My first memory of school was my reluctance to go. I was a painfully shy 5-year-old when I entered first grade at Jackson Elementary School which was located in a rural farming community on the southern tip of Union County, North Carolina.
I had a strict first-grade teacher who didn’t put up with much in her classroom. I have a stark memory of her taking me out in the hallway and whacking me on the back of my hand with a ruler for talking to the girl beside me. I cried, but I never did it again.
Although I was scared to death of my teacher, she taught me to read and opened up a whole new world for me beginning with Dick and Jane and a dog named Spot.
Second grade was better. I got up every morning eager to go. Reading, spelling, coloring, and music lessons were my favorite subjects and I had a teacher I loved.
I have a vivid memory from my second-grade year of a new student transferring to our school from another school in the middle of the school year. The principal brought him into the classroom and Mrs. Sharpe, our teacher, showed him to his seat. Like with all new students, we gave him the once-over. When his shy brown eyes met mine, I was mesmerized. I think we all were. His were the most beautiful eyes I'd ever seen.
Between second grade and fifth, we all learned basic arithmetic skills. Adding, subtracting, multiplying, and reciting the times table. Those formative years were filled with spelling tests, handwriting, and mastering our reading skills. By that time, I had grown bored with chapter books and had discovered biographies of famous people like George Washington Carver and Amelia Earhart. By the end of 4th grade, I had read our teacher's entire library of biographies and wished she had more.
In fifth grade, I was assigned a seat beside the brown-eyed boy with mesmerizing eyes, and that's when my first crush began. I was in love!
By 8th grade, we were preparing for high school. I had a growth spurt that year and by the end of eighth grade, I was 5’5”, the tallest I would ever be, and taller than any of the boys in our class. I towered over the brown-eyed boy and the crush was over.
High school was different. Our school merged with several other schools so there were new people to meet and boys taller than me. I loved high school! I hung out with a group of friends, dated a few boys, and made good grades. I rarely saw the brown-eyed boy and when I did, he was still short.
The summer before my senior year, my older sister and her husband bought a new bright red Impala and I begged her to let me go cruising around town in it. Cruising was the biggest past-time for high school students in those days. We would cruise from one car-hop place to another and then make our rounds again. We hung out with friends or showed off a new boyfriend; it was a way to be noticed, and what better way than to be driving a new, shiny red car.
It happened when we stopped at the old Dairy Mart for ice cream, the one last stop before my sister and I would head home.
I noticed the car first. A turquoise 1965 Falcon Futura—stunning. I liked it even better than the shiny red Impala I was driving. Then I noticed the two boys standing beside it. One was a friend we cruised around with, but the other one I didn’t know. He was tall and thin and when he turned around, I was staring into brown eyes. Who was this guy? He was handsome and he looked vaguely familiar.
The short, stocky boy of my elementary days was grown up. He’d had a growth spurt over the summer and was now thin and almost 6’ tall. And those eyes! Once again, just like in second grade, I was mesmerized.
Today is our wedding anniversary. The brown-eyed boy and I have been through ups and downs like many couples who marry young, but our love has grown stronger because of it.
The boy’s hair has turned silver, and his steps are a little faltering, but still…. When he looks at me with those great big brown eyes and smiles, I find myself mesmerized all over again.
Happy Anniversary to my brown-eyed boy! And a prayer for many more.
