Fresh Man

This past week was a tumultuous one for my son, the high school freshman. He participated in his first full-fledged Spirit Week, culminating in his first full-fledged Pep Rally. He wore his prescribed freshman colors and sat in his prescribed freshman section and yelled at the top of his lungs when he was asked to. When it was all over, a number of his friends headed out to the football field to watch his school's team take on the hated cross-town rivals. That one didn't end so well for the home team.
But that didn't matter, since by kickoff time he was on his way up the hill and away from all the action. He was on his way with his friend to meet up with his friend's girlfriend. So while the gridiron battle was taking place back at school, my son was exploring the wonders of being a third wheel. The good news is that his friend and his gal pal were happy to include him in all their teen-aged loitering and innocuous conversation. He was not asked to sit through an unwarranted amount of public displays of affection. It was a convivial afternoon among friends.
Thank goodness, since his father certainly spent enough time hanging around as a single in a sea of couples back in high school, or at least that's how it felt. I remember being at school for the ostensible purpose of getting an education, but keeping a thin veil on my actual intention of getting a girlfriend. It was only recently that I arrived at this accounting: I have had three girlfriends in my life, having the good fortune to marry the last in that string. The other two were guests at the wedding. I don't know how bizarre or unique that makes me, but it wasn't how I had imagined it when I was fourteen. By the time I was seventeen, I knew all three of these women. Thirty-two years later, I wonder how I could explain this to my son.
I'm not sure if I told him that he may have already met the love of his life that he would believe me. For that he'll have to wait for his sophomore year.