Growing up

I didn’t have many boyfriends growing up. I mean I wasn’t one to go kiss behind the handball court. I had a mushroom cut and bottle cap glasses; I was pretty hideous to say the least. The only action I got was in third grade I saw Andrew’s ball sack when he fell down after getting slugged by a ball in dodge ball. I don’t know if I was waiting for the chance to spot them out every time he fell or if I just happened to glance at the perfect moment to see his balls go slapping to the rough top. My first crush was Patrick and he never liked me. I would do whatever he was doing at recess and pretend to enjoy it much more than he did; I wanted to be his perfect girl. I remember running around the soccer field following him like a little nat, pretending to be chasing the ball; hoping he would go falling to the floor like Andrew had. I couldn’t wait for him to sign my yearbook and after the year was over and I was sure no one else would see my book, I drew a heart around his picture, claiming him as mine. He never was mine and in the years to follow he would always have a piece of my heart, because he was so unattainable. Maybe it was you Patrick, who screwed me up.