way until high school graduation. There is a great story here...let us go back to the year 1990, the place: Tapp Middle School.
The entire school year I had admired Shawn Dew from a far. I don't remember exactly when I first laid eyes on him, but I know that I liked him as soon as I spotted his baby blue eyes and floppy, blonde hair. His smile was what made me giggle like a young school girl (that and the fact that I was a young school girl). A few of my friends knew him well enough to talk to him. They told me that he played football. Football immediately became my favorite sport. I attended almost every game, joined the Pep Squad (cheerleader reject group), and wrote his jersey number (82) on every folder, notebook, and book cover I owned. He was my dream guy!
In the back of my mind, I dared to ask the question, "Would I ever meet him and if I did, what would that be like?" I daydreamed of the moment when our eyes would meet, we both would smile, but then the image froze each time as if someone had pressed pause. I never could imagine what words would come out of my mouth or how our conversation would develop.
Then one day my daydream came true.
Finally, the last day of middle school arrived. High school loomed in the future, sparking emotions of both excitement and fear within every 8th graders' heart. The coming summer would be spent preparing for the harassment of upper classmen and the demanding higher level classes. But at least we had the summer! The excitement of the beginning of break stirred in the air as I walked out into the commons area on the way to the buses. I spotted him - tall, blond kid coming from another pod, heading towards the hallway that led to his bus which would take him home for the entire summer. We were at the tail end of the crowd. It was now or never! With all the courage a girl of 13 could muster, I caught up to him just before he entered the hallway. "Excuse me," I managed to mutter. As he turned around we stood there face to face. It was as if time stood still, just long enough for me to relish the moment. My memory fails to recall exact words exchanged between the two of us, but I timidly introduced myself. He smiled and nodded. Some of my well-meaning friends who rode his bus had evidently told him about my obsession. He knew who I was.
"Will you please sign my yearbook?" I asked in amazement of my own bold words. I shoved the thin white book and a pen into his hands. "Sure," he said, a bit uncertain as to what I was asking but with a smile that I had come to cherish in my nights' sleep. At that very minute all was right in my world. I was having the guy I labeled 'untouchable' sign my 8th grade yearbook. This was the moment I had been waiting for, for so long. I would never forget the thrill and excitement associated with his agreement to sign my book. Then in an instant, it all derailed, crashed and burned, blew up in my face, etc.
He turned immediately to one of the two color pages of candid shots near the front of our yearbook. There was a great picture of Shawn in his Notre Dame sweatshirt, standing against the wall, smiling his great smile while talking with some friends. I panicked as we both saw what I had written above the photo. "Baby!" was written in big, bold handwriting. It was unmistakably marked with a large arrow pointing above his head. "Oh no! Does he see that? He knows! What must he be thinking? I can't believe this! It was for my eyes only, no one else, much less HE, was suppose to see what I had written!" More dramatic statements of disaster went through my mind in a flash.
He graciously smiled; half amused with my obvious infatuation with him and half embarrassed by my comment. He turned a few pages of the book, signed something quickly, and then proceeded down the hall to the buses. I was left there, staring unbelievably at the signature, playing over in my mind what just happened. I had dared to be bold and ask him to sign my yearbook, but at what cost? I was humiliated in front of the guy that I desired to impress.
Since then I have allowed boys to make the first move. After all, this is what I have been taught good Christian girls do anyway. I have, of course, flirted and sent out the 'vibe' to several men that have passed my way, but nothing too forward. I understand the need for a man to take control and be the initiator, but good grief, can a girl not make any moves? Dating is fun and honestly, I would like to do more of it. My experience with the immature male in our society is leaving me little hope of having a man step up to the plate and take a swing. Recently I have thought more about asking guys out. Why should I not? This is the 21st century. This may sound like a complaint coming from a desperate single girl in her late 20s but it is not. I guess I am just trying to figure out the best way to go about having some fun getting to know the interesting men I meet.
This story has an even sadder ending. Our first semester in high school, Shawn actually sat right behind me in French class. I am not sure he remembered the year book encounter, but he didn't hold it against me if he did. We became pretty good friends over the four years. I found out that he was not just a cute guy but very smart, humorous, and kind. We spent time together but never did I have the courage to tell him that I liked him. I watched him flirt and go out with other girls. Shawn played soccer for the school. I attended almost every home game, and in fact, soccer became my favorite sport. I even played on his indoor rec. team. The best was when I actually went out for the school girls' soccer team! I often prayed that Shawn would just give me a chance to be more than a friend, but that chance never occurred. Surely God understood that I was a teenage girl wanting to be liked by this great guy. But it just wasn't meant to be, I guess.
After graduation I lost touch with Shawn. We went our own ways and my attention turned toward college crushes. High school boys were faded memories compared to these men. At the end of my second year in college the news came. Shawn Dew had been killed in a car accident while driving home from college for the summer. The news immediately brought sadness to my heart. He was so young and such a wonderful caring guy. I was unable to attend his funeral but since then, I have visited his grave site several times. It is rather odd telling a grave marker that I liked him for five years but never told him.
I would rather take a risk by asking a guy out or at least letting him know that I think a lot of him, than allow life to pass away never saying anything.
The entire school year I had admired Shawn Dew from a far. I don't remember exactly when I first laid eyes on him, but I know that I liked him as soon as I spotted his baby blue eyes and floppy, blonde hair. His smile was what made me giggle like a young school girl (that and the fact that I was a young school girl). A few of my friends knew him well enough to talk to him. They told me that he played football. Football immediately became my favorite sport. I attended almost every game, joined the Pep Squad (cheerleader reject group), and wrote his jersey number (82) on every folder, notebook, and book cover I owned. He was my dream guy!
In the back of my mind, I dared to ask the question, "Would I ever meet him and if I did, what would that be like?" I daydreamed of the moment when our eyes would meet, we both would smile, but then the image froze each time as if someone had pressed pause. I never could imagine what words would come out of my mouth or how our conversation would develop.
Then one day my daydream came true.
Finally, the last day of middle school arrived. High school loomed in the future, sparking emotions of both excitement and fear within every 8th graders' heart. The coming summer would be spent preparing for the harassment of upper classmen and the demanding higher level classes. But at least we had the summer! The excitement of the beginning of break stirred in the air as I walked out into the commons area on the way to the buses. I spotted him - tall, blond kid coming from another pod, heading towards the hallway that led to his bus which would take him home for the entire summer. We were at the tail end of the crowd. It was now or never! With all the courage a girl of 13 could muster, I caught up to him just before he entered the hallway. "Excuse me," I managed to mutter. As he turned around we stood there face to face. It was as if time stood still, just long enough for me to relish the moment. My memory fails to recall exact words exchanged between the two of us, but I timidly introduced myself. He smiled and nodded. Some of my well-meaning friends who rode his bus had evidently told him about my obsession. He knew who I was.
"Will you please sign my yearbook?" I asked in amazement of my own bold words. I shoved the thin white book and a pen into his hands. "Sure," he said, a bit uncertain as to what I was asking but with a smile that I had come to cherish in my nights' sleep. At that very minute all was right in my world. I was having the guy I labeled 'untouchable' sign my 8th grade yearbook. This was the moment I had been waiting for, for so long. I would never forget the thrill and excitement associated with his agreement to sign my book. Then in an instant, it all derailed, crashed and burned, blew up in my face, etc.
He turned immediately to one of the two color pages of candid shots near the front of our yearbook. There was a great picture of Shawn in his Notre Dame sweatshirt, standing against the wall, smiling his great smile while talking with some friends. I panicked as we both saw what I had written above the photo. "Baby!" was written in big, bold handwriting. It was unmistakably marked with a large arrow pointing above his head. "Oh no! Does he see that? He knows! What must he be thinking? I can't believe this! It was for my eyes only, no one else, much less HE, was suppose to see what I had written!" More dramatic statements of disaster went through my mind in a flash.
He graciously smiled; half amused with my obvious infatuation with him and half embarrassed by my comment. He turned a few pages of the book, signed something quickly, and then proceeded down the hall to the buses. I was left there, staring unbelievably at the signature, playing over in my mind what just happened. I had dared to be bold and ask him to sign my yearbook, but at what cost? I was humiliated in front of the guy that I desired to impress.
Since then I have allowed boys to make the first move. After all, this is what I have been taught good Christian girls do anyway. I have, of course, flirted and sent out the 'vibe' to several men that have passed my way, but nothing too forward. I understand the need for a man to take control and be the initiator, but good grief, can a girl not make any moves? Dating is fun and honestly, I would like to do more of it. My experience with the immature male in our society is leaving me little hope of having a man step up to the plate and take a swing. Recently I have thought more about asking guys out. Why should I not? This is the 21st century. This may sound like a complaint coming from a desperate single girl in her late 20s but it is not. I guess I am just trying to figure out the best way to go about having some fun getting to know the interesting men I meet.
This story has an even sadder ending. Our first semester in high school, Shawn actually sat right behind me in French class. I am not sure he remembered the year book encounter, but he didn't hold it against me if he did. We became pretty good friends over the four years. I found out that he was not just a cute guy but very smart, humorous, and kind. We spent time together but never did I have the courage to tell him that I liked him. I watched him flirt and go out with other girls. Shawn played soccer for the school. I attended almost every home game, and in fact, soccer became my favorite sport. I even played on his indoor rec. team. The best was when I actually went out for the school girls' soccer team! I often prayed that Shawn would just give me a chance to be more than a friend, but that chance never occurred. Surely God understood that I was a teenage girl wanting to be liked by this great guy. But it just wasn't meant to be, I guess.
After graduation I lost touch with Shawn. We went our own ways and my attention turned toward college crushes. High school boys were faded memories compared to these men. At the end of my second year in college the news came. Shawn Dew had been killed in a car accident while driving home from college for the summer. The news immediately brought sadness to my heart. He was so young and such a wonderful caring guy. I was unable to attend his funeral but since then, I have visited his grave site several times. It is rather odd telling a grave marker that I liked him for five years but never told him.
I would rather take a risk by asking a guy out or at least letting him know that I think a lot of him, than allow life to pass away never saying anything.
I too miss shawn, he was a kind hearted and deep thinking guy. I often wonder what he would be doing now if he had not have passed. I pray that the faith I saw displayed in high school was true and that he has moved on to "bigger things". One day we'll know.
ReplyDeleteWhat a great memory.
- me
As a good, female, Baptist seminary student I'm sure you know as well as any about the role you are called to. That being said, Carpe Diem. One day we'll be old and grey and reflect about the past and if there are regrets, I'm confident that they'll be more about what we didn't do than what we did. And I'm sure my possible regrets won't be about what people thought.
ReplyDelete