How'd I Miss My Coming Out? (Part 5): Lady in Red

As I've discussed, there were a number of "duh" moments from my youth that should have slapped me across the face and wrapped a pink feathered boa around my neck, because looking back I was the gayest child ever.  Last week's installment had me thinking about school once again and a number of memories came bubbling to the surface. Obviously not all of them should be scrapbook bound or broadcast on the Internet but what fun would that be? So here goes...

I was a child prone to grand gestures, almost dandy moments of embarrassing riches that carried over somewhat into my adult years.  I wasn't the kid that just drew a picture of a house with a white picket fence, some stick figures and a lame ass corner-drawn sun to give to my parents.  I was the 4-year-old that pulled out Ladies Home Journal, a pair of scissors, some glitter and my Mr. Sketch smelly markers to create a dazzling display worthy of a design school portfolio because it wasn't done until it sparkled and shined.  I was the kid that couldn't just wash the dog, I had to cut, curl and blow-out the dog's fur so he would look acceptable in public.  Nothing was done without purpose and pizzazz because that's how I rolled.

In the third grade I became so enamored with a girl named Lori C. that I began to think I was the next Halston.  She was the most exotic, interesting and well-dressed girlin my class and I took a shining to that girl like never before.  Shewas my very own Ramona Quimby, Age 8 and she deserved only the finest things in life. 

One day in class, I decided to let my fair lady know someone was interested in her.  I wrote a note on my Garfield stationery saying that a secret admirer would reveal himself in the near future, figuring she'd never be able to decipher who it came from.  Meanwhile, how many boys in class had Garfield stationary?  Like she wouldn't figure it out?  Seriously...

I slipped the note on her chair while we worked on what I called our Star 80 learning machine.  I don't remember what the contraption was actually called, but it was basically this laserdisc-like machine that was used in schools to teach kids simple math and language skills.  You had to flip and slam this huge square plastic record sleeve looking thing into the mock-computer all the time to make it work: technology at its finest! It had nothing to do with Dorothy Stratten, Mariel Hemingway or Eric Roberts but in my twisted little mind this educational tool had a name something like Star 80, I swear.  Whatever, it doesn't matter but if you know what I'm talking about, I'll die!

So Dorothy Stratten Lori and I are sitting at our Star 80 machine and I'm burning up as she starts unfolding my super-secret admirer proclamation of love.  She studies it for a minute, looks at me and giggles.  I start sweating because I don't know if it's a good giggle or one that would make me feel like Martha Dumptruck in the lunchroom. Oh the shame!

She turns to me and whispers, "Aww, you're so sweet but I don't understand..." 

I'm trying to figure out how Garfield and Odie failed me and she's the one that's confused?  Tongue-tied and trying to avoid eye contact, she takes that as a sign so she continues...

"What does 'I'll need to know your measurements' mean?"   

I slam one of the big missile launch style buttons on the Star 80 and blurt out in a panic, "For the dress I'm going to make you!" 

Yeah ... the dress I was going to make her ... in the third grade.

The horror!  Like a kid without his Ritalin I did my best Ralphie impression and blurted out right then and there in front of the entire class how I had a vision of her in this scoop neck baby doll red dress and how I wanted to make it for her as a show of affection.   

For the next three days I begged my Mother to take me to JoAnn Fabrics so she could make the dress.  I had no clue what was involved in making clothes or if my Mother even knew how to sew but I knew I needed that damn red dress.  Hello, I'd promised Lori C. a fierce red baby doll dress in front of Ms. Kolokian's entire class and I refused to be made a fool.  

When the realization that my Mother wasn't a skilled seamstress set in, I was bound and determined to buy a red dress for Lori C. (at my Mom's expense of course) because after all it was her inabilities as a dressmaker that were putting my relationship in jeopardy.

Having found a cute number at Hills Department Store, I slid it into the cart hoping she wouldn't notice and strolled alongside, awaiting my celebratory Cherry Icee.  Wrong! When we got up to the register she just handed it to the Cashier and told her we wouldn't be needing the dress.  Like something out of a movie I watched that little red dress pass under the dirty conveyor belt in slow motion and disappear into the abyss of dashed children's hopes and dreams.

I strolled into class the next day with my tail between my legs and refused to make eye contact with my Star 80 buddy, my Ramona Quimby Age 8, my first real crush.  My love for her was forever tainted by the woman that bore me and the disappointment I had stemmed from not being able to follow through with thepromise I'd made to my would-be Lil' Lover.  

The possibility of beingturned down and made the laughingstock of Ms. Kolokian's class waswhat sent chills down my spine, not the thought of being called queer.  In fact, the best part about recalling this story from my childhood is that there was literally no shame or fear of being "found out" involved in wanting to give her that red dress. 

I was too little to know what gay was and the other kids were too young to process whether or not it was acceptable for a third grade boy to give a third grade girl such an exquisite present.  My biggest fear was going into the following school year as a 4th Grade Nothing... now that would have been shameful for someone of my climbing social status. 

By the time graduation had rolled around some 9 years later, Lori C. had turned me down one more time (in 7th grade) for a boy named Matt M. who today is - wait for it - a hairdresser. 

Looks like Lori C.'s gaydar was miscalibrated because every kid I knew that fell in love with her in grade school turned out to be a flaming homo.  I can only hope she had better luck after high school and hope that her future Husband at some point gave her a little red dress ... which in turn made her think of my gay ass and ruined his chances of getting some that night ... because that's how I roll!