I was willing to abandon my Kool-Aid Hawaiian punch, favorite animal coloring books, and my 64-pack of crayons that lay strewn across the front porch just for a glimpse of him.
I’d race to the end of my driveway to see that one boy riding his black-and-silver dirt bike past my house.
He was handsome, (Wendy translation: thin and wiry with messy hair) and the last day I saw him, he was wearing black-and-white checked Vans, a gray t-shirt, and Levis.
I memorized that outfit.
After all, when he returned … Read the rest of Wendy Newman’s published article on YourTango.com here.