By Joe Rector
I am at that age when cleaning up, organizing, and trashing things is part of my routine. During one of those cleaning frenzies, I found a long piece of toilet paper with writing on it. Oh man, suddenly I was transported back to the age of six.
During my time in first grade, an eighth-grade girl caught my eye. Back in the good old days, elementary schools housed grades 1-8. No kindergarten existed back then. Her name was Andy Underwood, and she was the prettiest girl I’d ever seen, with the exception of Randy Butler, who was my age and with whom I attended church.
For what seemed like forever, but was probably only a few days, I pined for her. Sure, the difference in ages was a problem, and the fact that she towered over me was an obstacle. Still, Andy was the girl on whom I had a ridiculous crush.
I couldn’t stand holding my feelings inside. To this day, I blurt out my emotions, many times regretting being so hasty in doing so. At six, the only paper I had was that big stuff that the teacher passed out so we could learn to write between the lines, capital letters to the top and lowercase letters to the middle line.
I needed to scribble in my newly developed handwriting the affections I held for Andy, so I improvised and ran to the bathroom. I tore off what seemed to be a lengthy piece of two-ply. On it, I composed the first love letter, and somehow, I managed to make sure she received it. I don’t remember what, if anything else resulted from that toilet paper love letter.
Over the years, I wrote love notes to girls in school. They were the ones where boxes were checked to indicate any mutual attraction. One girl, Suzanne Fletcher, came to Ball Camp Elementary during fifth grade. She and I became a “thing.” Just as luck would have it, she moved to Tunnel Hill, Georgia. I was heart sick and wrote letters and sent them to her new address. I’m not sure if she ever wrote back.
In high school, yearbooks became places where long letters were written. If I had a girlfriend, I’d write lengthy messages that declared my affections. Not once did I ever realize that those words would be read by every person who looked at that book and that they would be preserved for future generations to read and laugh at. In my own yearbook, I blocked off an entire page for any girlfriend to write. To my disappointment, none ever managed to write more than half a page, and that was only because they wrote in much larger letters than normal.
Amy and I began dating during my senior year in college. We were inseparable, so I never wrote love letters to the woman who would become my wife. Over the years, I’ve scribbled notes of apology for things I’ve done and feelings I’ve hurt. On holiday and birthday cards, I’ve sometimes written a note to let her know how much she means to me and how grateful I am for her love. Maybe I should have written letters over the years, but I’ve assumed she knew how special she has always been to me. That’s my mistake. I hope a column or two that I’ve written over the years has expressed my love to her.
When I was still teaching, I found a piece of toilet paper on my desk. I assumed one of my students was pulling some kind of prank, and I was honestly wary of opening the thing up. When I did, I read the words written there: a reply to my first-grade love letter. Andy Underwood was substituting at the high school, and she’d remembered the note I’d sent and decided to surprise me with the reply.
Folks, be careful about what you write, even in innocence. You and I never know when or how a comment or reply might come, and the type of reply might not be what you expected.
By the way, thanks, Andy.
