Just like nearly all kids across the country, I exchanged cute, simple little Valentines with my classmates when I was in grade school in the 1970s. When I was in first grade, my package of cards came with one oversized card for someone special. It had a big picture of a puppy on it. I chose to give it to a girl named Lesley. She was a nice girl with long, beautiful coal black hair. People made too much of my decision, and assumed I had a heterosexual crush on Lesley. This embarrassed me, and it was hard for me to talk to Lesley after that.
Our middle school was much, much larger than our grade school, and I hardly ever saw Lesley when we got older even though she was a neighbor. Then when we were about 13, I heard Lesley had leukemia. I can recall standing with several boys by one of the side entrances of the school when Lesley walked through the parking lot with a couple of her friends. She had a scarf wrapped around her head. Her flowing black hair was gone. That was the last time I saw her.
I always think of Lesley on Valentine’s Day. I suspect we might have been good friends if adults had not misinterpreted my attraction to her.
Our middle school was much, much larger than our grade school, and I hardly ever saw Lesley when we got older even though she was a neighbor. Then when we were about 13, I heard Lesley had leukemia. I can recall standing with several boys by one of the side entrances of the school when Lesley walked through the parking lot with a couple of her friends. She had a scarf wrapped around her head. Her flowing black hair was gone. That was the last time I saw her.
I always think of Lesley on Valentine’s Day. I suspect we might have been good friends if adults had not misinterpreted my attraction to her.
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