If you had told me in the Summer of 1967 that the pretty new classmate, Dawn, my mom mentioned to me, the one whose family bought a home from her, would be my soulmate, I would have written you off as crazy X 100.
I had a girlfriend for one thing. The relationship was beginning, and it was to last forever. All the songs of the day promised it. But alas, it didn’t. Twenty-one months later, it would come to a halt in the Spring of 1969. In the timeline of this story, these times are essential.
I turned 16 in 1968, and life changed. Some of it was the usual, like my driver’s license. It opened a new world to me. But, I started drinking with my buddies and reverting to my old ways, not a pretty thing. All of this, along with one other factor, was wearing on my relationship with my girlfriend. It didn’t end overnight. It was a process. But before the end, she and Dawn became lifelong friends. In fact, the friendship would bring Dawn to my 16th birthday party. Mark it as another date, out of order, in the timeline.
The party was my mom’s idea, and she enlisted my girlfriend to invite kids to my 16th birthday in 1968. So, she invited my friends, and sme of her own. It was one of those parties where other kids would buy a bottle of cologne as a gift, so I probably ended up with 40 or so bottles of the stuff.
But my girlfriend and I parted ways a few months later, after 21 months. Well, the reality is, she dumped me for a couple of reasons, one of which made sense, the other didn’t. That changed me somewhat. While I was in my reversion mode, which should make you wonder what the heck I was up to ages 15 and under.
Let me insert a quick story here. In 1959-60, I was in first grade. A little over 40 years later, I saw my first-grade teacher at a wedding. My teacher was sitting at a picnic table alone, smoking a cigarette. She was a strict teacher, and I didn’t like her because I didn’t like discipline for one thing.
Dawn was with me, so it would be fun to renew an old acquaintance. Rather than have her guess, I walked up to her, proud as a peacock, telling her she probably didn’t remember me, as I announced my name. I hoped she would remember me, even though many years had passed, and we could reminisce.
I was wrong, though. My former teacher did remember me. Not only did she say “remember,” but in a voice that sounded like a snarling one, with no modern-day “lol” to soften it, she said, “You had the devil in your eyes.” I could hear the sincerity in her voice, said goodbye, and walked away as she took another drag on her cigarette.
The thing is, as hard as it may be for some to imagine, I was bad, and it would get worse.
The point is, I was not a good person. I had a “friend” who told me he wouldn’t donate to the MS Walk for me because my diagnosis was karma. You know, so bad actions lead to negative consequences. If I believed in karma, he would know because he was right there with me for much of it.
One more quick one, and there really is a point to these. I had a girlfriend who told me she’d been in two knifefights. There’s an icebreaker for you. But she hadn’t. Why tell me? Because she was interested, believed I was a “bad boy,” and thought it would impress me. It did, and it worked. Remember these for later.
Anyway, back to the story at hand. The drinking picked up. I was dabbling with drugs. There were always parties to go to. I quit all sports except baseball, and like many kids, experimented with drugs. Dawn knows my earlier life pretty well and asks about why I did certain things. My answer is always, “Everybody did.” It’s always the wrong answer for her because she didn’t, and not everyone did. Did I mention she was a good two-shoes then? Or likes to pretend she was anyway.
But this is where it gets more interesting. I’m not going to get detailed here, but Dawn had a photo of herself taken. Looking back, it was relatively tame, but one could think of it as provocative. It was just a swimsuit photo. I happened to be standing there and, having no respect for another person’s property, snatched the pictures and left. Now, one of those photos was turned into a black and white 8 X 10, and I did it. In fact, I still have it.
She claims that it was posted in the boys’ locker room. The reality is, I didn’t put it up. In fact, I never saw it posted. I would have shown it to friends, but to this day, she thinks I did. A couple of weeks ago, I asked her her first impression of me. She thought I was a “jerk“ and didn’t like me. In 1969, her feelings were probably stronger than that, and not in a good way, is my guess. I had next to no contact with her because I didn’t have to be in school, and took advantage of it.
Here’s the thing, though. Being a borderline sociopath, I had no feelings of remorse about taking the photos and blowing one up, and no feelings, good or bad, about her. So, had I posted it, I would have boastfully said I did and probably laughed. I wish I had put it up so I could apologize for it. I owe her an apology for grabbing the packet of photos from her hand, blowing one up, and I don’t see why I would deny putting it on a wall if I did it, then or now. Again, part of my character would have been to say, “Yeah, so what!”
Besides, she had a boyfriend who would have wanted to fight me over it, even though we were good friends, and we did enough sparring and slapfights to know that it was not my preferred choice. Plus, he would have been included in the people I showed. Common sense says I didn’t do it, yet I’ll take the accusation to my grave.
I have to take another break here. When I was getting ready to start this, I was convinced every emotion and action could be found in the lyrics of a ’60s song. I heard one that sounded so good, but I forgot it. This story doesn’t even follow a song from beginning to end. AI says there’s a reason. Songs in the 60s where people end up together don’t start with the girl hating the boy and the boy being ambivalent toward the girl. It turns out to be true after an extensive search. If you find one, let me know. We do have a song, though, which Dawn sings beautifully, “Unchained Melody.“ Although not exactly a love song, it’s become one.
Dawn was part of the scenery as we finished high school. I don’t mean that in a bad way. I had a pass from a coach that allowed me to come and go to school as I pleased. I took advantage of it and was gone more than I was there. It really didn’t allow me to leave the grounds, but that’s how I interpreted it.
But I had to be there for certain things. I went to a pantomime show, at least I did. A picture of Dawn dressed in a sleek catsuit lip-synching and moving to “What’s New Pussycat“ by Tom Jones was on the hot side. In her innocent way, she didn’t understand why, but the guys loved it. I may have lied; the costume may not have been sleek, but in the vernacular of the day, the words foxy lady come to mind.
My only other real contact with Dawn was after football games, which involved her boyfriend at the time. It plays a part, but the details are unimportant here; it probably cast a bit of a pall over me. Now, if I had to pick a part of a song that could’ve applied to either of us back then, it’d be from “Red Rubber Ball“ by the Cyrkle: “If I never hear your name again, it’s all the same to me.“ Makes sense.
The foregoing was a prelude. Through the rest of school until graduation, aside from a few meaningless glances, Dawn and I had little to no contact. I honestly don’t remember speaking to her. I don’t believe we did. And that’s not unusual. Back then, cliques defined your social position. Dawn was with the jock/cheerleader/prep crowd. I was on the fringe–a baseball player who floated between groups. Which really meant I had no fixed place. Zippo status. The drinking, the drug stuff, and a few other activities didn’t help.
Funny thing is, what one group does isn’t all that different from another. But some look down on others, convinced they’re above them. I saw it firsthand. Even wrote an essay about it once. I’d love to go into that, but this isn’t the time. Just know this: you weren’t any different from the people you thought were different.
So we move forward. We both had relationships. Most of mine didn’t go well. I refused to open up. I’d done it once, got hurt, and wasn’t about to do it again. We both got married, had kids, and moved on. Dawn ended up in Colorado. I landed in southern Ohio. She became a nurse. I chose a profession that let me stay a kid, at least in the early days. Sports, competition, adrenaline. It fit.
After the divorce, the drinking continued. So did the going out. I was making up for missing the Summer of Love. Too young at the time. And honestly, it’s a misnamed era. Mine was too. It was exciting, sure–but there’s a difference between love and whatever it was I was chasing. My “summer“ stretched into multiple seasons.
Some relationships lasted a few hours, others longer. A few, very few, meant something. A couple were special until they weren’t. A couple were older, a few the same age, but most were younger. The combative spirit never really left. And yeah, it might sound like a wild ride to some, but it was hollow or empty.
Eventually, I stopped drinking. No support group, no sponsor. Just me. Looking back, support would’ve helped. But that’s hindsight. Something was coming that would change everything. It would take years. As for Dawn, those years are left out for a reason. That would be her story to tell, even though I believe I know it.
It was 1991. Our 20-year class reunion was coming up. Our class always felt less cohesive than others. The class before us? They get together all the time. Still, I love our reunions. I enjoy chatting with people I barely knew back then.
We had a tradition that’s barely changed. First night: classmates only. That’s the best part. Just socializing, catching up, maybe a little drinking. Second night: dinner, more conversation. Early on, we’d do a Sunday picnic too. Now it’s every five years, two-day affair. Classmates only on Friday, dinner on Saturday, then we leave town.
I do well one-on-one. I’m most comfortable in a courtroom. Speaking to groups? No problem–if it’s work-related. But parties? I’m terrible. I like “partying,“ sure. But I’m shy. Odd, I know. I can stand in a courtroom, raise and lower my voice, be sharp, cold, or warm, composed and confident. I can wink or smile at a client walking back to the trial table after scoring points on a witness. I loved that. But put me in a room full of people? I freeze. I’m better now. Dawn, by the way, is the opposite. Always was and still is.
So it’s Friday night, 1991. Classmates only. I wanted a drink to loosen up, but settled for a diet cola. It was an outdoor gathering. I wandered around, found a few friends to talk to, then moved on to others I barely knew. Twenty years out of high school, and faces were still familiar. Plus, we had name tags–though I think I took mine off.
I saw a woman I recognized. She’d changed a lot. I was smitten. I said hello, chatted briefly, and told her maybe we’d talk later as I moved on. Saw a few familiar faces, including my old girlfriend who’d dumped me, and Dawn. A couple of others, too. I figured the ex was safe to talk to. We’d run into each other in college., Sometimes I’d stop by her apartment, and all went well. Later that night, she walked me to my car, and we talked for a while.
But an assault on the Red Rubber Ball idea happened. I ended up talking to Dawn. She was drinking a Diet Coke. That was good. Not that I minded people drinking around me.
The other night, Dawn told me she’d felt uneasy talking to me back then. She wasn’t sure why. Thought maybe she was attracted to me. It was unspoken. She didn’t even tell her closest friends. Based on what would come later, I’d say she didn’t.
I enjoyed talking to her. Actually listening. I was good at that. Seven years of mainly representing women in family law cases had taught me how to listen. So we drank diet pop, talked, and were occasionally joined by others.
I don’t remember if I spent the rest of the evening with her or drifted off. But I did leave eventually. I’d see her again on Sunday at the picnic. What I remember is this: I was standing on a hill. Dawn was in the yard. We exchanged glances. I liked talking to her.
In a way, the Cyrkle got it wrong. To be fair, in the group’s defense, because I liked the song when it came out, it was about a couple who’d been together before things went south. Dawn and I never had a relationship.
But it wasn’t the time to resume our conversation. Not then.
I returned home and basically lived at the office. The 20th class reunion faded as the days and months went on. But something would happen to change everything, though not quickly. While there are other things important–like my mom dying, finding God again as the returning prodigal son (though sometimes losing sight of Him at times)–the 25th-year class reunion in 1996 was approaching.
The reunion was more difficult for me. My mom had cancer again and would be gone in about five months. I stayed with my parents, and my mom wanted to hear everything about the kids I went to school with. So, I left early each night to fill her in.
Dawn was there. We talked a lot more. But it was mostly me listening to things going on in her life. Dawn told a friend that I made her feel uneasy. Recalling it later, she believes the word she used was “creepy.“ What she meant was it was like I knew what she was thinking, but couldn’t get a read on me. It was as if I were an enigma. She appreciated that I was listening to her and understood her in a way no one had before.
What she didn’t know, and won’t until reading this, is that I felt a closeness to her, but couldn’t act on it for a couple of reasons. For one thing, I had to get to my parents’ home early to let my mom know what everyone was doing in life. I told her about Dawn. She remembered her, of course. She knew Dawn’s parents, not just from selling them their home almost 30 years earlier, but my parents had run into her parents somewhere.
The reunion ended. I was on my way back to southern Ohio. My mom died in January 1997. A year later, I was diagnosed with MS. The first few months were difficult, but later I was doing okay.
I contacted Dawn in 1999 about the MS Walk. I used the excuse of needing her address for fundraising purposes, which was something easily found. It was an excuse to call. The breakthrough was when I called Dawn on July 4, 1999, essentially about the MS Walk, but it turned into more. We spoke a long time. The calls would continue.
Eventually, it would be similar to my summer of love, as previously discussed. All I mean by this is later I was burning the candle at both ends again, but this time the connection was late-night phone calls, not being physically together.
I looked forward to those calls. It would have been harder on her. I’ve always managed with four to six hours of sleep a night. Dawn was working days as a visiting nurse through the hospital.
The relationship progressed. We decided to have our first date and get-together that summer. As I did every year, one of two vacations was three weeks hiking the mountains of the Great Smoky Mountain National Park the first couple of weeks, followed by a week messing around on the rocks of Virginia and West Virginia. My second trip would be alternating hiking trips in the Southwest and the Northwest.
It was decided that upon return, I would go north to Kent and we would see each other. The calls were flirty. I was thinking it could be one of those Angel of the Morning moments, but maybe not. How the first evening went, I’ll say nothing either way. Dawn left for home with the plan being to meet the following day at Punderson State Park for a walk/hike.
After the hike, we left and drove separately down to the park in Mantua. We parked in the lot by the street, got out of our cars to bid each other adieu, meaning until next time, which I hoped would be soon. And what happened next made me want it to be real soon.
Anyone who knows me also knows I hate public displays of affection. This was a time for a quick kiss, maybe a hug, and to depart. But the kiss turned into more–much more. We were making out, to use a term from the ’60s that may have survived time. Oblivious to the houses across the street or cars passing by, we were playing kissy-face like a couple of teenagers.
That was the beginning, but certainly not the end. I’m going to gloss over parts, though. We now began a five-year long-distance relationship, by telephone during the week, and getting together on most weekends. The weekends were difficult. You pack a week’s worth of activities into less than 48 hours.
There were some short trips, but it was five years of weekends, each one a small reunion in a sense, each Sunday goodbye filled with emotion. According to Dawn, she cried on the drive home. I didn’t cry, but longed for the following weekend. I grew up in a generation where men didn’t cry, and our fathers, for the most part, didn’t show much emotion until later in life.
When I was a kid, I’d give my mom a kiss before going to bed, but not my dad. When I was older and visiting them, I hugged my mom when I got there and when I left. We’d say, “I love you.“ My dad and I would shake hands, say goodbye, with him telling me to be careful. That would change later. We didn’t really have to say it, we just knew. But it was nice when we finally did.
During the five years, in 2003, my dad died. Dawn and I had planned to get married that year, but she decided she wanted to wait until the following year. It had to do with moving her children. In 2004, I decided we should wait another year. I’ve joked it was retaliation for the previous year. We set a new time, August 6, 2005, which turned into August 13, 2005. So here we are today, at 20 years of marriage, but there’s more in the interim.
By the way, I want to throw this in even though it’s not important to the story. What makes all this stranger still is that the house Dawn’s family moved into wasn’t just any house. My dad and his friends had built it years before, working on it in their spare time. Then, in 1965, they built our own home. It was almost identical, with just one small modification. Years later, I’d walk through Dawn’s parents’ front door and be hit by déjà vu. It was the house I grew up in. When we spent the night there together, we slept in the very room I had starting in seventh grade.
We were at Dawn’s parents’ home, and my dad was there. Our parents were talking, and I only paid half attention. My dad was an “F“ League baseball coach. He was the one who taught me to pitch, and I was pretty good at it. I heard him talking about the best pitcher he ever coached. My ears perked up. This was high praise coming from him. His team had been state champs.
It was going to be one of those “Aw shucks, tweren’t nothin” moments for me. For five years in summer ball, I didn’t lose one game, but I was prepared to be humble about it. Then the bomb dropped. He wasn’t talking about me. He was talking about a guy named Ronnie, who would be my neighbor now had he and his wife not moved a couple of miles away. I wanted to break in, “Hey, what about me?”
The other thing I never knew was how concerned my parents were about me in college. I heard him say to her parents, “Dolores (my mom) and I were concerned Lee wouldn’t make it past his first year.“ It was the first I’d heard it, but it was warranted. I dropped one-third of my classes in my first year, including one so I could watch reruns of Green Acres, which I’m doing right now. Truth be told, classes interfered with going out to bars and whatever else college kids do.
There would be obstacles to overcome. A friend turned out to be Karma Boy–one of Dawn’s friends who warned her away from me. She was undeterred. I was angry when I found out.
But there would be another problem–her mom. A lovely lady, I would come to consider my replacement mom. But she could be blunt. One day, she mentioned an incident regarding me in high school. I had no clue about any, but four or five people knew about it.
But good old mom-to-be did and said it straight out, and it caught me by surprise. It was bad, and there was no point denying it, so I made it into a joke. It had been 30 years, after all. To Dawn’s mom, it wasn’t funny. Rightfully so because it truly wasn’t.
Turns out Dawn’s mom was a school teacher. Apparently, teachers talk, some would call it gossip. I’m told that not only do they know what is happening behind the scenes, but they also discuss students they’re hoping to avoid. Now, the kid she had wanted to avoid in school was going to be marrying her daughter. It was one of those Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner moments, I reckon.
Not the race part, obviously. Parents have certain expectations for their kids. You hope your daughter brings home Prince Charming, then a guy from the other side of the tracks shows up. It’s like in the movie Grease if Sandy had brought Danny to meet her parent. If you don’t recall the movie, think in terms of the innocent, pristine, top student, cheerleader type bringing a leather-jacketed hoodlum drop-out on his motorcycle over to meet the parents.
The real problem is that Dawn was going to move, as would the grandkids, to essentially three locations. A distance of about a mile would become 180 miles. It was troubling Dawn. I decided to have a heart-to-heart talk with her mom only. It was a time to be both understanding and firm. I wanted to assure her that Dawn was going to be okay and spoke of a couple of other things. And you know, when finished, I think we had her blessing.
Somehow, we stitched our life stories together. On August 13, we married. And now, twenty years later, I still marvel at how close we came to missing. Fate’s a funny thing.
Why has it worked? All of those late-night, long phone calls. Also, when I traveled on hiking trips, in my car, I made cassette tapes just talking to her. I told her about my life, my day, my thoughts, my everything. Those were one to two long, and there were well over a hundred. Dawn made tapes back, not nearly as many. By the time we married, we knew each other well.
Dawn is a free spirit. She fancies herself the hippie type, lived it to an extent, and still does. She was in a band, is a great singer, and has a great sense of humor. While what she finds funny has changed, it gives me joy to hear her laugh. She is both confident and vulnerable.
We’ve engaged in adventurous pursuits. We shared joys and sorrows, highs and lows. We loved, argued, laughed, and danced.
If you’ve read this far, you can stop now. But there’s going to be more. There is a song linked at the end that expresses my feelings really well.
This is either called an epilogue or a postscript–probably the former. I have to tie up some loose ends, and I’m going to link a song I found a couple of days ago that sums up the greatest love story of my life. It includes trying to answer questions in my mind, knowing there are no correct answers. The biggest, of course, is why Dawn would allow me to enjoy the rest of my life with her.
Mentioned in some detail–certainly not all, because it would raise questions about me as a person. I noted that I didn’t fit the typical good guy mold; apparently, I had a bad boy persona. Because I was quiet and, in Dawn’s words, stealthy, some people knew–others didn’t. Before we married, she knew.
I spent a career trying to figure out why people did the things they did. There are several theories, assuming the premise that some women like bad guys, as to why. While it can be an unhealthy thing, it doesn’t have to be. Quite the opposite.
Alpha traits can be alluring for different reasons. Sometimes it’s just vicarious thrill-seeking. Some women may not be risk-takers themselves, but being close to someone who is allows them to experience that thrill without directly engaging in danger.
Although this is not the complete reason, we did engage in some activities that were questionable to some, and she played an active role with me. However, for some, “bad boy“ can be seen as a protector.
The latter makes some sense to me because I remember Dawn telling me she felt safe with me, meaning I could and would protect her from harm. But I also believe she is predisposed to the type. In a prior relationship, she was drawn to someone with a national reputation for toughness. However, she says she didn’t know at the time, learning much later from YouTube videos. Yet, I believe those types of people give off a vibe, and somehow you just know.
I mentioned Unchained Melody as our song. Originally, it had to do with prison and was written for a movie before the Righteous Brothers made it famous. I’m not going to dwell on it, but it mirrors our lives.
It tells the story of timeless devotion and distance–about holding on across years, across assumptions, across silence. Now granted, I’m not going back to 1967 to 1969, our first encounters, but over the years, all the way back to the class reunions in both 1991 and 1996, there was a spark–and certainly the first call in 1999, and especially the July 4th call. The first date was in 2000, and the long-distance relationship lasted for five more years.
“I’ve hungered for your touch… a long, lonely time.”
I believe it’s safe to say it wasn’t just about one of us waiting–it was both.
“And time goes by so slowly…”
Five years of weekend love, the sad goodbyes, until the next weekend. I can go through the song, and so many lines resonate with me regarding my waiting, yearning, and love for Dawn.
And fate. So many things, minor things, some mentioned in the story, most not, that could have changed everything. Had she started school in our district, or had I been born 15 days earlier, we wouldn’t have graduated together. With that scenario, I would not write this. What some call fate, I call the guiding hand of God. Call it what you want, the title draws its inspiration from the forces that allowed the story to be told.
Jim Croce, in a beautiful song, talked about time–the desire for permanence, wanting the days to last forever with someone special. “But there never seems to be enough time / To do the things you want to do once you find them.”
It’s where I find myself now, wanting to spend every moment with the person I deeply love.
“If I could save time in a bottle
“The first thing that I’d like to do
“Is to save every day ’til eternity passes away
“Just to spend them with you”
I have so many things to be thankful for having Dawn in my life. Having MS–something I asked her to seriously consider early in our relationship–has made life more difficult for both of us. I had no choice in it or how it progresses. I’m blessed she willingly signed up for it.
As part of a couple, I’ve made many mistakes. I’ve apologized for everything, I hope. And I have to hope Dawn forgives me. On the photograph, I apologize now for taking it from her hands in 1969. That was wrong. But I swear to God, I never put it up in the locker room.
And by the way, Sydney Sweeney does have great jeans, but Dawn has greater jeans!
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Photos
Although none of these has been seen by Dawn, she knows I’m working on it. I mentioned pictures, mostly of her. She didn’t like the idea. So I’m cutting the number. I have a blog where I can put the rest. The first two are on our first date in 2000. Most of the rest were taken during our time together. The last one is Dawn at our 45th year class reunion. We had one wedding photo that I messed with, but then I lost the original. My favorite of us was taken early in our relationship. We’re facing each other. What gives me a warm feeling is the way her fingers are gripping my arm. A few miscellaneous photos I like, and of course, a couple showing Dawn foes have greater jeans than Sydney Sweeney. I have a recent one, but can’t find it because my phone started making random albums.
Link to Helen Reddy and Bobby Darin singing If Not For You. The song was written by Bob Dylan. I’m listening to it as I’m writing this and not ashamed to admit I have tears in my eyes as it reminds me of the woman I love so much, Dawn:Â Â HELEN REDDY AND BOBBY DARIN – IF NOT FOR YOU – WRITTEN BY BOB DYLAN – RECORDED BY OLIVIA NEWTON-JOHN