But it's just the way we were back then.

They were twins. While I hadn't known them well, they were neighbor boys from my teen years, now home on leave from the military.

It was Christmas, l959 and I had been graduated from high school the previous June. I was at the skating rink when, from the rink floor, I saw them come through the door.

By then I was no longer called “Olive Oyl” and had, for the first time enough speck on my bones for which to experience some sense of attraction to a guy. I noticed I had caught their eye from the sidelines and hoped I might get a phone call from one of them that week.

Sure enough. The phone rang and it was Wesley (not his real name). Of course, I said “yes” when he asked to take me out. The plans were for Saturday night.

I could hardly wait for the week to fly by, but at the same time, I worried about all those things for which most girls back then feared. “Would I make an etiquette mistake?” “How would I introduce him to my mom?,” etc. For days I practiced: “Mom I'd like you to meet Wesley.” “Wesley, this is my Mom.”

Saturday night came and I got through that part. Then I waited while he opened the car door. It all felt very strange to me because I grew up skinny and dates were not a part of my life. Oh yes, I had a boyfriend a short time while in high school, but he thumbed rides to Riverside to see me and our relationship wasn't much different than that of the kids with whom I went roller skating. Plus, I was never serious about him

Wesley took me to see Peyton Place!” We arrived at the theater in Berwick and, as we crossed the main street to the theater, I felt ten feet tall next to this man in Air Force uniform. I hoped I wouldn't blow it by saying something stupid.

Then, somewhere in the middle of the movie one of the actors asked, “Did you ever go swimming in the raw?” Everyone laughed. Except me. I turned to ask Wesley what swimming in the raw meant. Awkwardly, he waved his hand and said, “it means swimming without any clothes on.” I thought I'd die! My adoptive dad was a worry wort and didn't allow me to go swimming. I not only didn't know how to swim, but I certainly wouldn't have thought of swimming in my birthday suit. I knew that was my first blow at a chance for anything to blossom.

It was customary, in our day, to stop at a roadside restaurant after a date. I knew it was coming and I was filled with dread. I had never eaten much EVER. But to eat in front of a guy was totally nothing I ever wrote about in my diary!

The waitress brought us a menu. As I recall we were the only ones in the restaurant that night which added to the coldness in the air. Finally she came to take our order. Rather sheepishly I said, “I just want a coke.” Thus he, too, ordered a coke.

As we drove home I knew my worse fears had overtaken me and I had blown my chances. Hope escaped me. Halfheartedly, in the days that followed, I waited for the phone to ring. But our little pink Princess sat silent.

Later, I drove past Wesley's house. I had to pass it since it was up the street from my place. I saw his twin brother close to the road and stopped to talk to him. Immediately I was totally comfortable with him.

A few days later he picked me up in his mom's '57 Chevy. Conversation came easy and I was elated walking to the theater with this young man in full Navy uniform.

Our friendship grew as we continued to date.  He was stationed at Newport, RI and thumbed a ride home every weekend. For Valentine's Day he gave me a black onyx bracelet (which I still have today).

That same February, amid tears, we parted for his return to the naval base. His ship was leaving for an eight month Mediterranean cruise. The following October I had a shoebox full of letters, each embossed with the print of his ship. I waited, longing for his return.

He did return, but not to me.

It was Ralph Lloyd Tennyson who wrote:

I hold it true, whate'er befall;

I feel it, when I sorrow most;

'Tis better to have loved and lost

Than never to have loved at all.

I know today's teenagers are far less naive than those from my era. But it's just the way we were back then.