Milestones
January 2008

Ever since I popped the question to my lovely lady Yael, random memories and images from my formative years have emerged frequently. These anecdotes seem to be the doing of my inner consciousness, as it takes stock of my pre-married life. A bit of "This was your life, Hal Miller," perhaps? Well, I'm certainly glad it WAS my life. I was a little, um, uptight, back then; my outward behavior did in no way reflect my budding, inner yearning for female acquaintanceship. Here is the first of the many ridiculous and telling moments from my adolescence.

The story you are about to hear is true. The names have been changed to protect the guilty.

Being 13 or 14 years old was confusing and really unfun (that's a Jawbreaker reference, not a typo). I remember feeling so awkward about expressing my thoughts and feelings that I simply maintained silence most of the time.

So here I am in Eighth grade Spanish class. I'm so painfully shy that I avoid eye contact with classmates and even more so, the teacher, in order to shun class participation. I know every graffiti scratch of misspelled profanity and witty hieroglyphic on my desk. Intimately.

Shoshana Liebowitz, the cute, friendly girl sitting next to me, often tries to make conversation, and I usually respond to her quietly and briefly, studying my scribbled-on notebook on my desk. There was absolutely nothing wrong with this girl at all, but I simply didn't know what to say or how to act around her. Over the weeks, I sensed a growing dissatisfaction emanating from her. "Why does it always have to happen this way?" I wondered to myself. Hey! Classmate! Leave this kid alone!

My neighbor must have felt insulted at my unfriendly ways, because, one day, as everyone was settling in right before class began, she stood up and shook her hot pink, Guess brand (this was the 80s, after all) sweatpants-clad bee-hind right by the side of my blushing face. I felt the swishing air as the sweatpants pushed it at me like an electric curtain. Feeling hot and shameful, I pretended to not notice as she turned to the girl behind her and shrugged.

"See?" She explained, pointing to me, the frozen young mensche. "No reaction!"

And I'm still not sure exactly how she expected me to react to her little dance. Should I have asked her out? Commented on the hidden shape of her derriere within the baggy sweatpants? My face featured varying shades of red throughout the rest of the class period, and, in my mind, broadcast my humiliation to the kids sitting around us. The cold sweat didn't begin to evaporate to a flat stickiness until the bell rang.

"What's wrong with him?!" they must have thought. "Any normal boy would have grabbed or spanked that ass!" And my croaked reBUTTal would have sounded something like, "... my mom taught me to respect women!"

I was pretty grateful that we sat in the back of the room where such teenage antics could take place without the entire class noticing. Had I known then what I know now, I would most likely been the one inciting the silliness. I still manage to place myself in awkward situations, but I'd like to believe that I handle such scenarios with a sense of humor.

Over the years, I have recalled this incident a handful of times, and felt pretty embar-ass-ed about it. And now?

It's just another brick in my wall.
- posted by Hal Miller @ 2:43 PM