By Lad Moore
I wouldn’t trade it for a big church wedding and a honeymoon in Hawaii.
I leaned over the ladder in Suzanne’s swimming pool so that I would be sure to catch the swimmer’s ear when she surfaced. I had been instantly smitten by her beauty and grace in the pool—an Esther Williams crush, so to speak. Yes, I had seen this girl at school, and her name was Kay. I also knew she was a friend of Suzanne’s, my date for tonight’s Mr. Touchdown Dance.
Droplets of water scattered like gems as she tossed her hair from side to side in the reflected light. As she patted her face with a terry towel, I introduced myself. Then, perhaps overly hasty and anxious, I leapt from quick introduction to asking her to the movie the following Friday. In words that poured over me like hot wax, she promptly informed me that she was going steady. It was 1959—a time when the words “going steady” were respected covenants akin to those other oaths—“King’s X,” and “Crossing hearts and hoping to die.” And die I did. In an instant, my hopes were dashed. Maybe I shouldn’t have rushed things so.