“How could I ignore the boy next door.” I couldn’t. We usually went to his church every Sunday. He went to church during the week without me. I was 13 and he was 14. I had to be seated with his mother because he played the organ.

“How could I ignore the boy next door.” I couldn’t. We usually went to his church every Sunday. He went to church during the week without me. I was 13 and he was 14. I had to be seated with his mother because he played the organ.


I’ll never forget the first Sunday I went with him. I really didn’t want to fill out the visitor’s card. Where it said, who invited you, I scribbled his name. I was shy. When the minister read the card to introduce me, I stood up. As the minister read the rest of the card he turned red. He didn’t say who invited me. At the time I thought it was because he didn’t want to embarrass me. I sat down relieved.


A few days later I read this in a neighborhood Slam Book: About the minister’s daughter, my boyfriend wrote, “My heart bleeds for her, drip, drip, I love her!” I turned to my page and he said, “she’s sweet and shy.” “She’s too good for me.” He signed his name. I cried.


Everyone knew he was fickle. The minister didn’t read his name at church because he didn’t want to embarrass his daughter, who thought she was his one and only. I lived next door to him. That’s closer than a church that was 6 miles away. He did have a crush on both of us. I saw him usually every day. We played ball under the street light with friends each evening.


In 1987, I met the same minister again, and I got in touch with his daughter. Both she and I were married of course. We joked about this boyfriend we had shared. She remembered me. We laughed and agreed he was witty, cute, fun and really one of the best friends we’d ever had. I actually dated him about once a year, until I got married. I guess neither of us took him seriously. He was my first date, and hers too. He was always the life of the party. Like most of boys from those wonderful '50s, he didn’t drink, smoke or use foul language. Such memories!