History of Love: Part I

This post has kind of been kicking around in my head for a while. A couple months ago, some friends and I were talking about how sometimes our husbands don't like talking about past boyfriends, relationships, etc. Jeff doesn't get annoyed whenever I bring up a past boyfriend (which really isn't all that often), but it's not like it's his favorite subject either. But I think it's fun to OCCASIONALLY remember different stages of my life, because somehow, they all prepared me to be able to recognize that Jeff was my perfect match. So, what better time to pay homage to those boys who helped me find true love than Valentine's Day (and the week leading up to it).

I have always been a one-man woman. I would choose a boy to like and would be loyal and faithful to him for a long time (part of my blue nature). I also was very shy. I'm sure at least half of the boys I liked never even knew it (unless my sister or my friends told them). So, although it's probably not much of a history, it IS me.

Let's start way back....kindergarten. I started early with my crushes. The first boy I ever remember liking was Kylen Hansen. We were in kindergarten together, and his dark hair and high waisted jeans made my heart race. After my mom got to know his mom, she let me go home with him one day after school. I think she thought "Kylen and Krystal" sounded good together. I carried my "after school clothes" in a bag so I could change once I was there. I don't remember what we did, but I bet I even got to go in his room, and maybe we even were allowed to shut the door. A couple months later, Kylen choked on a butterscotch at my birthday party and my mom had to do the heimlich on him. And then there was the end of the year program when our teacher paired us together to do the Mexican Hat Dance. As far as kindergarten romances go, this was a good one. Topped off with us swinging arm in arm around a sombraro. I don't know what happened after kindergarten, but I'm guessing we drifted apart. We managed to stay friends, though. In fact, Kylen took me to Homecoming when we were juniors. My mom was the happiest lady on the block. Maybe it was the fact that she saved his life, but she always had a special place in her heart for him.

My next noteworthy crush came in third grade (and then again in fifth grade). His name was Brent Guerisoli. Boy, he was cute. His dad worked for the recreation department and Brent's wardrobe consisted mostly of St. George marathon t-shirts. I was very jealous. Brent was also super smart. He gave me a wallet sized picture of himself one day after he came home from lunch. It was the best day. Lisha was jealous (you may have a different take on the story, Lisha!). Her mom told me that Lisha started going to choir at church just so she could stand by Brent. How could I compete with that? Fourth grade is sort of a lost year, but we were back together in fifth grade. And we happened to be in the most competitive classroom imaginable. Everything was a competition, and my little heart loved every moment of it. Every Friday we would have "championships," which was nothing more than pitting students against each other to see who could correctly answer questions on flashcards the fastest. I was hard to beat: addition, subtraction, multiplication, division, states and capitals...I was good at it all, and every time I lost, I took it hard. Brent did, too, and I can't forget the time he cried after I beat him (although I'm sure I cried every time I lost). Looking back on it, that's probably why he never seemed to return my affection--who could like someone who was constantly trying to bash them into the ground? But I couldn't help it. I loved the smart boy. And I loved beating him.



Sixth grade was not my finest year. Physically, that is. I had braces and big bangs. It's amazing boys liked me at all, especially since I still wanted to beat them at anything and everything. But I managed to fall for two different boys that year. Blake Niederhauser (did I search out the best last names or what?) was cute. He rode on my bus, and seemed a little dangerous because he had a tail. His hair was short everywhere else, but a little rats tail grew out the back. It was black, like the rest of his hair, until he dyed it blonde. Ooh, I really did like a bad boy (if any of you know Blake, you probably wonder how I ever could've imagined him to be a bad boy. It was the tail). He also played the trombone. That's pretty much all I knew about him at the time, but that was enough. My journal is filled with entries about him and how cute he was. Very mature. But unfortunately, we didn't have any classes together. And so it was only inevitable that my heart would wander (especially since I'm pretty sure Blake didn't know I was alive). It was during our class read-a-thon that a boy named Jay Winward caught my eye. He sat near me (and even rested against my legs!) all afternoon, and that clinched it for me. Blake and his blonde tail were a distant memory, as my affection shifted to Jay. I remember him blushing one day when he told me I looked nice in glasses, and I was sure my feelings were returned. But that was as far as it went--accidentally touching each other and blushing.

By the time I started seventh grade, I had forgotten all about him. There was the cutest boy in my shop class named Nick Larsen. He was smaller than me, but in seventh grade, most boys are smaller than the girls, so no one seems to mind. Nick had blonde hair and there was something about the way he looked in those shop glasses...he was also the first boy I ever knew about that liked me back. I knew it because one day after shop he asked, "will you go with me?" My heart was beating fast, and I wanted to jump up and down screaming "yes!," but instead I answered, "My mom won't let me." Nick was blushing even more than Jay had been, and seemed to take the disappointment fairly well. Except that he didn't talk to me anymore after that. Oh well, easy come, easy go.

Eighth grade was all about Sam Banks. He was my debate partner in Mrs. Lewis' class and I thought he was adorable. Even though when he talked he always sounded like he needed to blow his nose. He was really quiet, and I had high hopes that the hours we spent together practicing for our debate would bring us together. At night I would listen to Debbie Gibson's "Lost in Your Eyes" and imagine the moment when he realized his feelings for me. That moment never came. While I suppose you could say that we were friends once our big debate was over, nothing more ever came of it. And I am quite sure Sam would've been surprised to find out that I liked him.

Okay...stay tuned for part two...