The Ballad of Braddy and Katie

PART ONE - THE FIRST DATE

During the blog round this week, I’ve noticed a noteworthy number of posts about dating – even considering 90% of the blogs I keep tabs on are from single Mormons who spend most of their time wondering when their Prince Charming will come save them (or Princess Charming – it’s an equal-opportunity fairy tale here).

Despite how unbelievably sexy I am, I tend to get depressed when I think too hard about my dating history, partially because it’s a saga full of missteps and embarrassments, and partially because, to this day, the most successful relationship I’ve ever had was the very first girl I ever dated.

Our story begins – as all great adventures do – in Ms. Daley’s Advanced Placement European History during my sophomore year at Cyprus High School. It was spring, that magical time of year when a young man’s fancy turns from thoughts of beating the crap out of people as Samus Aran in Super Smash Brothers towards love. Her name was Katie, a pretty blonde girl in overalls who drew dragons on her notes with colored pencils, and I was lovestruck.


I’d just barely turned sixteen, the landmark age for young Mormons when we’re encouraged to start dating, and I had absolutely no idea how to go about the process (still don’t, I guess, but that’s the subject for another saga). Luckily(?), my friend Melissa thought she could help out by setting us up on a date. I’ll admit to being grateful for the assist at the time, because I was finding it a little difficult to flirt while the class discussed the significance of the Defenestration of Prague.

At this point, I should probably tell you that Melissa had been dating her boyfriend, Doug, ever since junior high. She was pretty much engaged at sixteen… actually, that may be literally engaged. They got married next year. Really, by this point, her entire purpose in socializing was to pair off all her friends.

If you want to know why I’m so opposed to getting set up on dates, the history starts here.

Anyway, my very first date was an all-day affair on a hot Saturday in May. The group of us piled into a van – me, Katie, Melissa, Doug, and… umm… Doug’s whole family. We spent the whole day at Lagoon, a fairly sorry little amusement park. We rode rides, ate overpriced food, and waited in long lines to use the bathroom. I’m pretty sure at one point I actually got on one knee and proposed to Katie – as a joke (cuz, you know, teenager).

Lagoon has this ride called the Rocket, which takes the group up about a bazillion feet and drops it. I sat next to Katie, who acted like she was totally freaked out. I decided to be comforting or whatever, so I reached to pat her hand. She promptly grabbed mine and held on to tightly until the Rocket reached the top of the tower. I’m pretty sure my heart kept floating up.

(Looking back from ten years in the future, I’m pretty sure Katie faked the whole “Oh, I’m so scared” routine to get me to make a move. Well played.)

During the ride home, Katie and I sat in the back seat with Doug and Melissa. About halfway home, I took a thing of lip balm from Katie and played “Keep Away” with it (cuz, you know, teenager). She, of course, reached out and tried to grab it back. We wrestled with it for a bit, and, when she managed to take it back, my hand landed on her knee. There it rested… for the remainder of the forty-five minute drive.

That would be a good sign, except I wasn’t actually putting a move on her. I didn’t actually CUP the knee (and that’s probably the strangest phrase I’ve written all week). My hand just kinda… sat there. For over a half hour.

See, I’ve got this attitude that any physical contact not initiated by the girl is likely to be unwanted, so I leave myself a little bit of wiggle room and deniability (“Oh, that was YOUR knee? My bad.”). I still hold this attitude as an adult – although its execution is usually less spectacularly awkward than the above, but not much.

All awkwardness aside, I think we can all safely say that the first date was a roaring success, right? Kick started my first relationship and all that?

Well, as it turns out, Katie and I wouldn’t officially become a couple for another seven months…

TO BE CONTINUED