Peggy sat a couple of rows to my right and two or three seats in front of me. I couldn’t seem to quit looking at her long, dark brown pigtails. It was the first day of school in a brand-new place for me. We had just moved into a new house, and Dad and Mom were proud of it. I remember Dad saying, "Soon we’ll be middle class; we’re almost there." That was the first time I’d ever heard of "middle class." Uncle Don and Uncle Don—both of them with the same name—were drywall hangers. They liked their work, and it paid well back then.
Our house sat right across from the school, which was also new. The park next to it was still under construction. There were deep ditches, and we weren’t allowed to play there. But that didn’t matter too much, because the school playground was fantastic. I spent most of my time either playing kickball, tetherball, or pie—what some people called two-square. Kickball was my favorite, though. If there weren’t enough kids ready to play, I’d settle for a game of tetherball.
In class, I struggled to keep my attention on the teacher. My mind wandered between Peggy’s pigtails, the Pledge of Allegiance, kickball, and cursive writing, in that order. Something about those long braids fascinated me. Her name was Peggy, and her Pigtails seemed to go perfectly together. I had never talked to her before, but I was sure she was nice.
One day, Mom was asking me about school, and I told her about Peggy. She asked, "Do you talk to her?"
"No," I said.
"Why don’t you ask her if you can carry her books and walk her home?" Mom suggested.
I didn’t know what to say. The idea caught me off guard. Just thinking about it made my face feel hot. What if she said no? Worse, what if someone heard and made fun of me? Still, the thought of walking with Peggy stayed in my mind.
The next day at school, I found myself watching her even more. The way she walked, how she smiled when she talked to her friends. I kept trying to work up the nerve to say something. Then, suddenly, the opportunity came.
We ended up face-to-face at the classroom door. I said, "Hi."
"Hi," she said back.
That was it. Nothing else. But just that one word felt like a victory.
A few more days went by, and each time we passed each other, we exchanged "hi's." That gave me confidence. I was determined to ask her the big question. I already knew where she lived—one day, I watched her cut through the park, and I saw which house she went into. It wasn’t far from mine, just on the other side of the school.
Finally, one afternoon, I mustered the courage. As we were leaving school, I caught up to her.
"Can I walk you home? I can carry your books for you," I asked, my heart pounding.
She hesitated, then said, "You can walk with me. I can carry my books."
I hadn’t expected that. I thought I’d get a yes or a no, not a compromise. But I wasn’t about to argue.
"Okay," I said. And just like that, I was walking Peggy home.
We didn’t talk much. Just a few words here and there. When we reached her house, she said, "See you tomorrow," and went inside. I walked home, my mind racing. Peggy was really nice. Would anybody tease me for having a girlfriend? And did I even care?
The next day, I walked her home again. This time, when I asked if she would let me carry her books, she handed them over without hesitation. That’s when I knew I had a girlfriend.
Nobody teased me. If anything, it felt normal, like it was supposed to happen. The second time I walked her home, her mother was waiting on the porch. As soon as we reached the steps, she asked, "Where do you live?"
I pointed in the direction of my house. "Right behind the school," I said.
She nodded and didn’t say much else. I wasn’t sure what she thought about me, but at least she didn’t tell me to stop walking Peggy home.
For the rest of the school year, Peggy and I walked home together almost every day. We didn’t talk much; We just liked being together, and that was enough. We quit cutting through the park and walked the longer way around the park.
Then summer came, and I didn’t see Peggy at all. The park across the street became my new focus. I could see her house from the playground, but she never came outside.
When school started again, I looked for Peggy. I searched the classroom, the halls, and the playground. But she wasn’t there.
I finally realized she had moved away.
My first girlfriend was gone, and I never saw her again.
Would you love to hear more of these childhood misadventures?
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