The Pretty Blond I Never Met
I honestly haven't a clue
who this gorgeous blond really is. She has a faint resemblance to female Country Music superstar, Faith Hill, who is married to Tim McGraw, another Country Music superstar.
That is a moot point. All I know is that whomever this girl may be, she is truly gorgeous.
My heart-wrenching story
begins in 1973. Summer to be exact. I had been graduated from high school one year. I was still trying to find my own direction in life. I had accepted Jesus as my personal savior, and was doing my best to teach a teenage Sunday School class in my small country church.
My life was pretty much like yours. I had my high's and low's, victories and losses. But I knew why I was depressed one day and happy the next. I didn't have a girlfriend. With a diagnosis like that, I might have been a psychologist. Now we will never know.
I knew a few girls
and tried my best to make contact with them, but no dice. Oh, they were good-looking and well-mannered, but none of these girls wanted a long-lasting relationship with me which in mathematical terms could have meant from one to six months. I was not ready for marriage yet.
So I just convinced myself that being single was God's plan and went about my life as if I would never find "her," the girl who would complete me.
That was until
the month of May, 1973 rolled around. If you have ever lived in the deep south, you will be familiar with this term: Decoration Day, because it is relative and common to all church-goer's and non-church-goer's alike.
Decoration Day means a day-long celebration with events such as placing pretty flowers on the graves of friends and family, a Gospel quartet to do some great Southern Gospel singing, with a huge dinner-on-the-ground for one and all to enjoy. That sums up Decoration Day.
My first Sunday in May
started out rather uneventful. I drove my parents to our church and helped my mother carry her flower arrangements to her family's graves and helped her place them just right while my dad met his old friends and they stood under a huge Oak near the cemetery and told good-natured lies for an hour or so.
Then it was inside our church for our abbreviated-services since it was Decoration Day. My teen class took their seats. I gathered my thoughts, teacher's manual and began to pray as a customary rule before the class began. I needed God's help more than you can imagine. Teaching teenagers is one of the most-challenging jobs in the universe.
Then as class began
my eyes looked up from my teacher's manual and locked upon a sight that will go with me to the grave. The ultimate girl, a pretty blond with a figure to dream of and a coy smile that caught my attention right off. I remember stuttering a bit as I was making a point about what scriptures we were studying. The teenagers in my class laughed. This vivacious blond only smiled demurely.
Then it hit me. Why not go back and invite her to be a part of my class. Yeah. A true brainstorm. It must be the hand of God at work. So with the courage of Richard the Lion Hearted, I slowly went to her and quietly invited her to sit-in with my class. She was very kind and respectfully-declined. She never knew it, but my heart sunk clear to the floor.
From that moment to this one
I cannot tell you where those hours, days, weeks, months, and years went. I remember dismissing my class and going outside to find this pretty blond to get to know her much better, but it was now lunch time and time for that famous dinner-on-the-ground. How could I say no to my aching stomach. A single guy in 1973 still needed a good supply of fried chicken, dumplings, and cornbread to help search for the love of his life.
So I "wolfed-down" my lunch and made my escape from the people enjoying themselves eating and telling stories, so I could have time to find this girl who touched me so much and at least get her phone number. Yes, Christian guys who are single and lonely get lonely too.
I guess you are hoping for
a happy romantic ending to this story. Sorry, for there is none. I know that I walked every square inch of that cemetery looking for that sweet girl, but she must have vanished. There was no one that even seen her including my mother who knew where everyone was and what they were doing.
Needless to say, I rode hope speechless to my mom and dad who were in a great mood from the great day they had enjoyed.
Was I happy at the day I was to enjoy? No. I hate to be obtuse, but no. I was miserable.
Days and weeks passed
so I talked to my sister who went to the same church with her husband and children and she knew right-away who the girl was, but didn't know exactly what her name was.
My sister told me that she thought her name was Diane Peoples and she was a cousin to one of our Deacon's wives, so I asked how I might send her a letter not really knowing her address.
Yes, my sister said that she believed that Diane lived in Sulligent, Alabama, a town about an hour from my hometown.
So I ran to get a piece of paper, a pen and an envelope to send Diane her first letter from me. Of course my sister advised for me not to write that much that girls didn't like to read long letters. What planet are you from? I thought. All of the girls I knew loved long letters with romantic words and poetry.
So the next day, I sent my letter to Diane off in the mail and for the next year I watched my mailbox faithfully. No reply from Diane. Not even a peep.
I soon accepted the harsh fact that she didn't care for me or my letter, so I moved on with what life I had left at age 20.
Now for the saddest-endings you ever read
the next Sunday at church it was life as usual. I drove my parents to church, taught my teen class, enjoyed worship service and went home for lunch.
As I was sitting on the couch in our living room, my sister, who loved to eat with us with her husband, after church on Sunday, came by where I was sitting and sat down next to me.
We exchanged a few words, but not many. I was still coping with the let-down I had experienced with the not getting to meet Diane.
The my sister just had to say it
"Ohh, Kenny, I forgot to tell you what Gwen said," my sister said with authority. NOTE: Gwen was the cousin of Diane I told you about.
"forgot what?" I replied.
"I forgot to tell you that I talked to Gwen a week after the decoration and guess what?" my sister said to make me wait.
"what?" I asked instantly.
"you know that pretty girl, Diane, that you wrote to? Well, Gwen said on that every Sunday evening when you, mother and dad left the decoration to go home, she came back . . ."
"who came back????" I asked. Now I was growing angry.
"Diane, that was her name. She came back asking where you were," my sister said leveling my ego like a bulldozer.
We said nothing else.
But somehow I wonder.
I wonder where the years took Diane and what she is doing right now.
Now for a long-shot.
Do you think that she might be a member of HubPages? And if you are, Diane, PLEASE WRITE ME SOON.
Stranger things have happened. Remember how Joe Namath and the Jets beat highly-favored Baltimore 16-7 in Super Bowl III?