First Love
“Daddy, tell us the story of how you met mommy again,” my five year old daughter Beth pleaded, as I tucked her into bed.
“Oh yes daddy, please!” her sister Jane, two years the elder, echoed.
“Please, please!” they chorus, hopping on the bed.
I don’t know what fascinated them so much about this story, I seem to recount it once a week for them. But being a father, my little princesses have a special place in my heart. Whatever their reasons, I continue to indulge them.
“It was back when daddy was just a kid. Older than you girls, but still a kid, a teenager. I was in high school, actually. That’s a lot like your school, but it’s for the older kids.
“Mommy went to that school too. We didn’t know each other at first, it was a big school with a lot of people. We were in the same grade. We had a class together a few times, but we never really knew each other.
“Mommy was always popular, she had a lot of friends, and they were always together. Daddy wasn’t. I had friends, but not so many. There were really three of us. My two friends, Mitch and Dave, could tell that I liked Mommy, and told me I should ask her on a date.” The girls grinned at each other at this point, as they always do, and made kissing noises.
“I was terrified of course, and refused. They thought that was funny, and they would tease me about it again and again. One day, they were joking about me being scared, and I couldn’t stand it anymore. ‘Ok!’ I yelled at them, ‘I’ll do it!’ They were just as surprised as I was.” The girls giggle behind their tiny fists.
“I was still scared, so I didn’t do it right away. Mitch and Dave sure didn’t let me forget it, though.” As I speak, I cross the room to begin tucking Jane in. “So I worked up the nerve, I had no choice now. That year, we didn’t have any classes together, so I had to figure out a way to meet her.
“Mommy was a cheerleader, so I started going to all the games that she cheered at. But she was busy cheereleading. Before, she would be getting ready, and after something was always going on. I could see her, but I couldn’t get close enough to talk to her. I kept going, and after three more games, I found out the school needed a new person to be the mascot.
“I normally wouldn’t have done it, but I was determined now. I applied, and got it. Now I was still going to the games, but I was in a big fluffy tiger suit, dancing and being silly.” More giggles. “After three games I got my chance. Our team won, and it was a big important game. Everybody stayed on the field to celebrate. I walked up to her and took off my fuzzy tiger head.
“She seemed a bit surprised. ‘Alice Westman?’ I asked. ‘I took this mascot job just for a chance to meet you. I’d really like it if you’d let me take you to dinner some time.’ She started to laugh, for just a moment, but then she stopped and looked at me.”
“Why’d she laugh daddy?” from one girl.
“Why’d she stop?” asked the other.
“I don’t know girls. You’ll have to ask mommy.” I wink. “So she looks at me funny like that,” I make a face, too silly to be anything like the one I am describing, and the girls laugh. “Then she just says, ‘Okay,’ turns around and walks off. I was happy. Too happy, because weI didn’t even ask when, or where, or anything. Somehow she already had her phone number written on a piece of paper back in the boys locker room, in my bag. That’s another thing you’ll have to ask mommy about, I still don’t know how she did that.
“So I call her, and that weekend we go out on our first date. Mitch and Dave were surprised that she said yes. I was too, but I was happy. I fell in love immediately, if I hadn’t really already. Mommy did too, sooner or later. We went to college together, then in a few years we moved here, and you girls joined the family.”
I tucked in the last corners of the covers, which always unravel themselves during story time. “Goodnight my angels,” I told each with a kiss on the forehead.
“Good night daddy,” Beth and Jane singsonged, one after the other, smiles gracing both faces.
I smiled back, switched off the light, and quietly shut the door.
Prompt: Sunday Scribblings #9.