Woody, Dad’s new drywall partner, visited us one day and brought his daughter, Sherry, with him. I knew Sherry from school—she was in the same grade as me—and I passed her house whenever I went to visit my friend Ronnie. But I didn’t remember ever seeing her outside.
That day, while the adults talked in the living room, someone suggested, “Why don’t you kids go outside?” So Sherry and I stepped onto the porch and sat in silence. We were both too shy to speak, but my mind was racing. I imagined Sherry as my new girlfriend, and though we weren’t talking, sitting there together felt strangely nice.
A popular song had been playing on the radio a lot lately: “Ohh, Sherry baby, Sherry, can you come out tonight?” As we sat there, the song looped in my head, and I couldn’t help but feel like it was about us. I wondered what she was thinking.
Eventually, it was time for Sherry and her dad to leave. I don’t think we had exchanged a single word. But that day stuck with me for a long time. Every time I walked past her house on my way to Ronnie’s, I hoped to see her outside. Once, I actually did—just for a moment—but she seemed to duck inside as soon as she spotted me. I tried to convince myself she wasn’t avoiding me.
We were in the same grade at school, but in different classes. And, just like on the porch that day, we never spoke.
Would you love to hear more of these childhood misadventures?
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