Sunday, July 1, 2018

"Blue Velvet" and the Lost Cause

Last week, I posted mostly about the songs and dance of my childhood. From 7th grade through 12th, I went to school mixers, sock hops, and parties, but I remember only one dance with one boy.

My high school was small—just twenty-six in my senior graduating class. While girls had “gym” class, there were no teams. The boys played basketball and baseball. The job of girls was to cheer the boys on when they took to the court or the diamond.

Throughout the four years of high school, I was enamored of one boy—let’s call him Martin. He was tall, thin, handsome, and aloof, seldom deigning to talk with girls. I’m not sure why. Was he simply shy or did he feel superior because he was a star basketball player?

He seemed often to have an expression of contempt on his face. I, of course, found this intriguing. Many years later, “The Impossible Dream” became my favorite song, and my attraction to this young man hinted at my always wanting the impossible.

Nearly everyone in my class had gone through grade and high school together, so we knew one another well. In seventh and eighth grade, we began having parties at one another’s homes. We’d dance in the basement, we girls wearing our twin sweater sets, poodle skirts, bobby socks, and saddle shoes. The “guys” dressed in jeans and casual shirts.

At one of these gatherings, when I was sixteen, Martin danced with me to the music of “Blue Velvet,” sung by Tony Bennett.


I can remember his arms around me and my thinking that if I died right then, I’d have known heaven. He didn’t talk; he simply stared into the distance, looking over my head—I was 5’ 4”; he was 6 feet. The expression on his face was one of supreme boredom. That face, smooth, with no five o’clock shadow, always reminded me—in its angularity—of El Greco’s paintings. (I studied art.)

I was so tongue-tied from the sheer joy of dancing with this Adonis that I could only stammer a word or two. Let’s be honest—stammer really doesn’t do justice to my conversation. I babbled. When Tony sang “bluer than velvet were her eyes,” I can remember hoping that Martin would glance down and notice that my eyes were blue. Surely, bluer than velvet!

He didn’t.

During my teen-age years, my eyes were the one good feature of my face. I had an extremely bad case of acne. My figure was 36-24-36. My legs attractive. My hair curly. But my face was a disaster. Because of that, I became shy with boys, thinking that if they did dance with me they were just being kind.

So there we were in that basement: Martin superior; me, unattractive and obsequiously grateful that he’d asked me to dance. With my other male classmates, I could talk sports. Cars. Movies. Classes. But it was always Martin whose standoffishness attracted me.

We danced; I mumbled a few words. The song ended; he joined the other boys at the end of the room; I rejoined the girls. They all knew about the crush I had on Martin, so Barb, Cecilia, Patsy, and Joyce swooned and asked, “How was it?” “What’d he say?” “Isn’t he dreamy!” I was mute.

Was this just me, or were you ever attracted to someone who didn’t have the time of day for you?


Peace.

33 comments:

  1. The older I become the more I find we have lived each other's lives. xxoo

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    1. Dear Joanne, it's so true that all of us of a certain generation lived the same saga. And that continues today--emotionally, if not culturally. Thanks for the xoxo--I could use a little of that today. It's so hot and humid here that I'm in danger of letting negative thoughts get the best of me! Peace.

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  2. Aw you bring back a very familiar scene of late 50‘s and early 60‘s. I had little time after 10th grade but did have a few dance moments. Our HS was huge and I had no crushes then.

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    1. Dear Heidrun, what happened after the 10th grade that gave you little time for dancing? I had that crush on "Martin" and then another crush--on a girl--when I was in college. That second one continued into the convent because she entered before I did. It's in my memoir and I had to think twice about whether revealing so much immaturity there! Peace.

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  3. I was terribly shy with boys, too. Actually, I was shy with everyone. I'd been teased by my classmates since grade school so when Robert asked me to dance, I was thrilled. Afterwards I understood why he did it. Despite my flaws, I was a great dancer. I'd watched bandstand everyday after school and copied after the dancers I so loved. Well, Robert knew this and this dance was a contest. Hands down we won, and I basked in the cheers of the crowd. We never danced again, but I had that one night that I will always remember.

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    1. Hello, thanks for stopping by and for sharing this delightful story of your dancing prowess. It must have been just such a joy to win that contest and hear those cheers. I wasn't much of a dancer until I went away to college. I'm going to post about that next Sunday. I always wanted to lead! Peace.

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  4. Loved your walk down Memory Lane. Substitute different names and different schools your memories of that era are common to many/most of us who were tenns through those years. The only thing I'd have to add is a game of spin the bottle and hoping it would point to the Adonis at my school.

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    1. Dear Jean, yes, as Joanne says in her comment, we seem to have "lived each other's lives." The same emotions; the same situations in some ways.

      We did play spin the bottle and I remember going into the closet and kissing one of the boys there. It was dark, and I'd been sexually molested by a neighbor in 5th grade and so I found myself really anxious in that closet, wanting to get out!

      Always the parents of the boy or girl hosting the party, would open the basement door several times during the party and come down the first few steps, ostensibly it was to check if we had enough to eat--but really, it was to check that no "hanky-panky" was going on!!!!! Peace.

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  5. We can all relate to your post about the dreamy guy that we stared at and dreamed about and wrote about in our diaries. You got the dance, though, and after alll these years, it is still memorable. It is better to dance just once than never to have danced at all.

    I went to two dances a week, including the high school sock hops. I was very seldom asked to dance by a boy but I always had a good time with my friends. I would go with hope in my heart that someone would pick me but realistic to know it probably would not happen. It has and still is hard to be a teenager.

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    1. Dear Arleen, yes, I did have the dance and I remember it well. It is better to have had it than not!

      We had lots of dances also, sponsored by the PTA and the school and various groups. Like you, I didn't dance much at all with boys but I enjoyed being with my girl friends and talking, gossiping, giggling. I don't know why, but we didn't dance together--we girls. We were on the sidelines, watching the most popular--usually the prettiest--girls dance with the guys. It was only later, when I learned to jitter-bug, that I danced with the girls and had a great and glorious time with my body moving to the beat of the music--"rocking around the clock" with Bill Bailey! Peace.

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  6. Dear Arleen, I meant Bill Haley! He's the one who sang that song and got us all dancing. Peace.

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  7. I might have been shy but moving as often as we did,I learned early on how to fit in quickly. Plus always being the "new girl" carried a mystique I didn't earn but enjoyed. Had we stayed in one town I'm sure my teen years would have been quite different.
    Have you tried to Google "Martin?"

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    1. Dear Patti, I've never thought about the advantages of being the "new girl." Thanks for expanding my mind!

      The boy's name wasn't Martin--that was the last name of my best friend (female.) We called this boy by both his first and last name all through school. I've never thought to google him-----but I will now! Peace.

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  8. I was on the outer as a school girl. Not one of the popular crowd, and despised because of that. My memories of those years are not positive, which is part of the reason I have not (and will not) gone to reunions. I wish them well, but don't want to revisit those years. Cowardly? Yes.

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    1. Dear Sue, I'm so sorry you had to endure being an "outer." Being one can lead to a resilience of spirit, so I'm happy about that for you. What I'm sorry about is that you had to endure feeling not part of a group that was valued. There's a line of poetry that speaks powerfully to me--"Everywhere there is one and never two." We want to be one. We want to be one with others and not "2"--the extra one.

      I surely understand about the reunions. I went to my 25th college reunion and felt totally left out. I had no photographs or stories about marriage or children or even, by then, a few very young grandchildren. I didn't "fit" with my classmates any more. My stories of having a publishing career weren't seen as interesting. It was hard for me. Like you, I was glad for those who had once been my friends and wished them well, but I felt truly like an "outer."

      I don't know that it's being cowardly not to revisit those years. Why do something that is painful? There's no intrinsic value in pain. We have to work hard to find some good in it. Of course, that in itself can be good, but we have only so much life left and so I say, 'let's enjoy it' and do that which makes us happy. Peace.

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  9. I was like Patti, adept at being the "new girl" because of all the moves we made. I went to four different high schools, and every time we moved, there were a couple of boys who would ask me out. I don't remember having any crushes on them, though. That could just be because of the distance in years: more than fifty of them! :-)

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    1. Dear DJan, from you and Patti I'm learning about being the "new girl" in a class. Having been with the same classmates for 11 years, I never had that experience.

      I only had that one crush--which lasted for 4 years! I think that if you didn't have any, you were lucky!!!!! Peace.

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  10. I met & started dating Bud in the 10th grade, so no reciprocated crushes for me!

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    1. Dear Fishducky, and, as they say, "the rest is history!" Peace.

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  11. I didn't really have a crush on a boy until college, but I did love dances and dancing in high school. That song, Blue Velvet, brought back a memory of a high school Christmas dance and a brown velvet dress with an ivory lace collar and cuffs my mom made for me. I adored that dress! And I remember dancing in the darkened gym with my date, David Townsend (are you still out there, Dave? I wish I knew!) to that song. So dreamy and sweet! Later Dave knocked a Coke over and it went all over my lap and still later he gave me a HEATHER blue wool sweater, so popular and cool at the time.

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    1. Dear Cynthia, what a wonderful memory. My mom made almost all my clothes also--the summer clothes were from colorful feed sacks that had earlier contained feed for the chickens and cows. And oh, do i remember heather blue as well as lacy collars and cuffs! Isn't it wonderful to have such good memories--Coke spill and all! Thanks for sharing. Peace.

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  12. YEP-----I had a boyfriend through high school --but there was another boy that I really swooned over.... He didn't give me the time of day --but I thought he was the most handsome boy in the world. Later on in life, LONG after my divorce, my work and my sons were my life.. I didn't date nor even think much about it... Then one year, I became really good friends with my 'boss' (who was VERY married). I really really cared about him ---but never crossed that line.... He died from a massive stroke about 10 years ago... BUT--we had remained friends up until he died...

    Hugs,
    Betsy

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    1. Dear Betsy, this memory took me back to the days of using words like "swoon" and "crush" and "sock hop." One of the joys of living a long time is that we have memories that go way back.

      "Martin" was so handsome I thought--just like the book you swooned over. It's good to have a memory of a man friend--someone who really is a friend. I have that too. We've been fortunate, Betsy. Peace.

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  13. Love that story! It brought back so many memories of my angst-ridden teenage years when we girls all had giant crushes - most of them unrequited!

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    1. Hello and thanks for stopping by! Yes, when I was a teenager we didn't know the word "angst" but we surely lived it. In college I had a crush and went out with a handsome--Hollywood style-- young man and learned my lesson--it was so disappointing! Peace.

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  14. Dee,

    Now I'm curious what you found out about him. Maybe somewhere there is a blog by a dreamy man whose high school crush ran off and became a nun. We may never know! ;-)

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    1. Dear Sandi, your comment broke me up! I'm still laughing as I type this response. Now I know I have to goggle him. I'll do that later today. Peace.

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  15. Your experience with Martin sounds like a pretty average heart-breaking episode in a teen girl's life. Oh the anguish.

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    1. Dear Judy, thanks for saying this was a "pretty average" episode in a teenage girl's life. I always sort of thought that it happened because of my acne of which I was so ashamed. For decades I thought myself to be truly ugly. In some ways, it became a stumbling block for me; it others it led me to be a good conversationalist because I wanted people to look beyond my face. Peace.

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  16. Hi, Dee. I'll add my voice to the chorus of those with unrequited crushes; I had many and was a shy kid at school. One such crush involved the son of friends of my parents. He was four years older and engaged when I "fell" for him. Four years later, he visited us again (no longer attached) and we ended up getting married!

    My mom suffered with terrible acne, too. She has related feelings similar to the ones you share. She was always surprised to learn guys found her attractive, but several did, including, thankfully, my dad.

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    1. Dear Deanna, I so like "unrequited crushes"--that certainly describes what shadowed me from 1950 to 1954 when I graduated from high school and never saw Martin again.

      I'm glad yours worked out so beautifully.

      Thank you for sharing your mother's feelings about acne. I've never really talked about it and so knowing that someone else felt as I did helps. Peace.

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  17. It was certainly not just you. Sigh. I was often the 'invisible girl' in school.

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    1. Dear Bea, in today's post I used the term "wallflower." That's what any girl who wasn't asked to dance regularly was called. I hope that both you and I learned something from being "invisible." But what a hard way to learn. Peace.

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