The Sunday Memory Drawer - My First Date

Well, sort of.  Nothing tawdry to share.   But it was my very first experience getting close to a girl.   And that morning I left for school, I had no clue it was even going to happen.

You see this relic above?   A transistor radio.  For a while, it was a kid's lifeline to the world.   All the big hits and you didn't have to be plugged into anything.

For me, as I have written before, it was my ticket to baseball games all over the country.   Tucked under my pillow for late night contests between the Mets and the Dodgers on the West Coast.    I was lost without my transistor radio.

Now, back when I was a youngster, virtually all World Series games were played during the afternoon.   And if there was a weekday contest, you'd be at school and in the park.

Well, one October, I really, really wanted to listen.   So, just in case, I brought my transistor radio along.   I would depend upon the kindness of a teacher.   I looked at my schedule.   We would be doing English class right when the game was on.  That teacher could be in my back pocket.

And he was.   I asked him nicely.   And he agreed.   But there was a caveat.

"Does anybody else want to listen to the World Series game with Lenny?"  Yes, that was really a long time ago.

No takers.   Save for one small voice on the other side of the room.

"I do."

I caught a glance.   Hmmm, what class have I been in?  I guess in the short month and a half since school started, I hadn't bothered to look over there. Gee, she's cute.

There would be another stipulation from the Gestapo in front of the blackboard.

"You can listen to the game just as long as the volume's low enough so the rest of the class isn't disturbed.  

Done.   It's not like those transistor radios were virtual boom boxes in the first place.

So, there we were for the next 90 minutes.   Our heads lying side-by-side on the desk, straining to hear every ground ball and base hit.  Her hair was intertwined with my face.   Wow, that shampoo has a nice aroma.   You sure do smell nice.   Incredible intimacy.   I started to forget what the score was.   Or who was playing.

It was over so fast.   I was the only kid in America that day to hate the sound of 
the three o'clock dismissal bell.

It was so simple.   And yet so special.

Oh, and just so you can put a ribbon around the story, I ran into said girl years later in high school.   I walked up to her and said hi.   I reminded her of our magical afternoon together.

"I don't remember that."

Dinner last night:  Honey walnut shrimp from Panda Express.