More Than Chocolate

As a general rule, 7th-grade boys are gross. They smell funny, their voices are changing, and they think they're cooler than they are. Straddling the age between kid and teenager, they're still wearing boy scout uniforms, but stuffed in their pocket is a crumpled page from a Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition that they swiped from their uncle's garage. Their idea of humor is fart jokes, shooting girls with rubberbands, and stepping on the backs of our shoes to give us "flat tires." Charming.

But Ryan was different. He was my 7th-grade boyfriend in 1984. A preppy boy with green eyes and freckles, he played tennis and wore one of those braided rope bracelets. I had my eye on him in 6th grade but it wasn't until 7th that I mentioned my affinity for him to a girl at the busstop. The loudmouth promptly told everyone at the busstop, and upon reaching school that morning went directly to Ryan to tell him that I thought he was cute. Nothing is secret in 7th grade. I silently prepared to have my affections rejected.

To my surprise, that didn't happen. In fact, Ryan said hi to me in the hall. And then I started running into him more between classes. We wrote notes back and forth. He'd walk me to class, and hold my books while I went to my locker. Sometimes he'd call me in the evening. He was a really sweet boy, genuinely nice, and never once made fun of me or blew me off. He was my introduction to the Nice Guy. When I cut my hair, he told me it looked nice, which is funny because it looked like a boy's haircut to me. And he didn't care that I was 6 inches taller than him.

Best of all, on Valentine's Day he gave me a great big heart-shaped box of chocolates; so big that every other girl could see me carrying it (yesssss!). And every girl on the bus was suddenly my best friend--the ones who'd previously laughed at me when they found out I liked Ryan now wanted a piece of my prize. Sorry, suckers.

In our yearbook he signed, "Love Always, Ryan" and drew a heart around the words in red pen.
As it turns out, the last time I ever saw him was the last day of the 7th grade school year. That summer my family was out of the country for a few weeks on vacation, and when we returned I called Ryan to tell him about my trip. His phone number was disconnected. I like to think that he tried to call me before he (assumedly) moved away, but this was pre-voice mail, pre-caller ID, and my family didn't have an answering machine.

This photo was taken on that last day of school. I grabbed a friend to snap it just before Ryan got on his bus home.



I eventually married another Nice Guy. My husband is a genuinely sweet, honest, thoughtful man. It took me a while to find him, but I knew he existed out there somewhere. I knew since way back when that the Nice Guy was worth searching for. So today, on Valentine's Day, before I have a glass of wine with my lovey and cuddle on the couch, I give a quick thought to Ryan, wherever he is, and appreciate the hope he gave me about the existence of men worth holding out for.

Merry GenXmas!

The holiday cards are still in the box on the dining room. My decorations are a mishmash of unrelated, non-themed odds and ends, most of which my lovey and I threw about the house 2 nights ago. Christmas Eve dinner is going to be soup because I just don’t have the energy for anything more elaborate. Gifts are modest. I started my shopping at 9 p.m. tonight—December 23rd. I'm left wondering when Christmas changed from being the thing we LIVED for all year long, into the thing that makes us pull our hair out. Our childhood wonder became adulthood I-wonder-how-I'm-gonna-get-everything-done.

Thankfully I am not alone, as proven to me by Facebook. A quick scan over the past 24 hours revealed the following:

“Now I am going to have to pull an all- nighter to get everything wrapped…”

“Don't feel left out…nobody got cards from me this year. it's called burning the candle at both ends.”

These were followed by status chantings of, “I will not feel stressed, I will not feel stressed…”

Seems the 35-42 age bracket is feeling a little less jolly and more stressy this holiday season. Not that anyone’s surprised. Haven’t we all been a little more stressy for the past two years or so?


Gen X is still strongly attached to Christmas and the holiday spirit, clinging (of course) to the holiday icons of our youth. Raise your hand if you made sure to catch A Charlie Brown Christmas for the 30-somethingth time. (Several retailers are now selling sad little Charlie Brown Christmas trees; no doubt who the target audience is.) Many of my friends are making plans to go out for Chinese food to recreate the Fa ra ra ra ra incident from A Christmas Story. We want our holidays to be lighthearted, filled with laughter and friends, and a release from the stress of the year. We can’t stand that the holidays seem to ADD stress to our lives.

More and more we find ourselves rebelling against the expected traditions of the holidays, sometimes to the chagrin of the older generations in our families. But it’s not the day itself we’re rejecting, it’s the long-held expectations developed over decades of mass media influence, retail suggestion, and old-fashioned guilt.

Yesterday an acquaintance suggested to me to “throw out the "supposed tos/what ifs/what might they thinks"”… and I said hallelujah! Thank you for telling me plainly what my brain has been screaming at me all along. We should all celebrate as we wish, and not be afraid to do away with what doesn’t fit us. Celebrate for joy and thanksgiving, and reflect on all that is good in your life.


So whether you’re opting for Festivus and its feats of strength, a solemn midnight mass, a rousing family dinner, or simply 24 hours of A Christmas Story, I wish you peace in your home, joy in your heart, and friends at your side.

School Days, Ghoul Days

One of my best memories from elementary school in the ‘70s-‘80s was Halloween. Every year my public school hosted a fundraising Halloween carnival on the Saturday before the holiday, held on school grounds. Each grade or class sponsored a booth, game, or event. The kid whose dad had a big tractor ran a hay ride through the back field. One 5th grade class made a haunted house in their portable classroom where you had to stick your hands in bowls full of scary items: the bowl of eyeballs was made up of peeled grapes, the bowl of brains was actually a bowlful of cold spaghetti, and the vat of blood was just Elmer’s glue. But the power of suggestion was strong in the darkened room with spooky sounds playing on the crackly record player.

There was always a judged costume contest, so everyone showed up fully involved. Since this was back when children were still allowed to walk places unaccompanied by adults, you’d usually see several other kids walking down the street in costume toward the school with you.

The prizes for the costumes and the various games were simple, usually just candy or a cheap trinket. I once won an Erik Estrada “CHiPs” poster there. But we all loved this annual event as if it was the most exclusive black-tie event of the social season.

In music class during the week before Halloween we always cheered when the teacher brought out the film strip projector. Every year we spent that class watching a sing-along film that took traditional tunes and changed the lyrics to fit the holiday. My favorite one of all was to the tune of “There is a Tavern in the Town,” which was changed to “There is a Haunted House in Town.” Even at 37 I find myself singing this to myself every October. The lyrics as I remember them:

There is a Haunted House in town
(in the town)
Where all the creatures gather 'round
(gather 'round)
Where the cobwebs hangAnd the window shutters bang
And all the creatures gather 'round!

There is a Haunted House in town
(in the town)
Where all the walls are tumbling down
(tumbling down)
Don’t you trick or treat, or YOU’RE the one they’ll eat
When the moon shines on the Haunted House!

--bridge--
Oh the bats and cats and witches
Keep the skeletons in stitches
As they sip their spider cider in the Haun-ted House

They're there!
They're there!
They're really there!
(really there)
Watch out
Be Careful
And beware!
(oh bewaaaare)
Don't you trick or treat
Or you're the one they'll eat
When the moon shines on the Haunted House!

Eeeeeeeeeeeeek
Creeeeeeeeeeeek
Eeeeeeeeeeeeeek
Shrieeeeeeeeeeek!

On a side note, I credit this film strip for solidifying in my brain the difference between there, their, and they’re. Those sneaky teachers always found a way to teach us even when we didn’t realize we were learning!

I absolutely loved my elementary school experience. I know that in many school districts music classes are being cut for lack of funding of the arts. It makes me sad to hear this because every learning experience at that age is beneficial. What seems simple and merely fun at the time can still teach concepts that last a lifetime.

I tip my witch’s hat to Rosewood Elementary. Every year I miss you but I thank you for so many memories.