Awkward

I think that is the word that best describes my pre-adolescent and teen years:  awkward.

I write this post for my daughter who finds herself on the threshold of those years and has just commented to me on how awful her hair looks.

During those years, every misstep, every flaw, every blemish seems to play over and over on a huge mega tron screen in your head.  Everything has an exclamation point.  If it's good - it's TREMENDOUS!  If it's bad - it's horrendous.

There is very little room for middle ground in the middle school.

Recently, as I thought about her - I remembered me and I could still feel the sting of embarrassment from those days. 

Here's a little story from my past, for what it's worth.

In the eighth grade at LaFayette Junior High School everyone was Baptist.  They all seemed to go to the largest church in town - LaFayette First Baptist.  It was a good church and had a strong youth program.  When they had youth events the whole school seemed to buzz.  Most of my friends went there.

The "buzz" in late January - early February of 1975, was about a "Valentine's Day Dance" at First Baptist, and all the guys were planning to "get dates".

I didn't attend the First Baptist Church . . . that felt awkward.  Instead, I attended a small Pentecostal church with some strict teachings:  we didn't go to dances.  It was a kind of sad church for a young teenager, honestly they just didn't have much to offer.
But there was something like a buzz that was beginning to stir at our little church; the church had hired an assistant pastor who focused on getting something going for the young people.  Our youth group was a sparse one with an age range from maybe 8 or 9 years old to one guy who had a mustache and may have been 20.

We had begun to have some social events and were planning a "Valentine's Day Banquet" at the Chattanooga Choo-Choo.  If all the guys at school were getting dates for the dance - maybe I would just get a date for that banquet.

Betsy was by no means a ravishing beauty, but she had that "girl next door" quality about her.  Chestnut hair and just the right amount of freckles. We sat near each other in class and I set my sights on her.

I had already caught wind that a friend of mine was thinking about asking her to the dance - so that fear of missing out, provided the right motivation for me to move quickly.  I usually remember details pretty vividly (whether or not they actually happened) but I can't for the life of me remember how I asked her.  What matters is that somehow I asked - and somehow she accepted!  Betsy would be going with me to the banquet.

To understand my glee, you have to know, as far as I was concerned:  Betsy was not only out of my league - we weren't even playing the same sport.

In 1975 nostalgia was big.  With movies like Paper Moon, and the popularity of television shows like The Waltons: folks were dressing like the 1930's.  In preparation for the big date, I had gone shopping and purchased hounds tooth pants, a blazer and a polka-dot bow tie ... all stacked on the closest thing to 3-inch heels I could find.

The night of the big date arrived and we all loaded onto the church bus and made the drive to Chattanooga, Tennessee and the Chattanooga Choo-Choo.  The grand station had been converted into a fancy restaurant.  I remember that we had some sort of glazed chicken and rice dish.  With my sweaty palms I had tried to hold my silverware properly and slice up that chicken, but he put up a good fight.  When we left there was a ring of rice that surrounded my plate. I tried to cover some of it with my napkin. 

We rode a trolley and walked around a bit, but I couldn't tell you a thing we talked about - or if we talked at all.

Finally, we made the trip back home.  When we arrived at church, we all went to the preacher's house next to the church and gathered in the living room to call our parents to come take us home. 

That was when the big AWKWARD really hit. 

I had no ambition -oddly enough - for a good night kiss.  Didn't even expect to shake her hand. In fact, I had given very little thought to how the night would end.

So when my parents arrived first - I darted out the door, bidding everyone a goodnight.

It was not until I sat safely in the back seat of Dad's Oldsmobile - that I realized that I had left that poor little girl there among complete strangers - just left her there to fend for herself.  It was my parents that pointed out the flaw in my actions and bade me return to wait with her until her parents arrived.  I argued the point - feeling much more inclined to crawl under the seat and hide for a couple of months.  Finally, I submitted and returned. 

By now, at the ripe old age of fifty, I have had enough "egg on my face" to start a McMuffin Franchise - but then, at that tender ... awkward age - it was a hard thing to go back and face Betsy and all those people.

Lest anyone mistook my actions for anything closely resembling chivalry or honor - I quickly explained to those in the living room - and Betsy - that "my parents" thought I should return and wait with her.

At almost that very moment, Betsy's mother arrived and we waived a friendly good-bye in the front yard.

I remember that the rest of that weekend, I was smarting from the hangover of that awkward night - almost to tears a few times. To this day, that event still carries the twinge of embarrassment for me.

Betsy and I remained friends but never "dated" again.  In fact, my dating career -which I envisioned as having a glorious launch - would go on sabbatical for another five years. 

The bumps and bruises my heart suffered during those pre-teen and teen years may have been "just a part of growing up"; but they were bumps and bruises just the same.  They are very real; but very few people make to adulthood without them.