When I was 14, there wasn’t such a thing as personal ads, or online. Online anything. There wasn’t even internet yet. But there was the Teenager section of the Cincinnati Enquirer, an insert that came in every Saturday’s paper. I read it every week. At the time I was living on a farm and interaction with the opposite sex was relegated to school, in which I was not the most avid student, nor a skilled interactor. Or with my sisters who mostly didn’t want to talk to me because I was so annoying. One day, in a fit of loneliness, I got the brilliant idea to write to the Teenager and ask for pen pals. So, I got out my pen and paper and did exactly that. It was a clumsy 14 year old kind of letter written by a guy who had yet to develop any social skills. I didn’t expect much, even being an optimist at such a tender age, but amazingly, there was my letter, in black and white in the Teenager section, three weeks later.

To my great surprise, over the next 3 weeks around 30 girls actually wrote me back. That was 25 more girls than had ever even spoken to me so far in high school. Faithfully, I wrote back to every one. By the time a month had gone by, I was spending most of my allowance on envelopes and paper and stamps. It was a very heady time for me.

Two years later my family moved back into Cincinnati from the farm because my Great Grandma Bruner, at 65 years old, had decided to get a divorce from her alcoholic husband, and needed family around to take care of her. By then, I was still writing to 10 or 12 of my original pen pals. The rest of them had fallen by the wayside for one reason or another, mostly boyfriends.

One of them, Cathy Bishop, had been a faithful writer all along, and I had developed a nice friendship with her. She was the first Catholic person that I had ever gotten to know.

Moving back into town was about the time that I had finally gotten a drivers license. Cathy lived not too far from me, so I asked her if I could come and visit her to get to know her in person. By then we had been talking on the phone for a while. She agreed, and invited me to come with her family the next Sunday, to Good Friday services at Guardian Angels Catholic Church, where she was a student at their parochial high school.

I had not ever been to a Catholic church before, and it was with some trepidation that I drove over to her house, all duded up in my best clothes, and piled in with Cathy and her parents and her 6 brothers and sisters into their station wagon and we drove to church. I was last in line as we went into the church. The church was full of people, and we had arrived a little late, and the service had already started. Her dad found a pew toward the back that had space for all 10 of us, and as we filed into the aisle, each one of her family dipped and genuflected as they entered. I had seen genuflecting before, but wasn’t sure what it was all about, nor was I sure whether I should do it or not. I decided not, since I was not a Catholic, and as Cathy, in front of me finished her genuflecting and entered the pew, I walked in at her heels.

No one had cautioned me about the fold down padded rail thingy on the back of the pew in front of us, and as I strode forward, I tripped over the rail, and fell against Cathy, who fell against her brother, and in a trice, the whole family were sprawled all over like bowling pins. We made such a commotion that the Priest had to pause while the whole church turned to look at us. I was so embarrassed. I figured right then that I was going to go to hell for sure.

We finally got seated and the service continued. As it turned out, the service was a Latin Mass, and I sat and listened to the whole thing about my father playing dominoes better than your father played dominoes. Then all of a sudden people rose to their feet while repeating the dominoes thing, then sank to their knees on the rail thingy I had tripped over, and then back into their seat. They kept popping up at random intervals, as they answered what the Priest was asking in Latin. I tried to anticipate when the kneeling thing was going to happen, and tried to be ready, but was always late with the standing up and the kneeling. It was nerve wracking.

I had finally sort of gotten used to it. Everybody but me seemed to know what to do. After endless Latin bla-bla-blah, the service seemed to be winding down. Then, starting in the front, one pew at a time were getting up, and filing down front to receive communion from the Priest. I knew that I had never had a first communion like some of my friends had, and was afraid that it would be offensive for me to go and receive the blood and body of Christ without it, so when our pew rose to go down front, I stayed seated. The whole church seemed to be looking at me, with a sort of “let he who is without sin cast the first stone” kind of look on their faces. I shrunk down in the pew embarrassed again, and counted the seconds until her family came back from down front, and I could again hide among them. It was torturous to sit there, feeling like a complete outsider.

The service was finally over and to their credit and grace, as we drove back home, not one of her family mentioned me knocking them askew.

I visited Cathy now and then as my senior year in high school passed slowly by, and our friendship grew. When Prom time came around, I really wanted to go. It seemed like it would be a cool thing to do. I did not have a girlfriend. That didn’t stop me from being optimistic, and I had asked several girls if they wanted to go to Prom with me. Unfortunately all had a boyfriend with whom they were already doing Prom. They seemed surprised that I had even asked them. One of them chuckled, and said… “with you, Sam? Hahaha. No.”

Ouch.

I was talking on the phone with Cathy one night, lamenting my lack of luck in finding a date, and she said, “Hey, Sam, I would go to Prom with you.” I was stunned. We were just friends, and I had never thought of her in a girlfriend sort of way. Truth is, I had never thought of any girl in a girlfriend sort of way, and had never even had a date. We talked about it. Kathy had never had a boyfriend before either. So we decided to do Prom as friends.

We had a good time at Prom, even tho I was the worlds worst dancer, and trod her toes too many times. The after-prom was at a theater, watching the new Beatles movie, Let It Be. It was the first time I had ever stayed up all night with a bunch of people. Cathy and I went to Perkins Pancake house for breakfast and I dropped her off at her house afterward.

I wish I could say that Cathy became my girlfriend, but in fact, her dad got a new job, and they moved out of town shortly thereafter, and eventually we lost touch.

Fast forward some years, and I had gone to college, gotten married, and watched my wife succumb to cancer. When I was making my way out of that difficult time, I was reading the Austin Chronicle one day, and came to the personal ad section. This was kind of a new thing, personal ads, and struggling with trying to move my life forward, I decided to respond to a couple of the ads.

The first girl who accepted my offer of a date was named Mary Ann. On the phone she seemed to be a nice girl, and evidently she found me acceptable, and we made plans for a date. We went to a movie, and drank cokes at the pancake house afterward, and I took her home. It had been a pleasant date. She invited me in when we got back to her apartment. I had never been asked in after a date before, and was unsure of what to do. Being married does not prepare you for dating, and I was out of my depth as far as what to do. Mary Ann was not being coquettish, but just seemed not ready to call it a night. Ok, in I went.

As we sat at her dining table and drank a coke, we talked about ourselves. I asked her what she did for a living. She said, “I am a clown.”

Ulp. I had always been afraid of clowns, They just scare the crap out of me. Mary Ann got up and went to a large closet, and threw the doors open. The closet was stuffed with clown suits and noses and all the clown paraphernalia that a clown would need. Bright colored ensembles, large outsized shoes, day glow wigs and hats. It was so creepy. I had a vision of them all flying out of the closet at once, and viciously attacking me. It was traumatizing. My heart was racing and the world seemed like it was closing in on me. I made some lame excuse, and like a coward, got the hell out of there, feeling like I was having a panic attack.

My next date was a girl named Sandy. In our phone conversation, I made sure to ask her what she did for a living. She was a musician. Phew! We decided to have dinner at a local restaurant. I went to pick her up, and when she invited me in, I saw several harps sitting around her living room. Sandy, as it turned out, played harp at a chi-chi restaurant downtown during the lunch crowd. I had never seen a harp up close, and asked her to play something for me. She played a nice baroque piece. It was interesting to see how a person played the harp. It was a big thing that she tipped back and leaned against her shoulder, as her fingers ran back and forth plucking the strings. I was fascinated and asked her if I could mess around on it for a minute. She said yes, so I took the harp, leaned it back against my shoulder, and noodled around, and realized that harp playing was even more complicated than playing a piano. I could at least play Chopsticks and Heart and Soul on a piano.

We went out for dinner. As we conversed, Sandy made it clear that she was only dating because she wanted to get married and have babies, the sooner the better. Well, I wasn’t really the one to be that for her, and said so, as gracefully as I could. Again I went home kind of traumatized. After that, I gave up on personals.

Since then I have had 2 or 3 girlfriends that I dated for a while. But, evidently, I am the worlds worst chooser, and chose women to date that were not destined for a long term thing with me. One of them had Multiple Personality Disorder. Yikes. Another was the most insecure woman that I ever knew. Both of them were kinda fun, but…

Maybe it is me. I think I am a nice guy. I am honest and fun. I have a good sense of humor. I am a hard worker. I am intelligent. I am creative. I am empathetic. I have chosen to live a life mostly of service to others. I am still an optimist after all these years. Seems like I would be a good person to be involved with. But my experience has shown me that these qualities are not what women are looking for. At least, not the women I have met.

Probably my worst character flaw is that over the years, I have become very autonomous. There wasn’t anybody around to take care of me, or share life with, so I got used to doing whatever was needed for myself. It is why I am a good cook. I can wash my clothes and iron them. I clean my own house. I run my own bidness. I don’t actually NEED someone else in my life. I think I would enjoy having someone with a vested interest, but I don’t need someone. I miss intimacy, but now, with the cancer drugs, there is no sex drive. Methinks I have waited too long. Oh well.

 Cathy Bishop wherever you are

I still believe in love, like the love of two people building a life together, but it probably ain’t gonna happen for me.

But, as I tell my friends, when they are really troubled… There is still time. You ain’t dead yet.

And I ain’t either.