"Can I call you?"

Was just thinking tonight about a guy on the high-school paper staff in my Senior year (1983, Azle, Texas), when I was Editor. I think his name was "Jerry." I think he was a photographer, but I can't remember exactly. He was tall and smart, and had a sincere face, and dullish waxy unwashed dark wavy hair with flakes in it.

In school, we would talk, and after one conversation, he asked me with a sincere look on his face, "Can I call you?" I was obnoxious and just said, "No, sorry." Honestly, I was repulsed by his dull, flaky hair. I wasn't at all attracted to him, either mentally or physically . I didn't see where any personal phone call would lead. But I could have been a lot nicer. I could have told him the truth about my home-phone situation. I could have said it like this: "We only have one phone in our house, and it's in the kitchen. I have no privacy at all and can't really talk." That was the truth. Why didn't I say it like that to Jerry instead of just saying "No, sorry" and making him feel bad?

Similarly, I feel bad about saying "No" to Stanley Eisen, who asked me to the Senior Prom. I was a purist then, and still am, and didn't want to go with Stanley because I thought that a prom date should be someone you were in love with. And so I didn't get to participate in my Senior Prom.

In 6th grade, I wanted a part in a school play that the class crippled girl got just because she was crippled. The teacher offered me ANY OTHER part, and I said "no," because I was mad because I didn't get the original part. So I didn't get to participate in the play.

Looking back, seems like I didn't get to participate in any number of things because I wanted them to be "just so" instead of just letting them be, and allowing myself to be a part of them.