I never mentioned those five weeks on campus at the Hill Summer Program where I met your dad. It’s the same place I met his current high school adviser. I never said anything about how we both went our separate ways our 9th grade year until that one track meet in the spring of 1996. How I then became his boo boo and he my pookie bear; the names engraved in the silver bracelet held in my jewelry box.
It was teenage love. Instant. Fast. Messy. Funny and sad all at the same time. But it was real for me. I still even loved him when I finally left and it took me until my early 20’s to finally not “love” hurt anymore. But totally be angry hurt.
That high school love was real.
We were part of a pack of five unruly scholarship kids from Newark heading to elite white boarding schools. Shipped off to the middle of PA without our parents.
I was in a “relationship” of 2 years with Eddie at the time. Getting accepted into boarding school meant that I had to go to PA and assimilate to campus living with scheduled classes to be better acclimated to moving into a dorm during the school year.
I don’t remember exactly what the first hello was like. Where we stood, what we wore or what was said. I do know that once we did, we were inseparable the entire 5 weeks. So much so that we hid behind bushes and snuck into class rooms to make out. I wasn’t a virgin at the time and he claimed to have already slept with 11 girls. It was a lie. And before the summer was over, I took his virginity. Behind a couch. On the floor. In a dorm. On the Hill.
We spent that summer eating breakfast cooked by white people. Sat on the quad reading Of Mice and Men. We talked about the schools we were going to and realized that Westtown and George School has a lengthy history of rivalry with a yearly cup.
Before the five weeks were over, we had laughed at jokes, went white water rafting, visited the Baltimore piers and walked the mall. We went to DC and museum hopped. Played soccer for the first time ever in intense heat. Learned what lacrosse was and that ice hockey was played on the high school level. We learned to be free and fear the lighting that came after a 3 month drought.
At night, when we turned into our dorms, he’d call his sister and I tried to call my boyfriend who questioned my absence or daily routine.
Lunch time was always a riot as we tried to chew and swallow in between the laughter. There was a weekend trip to Hershey Park and the ride on the giant Hershey kiss. I entered my first talent show ever- and won.
The summer of 1995 was a summer to remember. But once it was over, it was over.
September rolled around and off to campus we went. I played volleyball in the fall and he played football. In the winter I managed the wrestling team and he held the 145 pound slot on his wrestling team. In the spring I threw the shot put, discus and javelin and he didn’t participate in much.
Then one spring day I arrived at George School campus for the track meet. Your dad was about to go play a game of Lacrosse with his friends. He recounts the story as someone yelling “Jane is on campus on the Track field.” He said he ran back to his dorm, he showered, changed his clothes and walked over to the meet.
He called my name after my shot put throw. We sat together. Caught up. He watched me throw the javelin. We talked some more. We laughed. We exchanged numbers of the pay phones on our halls and the number of the main office. We jotted down study hall hours and dinner time and coordinated calls through the week.
The years that followed I cheered for him on the football sidelines. I yelled moves from the benches of wrestling matches. We met at school dances. We called each other a lot. We spent weekends in Newark. We had lot of sex.
It all started in the summer of 1995 and four years later, we became your parents.
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